It may be the first question people ask - oh, no wait, the first question is "why the heck would you go VEGAN?" The second question is, "How do you get enough protein?"
For an average, moderately active person, a vegan diet has plenty of food options that have enough protein. All plants have a little bit. Some, like peas and beans and grains, have quite a bit.
Being vegan isn't really that restrictive. I mean, come on, Oreos (tm) are vegan. You can eat a whole lotta junk, and still be eating vegan. You can eat almost every potato chip and tortilla chip under the sun. Lots of dark chocolate. Lots of cookies, breads, pasta, and other processed stuff. Lots of sugar, HCFS, all manner of things that most people generally recognize as not being good for you.
Being on a vegan whole foods, low fat diet, however, has its challenges. And being an endurance athlete on this diet makes it trickier! (I do so love a challenge.) It's become important to me for two reasons - one, after more than 3 weeks on this diet, I think I've lost some muscle. My body fat measuring scale agrees with me, it says I'm up 2 % on average in body fat, but I'm the same weight. So that means I've burned up some muscle, which I'd rather not do. The other - I've been getting very odd muscle cramps the last 2 weeks - hands, feet, calves, quads, hamstrings. This is more likely related to not getting enough sodium, potassium, calcium or magnesium, but could also be related to my protein and amino acid intake.
The whole foods part of the diet is just that - eat mostly things that haven't been altered. Veggies, fruits, nuts, whole grains. The low fat is supposed to be 10% of your calories from fat. Yowch, that's low. So now I know how much fat I get per day. What about the rest?
How much protein does a very active girl need, anyway?
Going to the literature, an average person needs 0.8 g of protein per kg of body weight. For me, That'd be 44 g of protein. Easy. (Take your weight and divide by 2.2 to get kg.) An athlete, which I am going to consider myself even if it makes me sound like I have a big head, needs 1.2 - 1.4 g of protein per kg of body weight. Oooookay, so for me, that means 65 - 76 g of protein. Ok, I can probably get that....
But wait, there's more.
The bioavailability of plant sources of protein is markedly less than that of animal protein. It comes out to about 80%. So of the plant based protein I take in, I actually get 80% of that. Which means that now, as a vegan athlete, I need 81 to 95 g of protein a day.
Holy cats, man. That's a lot of protein.
and what does that mean for my overall nutrient intake?
total calories per day are about 2200
fat = 10% or 220 calories, or 24 grams
protein must be ~85 grams, so that's 340 calories, which is 15.5%
and that means that carbs make up the rest - 74.5%
The problem is, it rarely plays out that way. With such a low fat ceiling, basically nuts are out. Straight out. Because there's enough fat in grains, beans, potatoes, veggies alone to make up that 24 grams, never mind a handful of almonds. And it's not like I can go out an grab a hunk of beef jerky to get my protein. What about tofu, you say? yes, but that IS processed. It has lots of protein, but also has a fair amount of fat - 7 g of protein, and 4 g of fat. So that doesn't really solve the problem. And if I keep to that caveat of no processed stuff, then seitan is out, too.
To answer the original question, my protein comes from beans, whole grains (quinoa, brown rice, oats, whole wheat), lentils, peas, and did I mention beans?
And I'm relaxing on the fat %. That is a difficult target to hit. I think I could do it, but that would mean cutting out the ground flax, the pumpkin seeds, the pecans, and just about any bread, tortilla, or other baked product out there. When I was trying to hit that target, I'd actually be around 15%, and although I felt full even stuffed, I still wanted to eat. An odd sensation. Upping the fat has helped that go away. My target is going to be 20%. With more wiggle room, it will be easier to eat more protein too.
But even with these changes, I find I'm only getting 50 g of protein a day.
More beans, anyone?
Friday, March 23, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
I am not afraid of you!
I knew, now that I am newly vegan, I KNEW I'd have to face this little aversion of mine. As a Wisconsin girl, there was never any reason for me to come into contact with this block of nothingness. I ate cows. And chickens. I knew what those looked like. I knew where those came from, what they ate, how they grew.
Not so for this ersatz food product.
TOFU.
Even the name is suspect - doesn't sound like a real word... it sounds like the babble that comes out of the mouth of a 1 yr. old.
And I'm supposed to eat it?
Even worse, I'm supposed to cook it in some way?
No one can tell you what it tastes like. "oh, it just tastes like whatever it was cooked with."
The texture is similarly mystifying - not a curd, not a paste... uniform... That doesn't sound good.
What do you mean it comes in a block? and it's white-ish? Not white, not beige, but somewhere in between...
None of this sounds appealing.
My first forays into the realm of tofu eating were under professional guidance.
Experiment #1: I figured I'd best try something in the privacy of home. You know, just in case I had to abort.
K picked up:
Inspection of the "nuggets" as they were browning revealed little. They were breaded, and shaped like chicken nuggets. I tried to reserve judgement. Wisely, the package comes with sauce to heat up and pour over your "nuggets." I complied.
And, lo, they were tasty. I'd eat them again. The breading was crispy, and they were seasoned and had flavor. You might not think they were chicken, but it didn't scream at you, "I AM SCARY AMORPHOUS TOFU! BE AFRAID!"
So, on to
This was a real test. How on earth can you make shrimp:
out of ...
THIS???
Well, I don't know. But they did. It was shrimp-shaped, shrimp-colored, and shrimp-textured. They must have a Thai artist in the back sitting on a stool sculpting, molding and painting tofu shrimp all day long. That dish was TASTY. The shrimp, like the chicken-less nuggets, might not taste exactly like shrimp, but they were good. And not Frightening. I'm sure there were at least two servings on that platter, but I ate almost the entire thing before stopping - and that was only because we had banana chocolate rolls coming for dessert. (also yummy)
Experiment #2 was a huge success. I'm sure we will go back there and try other meat-less and faux meat dishes. That only leaves.....
Experiment #3: cooking TOFU myself.
I know. Scary, right?
Standing in Trader Joe's, I bent over to carefully examine the 4 different types. I kept my distance, looking like an uncertain tourist in a strange country. The recipe specified "firm." Ok, but what does that MEAN, exactly? I poked the packages hesitantly. It felt like there was LIQUID in some of them. ew. Firm, silken, extra firm... I had other recipes which called for the other types. So I bought all of them. What the heck. Wait - how much is this going to set me back? Must be expensive... oh. $1.29 each. ...ok, I guess I can swing that.
All of the groceries found a home, with the one package of tofu squatting silent and solo in the middle of my kitchen island.
I felt like I did more than a decade ago (holy cow I'm old) when I had to figure out how to remove the backbone from a chicken. I approached it carefully, and tried to peel, then tear open the package, but it resisted my wimpy efforts.
I got a knife. That worked - as I cut the plastic off the top of the container, some liquid dribbled out. What IS that, anyway? Soybean whey? Then I see the directions on the package: "After opening, keep tofu immersed in water and change water daily." Or what, I'll awaken to gremlins running around my house trying to stuff Dante in the microwave? A pod will grow in my fridge, and one day will replace me with a pale bean-curd version of Mo?
I sliced off two servings (that's weird weird weird - there's no discrete size to tofu, just slide your knife through the slippery chunk) and ...
I had to drain it. Huh? Sandwich it between two plates and paper towels for 10 min to squeeze out excess liquid. Can't I just pat it dry or something, like you do with chicken... oh, never mind. ok, fine, done.
I prep the rest of the ingredients for my sesame ginger tofu with bok choy and quinoa.
Back to the ... holy cow that's a lot of liquid from the 1/3 of the package! Now I wonder if I should drain/press it a bit more, you know, just in case there's more in there somewhere. I do. Just in case. And there was more. (ew.)
I cut little precise blocks out of the larger block that I cut from the original block.. hey this is kind of like fractals....
and roll them in sesame seeds and saute them.
um. When are they done, exactly? The little white blocks refuse to answer, mute and white in the pan. After a while I shake the pan to rotate the blocks to a different side.... but they don't rotate, so I do it by hand, one at a time. Flip. Flip. Flip... The blocks are kind of soft and spongy. I do this a few more times. A few popping kernels of sesame seeds startle me, but I hold my own. It smells like... well, like sesame seeds, and not much else.
After a few sides are browned, I call it done.
TOFU - you are DONE! I have cooked you!
Of course, now I have to eat what I have created. I wish I had taken a picture to show you, because the little blocks, browned and coated with sesame seeds actually looked pretty guh.... well, pretty ok.
I stirred them with the bok choy and other veggies, and took a forkful.
Hey - pretty tasty! now, don't ask me what it tastes LIKE, because we all know the answer to that question. The bok choy, broccoli, ginger, and sesame seeds stole that show entirely. But I have now successfully conquered my fear of tofu, and find it to be a painless way to get a little more protein into ye olde vegan, unprocessed, whole foods diet. Which is necessary, btw. Yes, I have been to the edge of culinary veganism and DID NOT FLINCH! (except when the sesame seeds popped). Ha!
I am in-wince-able!
Onto the next challenge!
Not so for this ersatz food product.
TOFU.
Even the name is suspect - doesn't sound like a real word... it sounds like the babble that comes out of the mouth of a 1 yr. old.
And I'm supposed to eat it?
Even worse, I'm supposed to cook it in some way?
No one can tell you what it tastes like. "oh, it just tastes like whatever it was cooked with."
The texture is similarly mystifying - not a curd, not a paste... uniform... That doesn't sound good.
What do you mean it comes in a block? and it's white-ish? Not white, not beige, but somewhere in between...
None of this sounds appealing.
 |
| Yup, it's TOFU! |
My first forays into the realm of tofu eating were under professional guidance.
Experiment #1: I figured I'd best try something in the privacy of home. You know, just in case I had to abort.
K picked up:
 |
| That's right, it's CHICKEN-LESS CHICKEN!! |
And, lo, they were tasty. I'd eat them again. The breading was crispy, and they were seasoned and had flavor. You might not think they were chicken, but it didn't scream at you, "I AM SCARY AMORPHOUS TOFU! BE AFRAID!"
So, on to
Experiment #2: Eating tofu in public.
K and I went to Thai Vegan. It's very well rated. I picked a dish from the reviews that sounded both like an adventure, and like something I'd enjoy... perhaps: Spinach "shrimp" noodle with green curry sauce.This was a real test. How on earth can you make shrimp:
out of ...
THIS???
Well, I don't know. But they did. It was shrimp-shaped, shrimp-colored, and shrimp-textured. They must have a Thai artist in the back sitting on a stool sculpting, molding and painting tofu shrimp all day long. That dish was TASTY. The shrimp, like the chicken-less nuggets, might not taste exactly like shrimp, but they were good. And not Frightening. I'm sure there were at least two servings on that platter, but I ate almost the entire thing before stopping - and that was only because we had banana chocolate rolls coming for dessert. (also yummy)
Experiment #2 was a huge success. I'm sure we will go back there and try other meat-less and faux meat dishes. That only leaves.....
Experiment #3: cooking TOFU myself.
Standing in Trader Joe's, I bent over to carefully examine the 4 different types. I kept my distance, looking like an uncertain tourist in a strange country. The recipe specified "firm." Ok, but what does that MEAN, exactly? I poked the packages hesitantly. It felt like there was LIQUID in some of them. ew. Firm, silken, extra firm... I had other recipes which called for the other types. So I bought all of them. What the heck. Wait - how much is this going to set me back? Must be expensive... oh. $1.29 each. ...ok, I guess I can swing that.
All of the groceries found a home, with the one package of tofu squatting silent and solo in the middle of my kitchen island.
I felt like I did more than a decade ago (holy cow I'm old) when I had to figure out how to remove the backbone from a chicken. I approached it carefully, and tried to peel, then tear open the package, but it resisted my wimpy efforts.
I got a knife. That worked - as I cut the plastic off the top of the container, some liquid dribbled out. What IS that, anyway? Soybean whey? Then I see the directions on the package: "After opening, keep tofu immersed in water and change water daily." Or what, I'll awaken to gremlins running around my house trying to stuff Dante in the microwave? A pod will grow in my fridge, and one day will replace me with a pale bean-curd version of Mo?
I sliced off two servings (that's weird weird weird - there's no discrete size to tofu, just slide your knife through the slippery chunk) and ...
I had to drain it. Huh? Sandwich it between two plates and paper towels for 10 min to squeeze out excess liquid. Can't I just pat it dry or something, like you do with chicken... oh, never mind. ok, fine, done.
I prep the rest of the ingredients for my sesame ginger tofu with bok choy and quinoa.
Back to the ... holy cow that's a lot of liquid from the 1/3 of the package! Now I wonder if I should drain/press it a bit more, you know, just in case there's more in there somewhere. I do. Just in case. And there was more. (ew.)
I cut little precise blocks out of the larger block that I cut from the original block.. hey this is kind of like fractals....
 |
| Back to work, mo! |
and roll them in sesame seeds and saute them.
um. When are they done, exactly? The little white blocks refuse to answer, mute and white in the pan. After a while I shake the pan to rotate the blocks to a different side.... but they don't rotate, so I do it by hand, one at a time. Flip. Flip. Flip... The blocks are kind of soft and spongy. I do this a few more times. A few popping kernels of sesame seeds startle me, but I hold my own. It smells like... well, like sesame seeds, and not much else.
After a few sides are browned, I call it done.
TOFU - you are DONE! I have cooked you!
Of course, now I have to eat what I have created. I wish I had taken a picture to show you, because the little blocks, browned and coated with sesame seeds actually looked pretty guh.... well, pretty ok.
I stirred them with the bok choy and other veggies, and took a forkful.
Hey - pretty tasty! now, don't ask me what it tastes LIKE, because we all know the answer to that question. The bok choy, broccoli, ginger, and sesame seeds stole that show entirely. But I have now successfully conquered my fear of tofu, and find it to be a painless way to get a little more protein into ye olde vegan, unprocessed, whole foods diet. Which is necessary, btw. Yes, I have been to the edge of culinary veganism and DID NOT FLINCH! (except when the sesame seeds popped). Ha!
I am in-wince-able!
Onto the next challenge!
Friday, February 24, 2012
Super-veggie me!
Really, one of the things I never thought I'd do. I don't like to use the word "never" because it's just too easy to be wrong. But going vegan, and giving up eating meat and anything that comes from an animal - I would have said never.
Why would I do this? Welllll... you remember that sheep post, right? And I'm a scientist. That pretty much sealed my fate.
Plus, I've already given up Coke, so how hard could giving up meat be?
K and I watched "Forks over Knives". I also read RawFoodSOS blog that reviewed and critiqued the science. And that was a long, long critique. FoK features two docs that advocate a plant based diet (aka vegan and low fat vegan at that) as a way of "eliminating heart disease, diabetes and most forms of cancer." Ok, that sounds pretty darn good. They offered a lot of evidence in the forms of correlations, and some specific studies that they spun somewhat (IMHO) to reinforce their hypothesis. They also have numerous patients on their diets and seemingly lots of evidence that their low fat (10% of cals) vegan diet works.
The scientist in me says:
But meanwhile, I'm a sheep. And a scientist.
K wants to try this.
And the movie made me very curious - the narrator undertook the diet and had a dramatic decrease in the bad cholesterol, increase in the good, decreased triglycerides, decreased BP, etc. etc.
Ok, so here we go. My total cholesterol is always (for the last 5 years and last tested this fall) between 203 and 210. HDL = 64-80, LDL = 101-103, triglycerides = 99. Of those, my total cholesterol, LDL, and triglycerides are higher than I'd like, but still healthy considering my HDL is nice and high. BP is 115 over 68. I weigh 118-121. I don't eat a lot of junk, but typically eat meat as the center of both lunch and dinner, and have an egg for breakfast 1-4 times a week. I don't shy away from having chips, cookies, ice cream, bbq, hamburgers occasionally. I cook most of what I eat - 19/21 meals a week. Spinach salads, tacos (beef or chicken), chili, quinoa, rice, pasta with bottled sauce, grilled chicken or fish, steamed veggies - these are staples.
I'm already pretty healthy. I exercise probably more than 10 hours a week. What will a vegan diet do for me in the short term? Let's try this for 6-8 weeks and find out. No meat, dairy or eggs (I haven't been strict about this, but will be now - otherwise it won't be meaningful.) I'll continue to take my multivitamin when I remember - that ends up being ~ 5x per week usually. I'll add in the supplements the docs recommend - omega-3s (vegan) and B12 as much as I can remember. I won't change anything else. And after the 6-8 weeks, I'll do a blood test to see what, if anything, happened to me.
I guess I'll log what I'm eating too. (This part sounds like more work and less fun. But I said I was a scientist...) As a fun thing, I should benchmark a 5 or 10K now, and do it after 6-8 weeks to compare... but my hip is bugging me. Maybe I'll use my 2.5 mile handicap time instead. Unfortunately for this comparison, I'm planning on ramping up my training, so any gains/losses there may be explained by factors other than diet.
Once I complete that, I'm considering taking on the next extreme step of Vegan + no processed stuff whatsoever. No flour. No sugar. No diet soda. No gum. Whole foods only. This seems hard to me - hardly like living! No chocolate! No bread! We'll see when I make it through March and what the blood test shows. If I have fun with this, maybe then I'll go Paleo for 6-8 weeks and see the difference there. But for now, Super-Veggie me!
I know this isn't really scientifically meaningful, a sample size of one. But come on! Should be fun!
Why would I do this? Welllll... you remember that sheep post, right? And I'm a scientist. That pretty much sealed my fate.
Plus, I've already given up Coke, so how hard could giving up meat be?
K and I watched "Forks over Knives". I also read RawFoodSOS blog that reviewed and critiqued the science. And that was a long, long critique. FoK features two docs that advocate a plant based diet (aka vegan and low fat vegan at that) as a way of "eliminating heart disease, diabetes and most forms of cancer." Ok, that sounds pretty darn good. They offered a lot of evidence in the forms of correlations, and some specific studies that they spun somewhat (IMHO) to reinforce their hypothesis. They also have numerous patients on their diets and seemingly lots of evidence that their low fat (10% of cals) vegan diet works.
The scientist in me says:
- That doesn't mean that the vegan diet is the ONLY diet that works.
- When you go vegan, it can mean that you cut out nearly all processed foods along with the meat, eggs, and dairy. -You are eating a whole-foods diet.
- and, of course, correlations in the movie do not equal causation. So, maybe the mainly plant based diet of the rural Chinese results in better health because they don't have access to licorice (or other processed foods, lots of sugar, preservatives, name your poison), whereas on the coasts where trade is good and the economy is quite a bit more worldly, they eat more meat, but also more junk food. Anyway. I intend to get the China study book, and read it myself to sort this out and think about it more clearly.
But meanwhile, I'm a sheep. And a scientist.
K wants to try this.
And the movie made me very curious - the narrator undertook the diet and had a dramatic decrease in the bad cholesterol, increase in the good, decreased triglycerides, decreased BP, etc. etc.
Ok, so here we go. My total cholesterol is always (for the last 5 years and last tested this fall) between 203 and 210. HDL = 64-80, LDL = 101-103, triglycerides = 99. Of those, my total cholesterol, LDL, and triglycerides are higher than I'd like, but still healthy considering my HDL is nice and high. BP is 115 over 68. I weigh 118-121. I don't eat a lot of junk, but typically eat meat as the center of both lunch and dinner, and have an egg for breakfast 1-4 times a week. I don't shy away from having chips, cookies, ice cream, bbq, hamburgers occasionally. I cook most of what I eat - 19/21 meals a week. Spinach salads, tacos (beef or chicken), chili, quinoa, rice, pasta with bottled sauce, grilled chicken or fish, steamed veggies - these are staples.
I'm already pretty healthy. I exercise probably more than 10 hours a week. What will a vegan diet do for me in the short term? Let's try this for 6-8 weeks and find out. No meat, dairy or eggs (I haven't been strict about this, but will be now - otherwise it won't be meaningful.) I'll continue to take my multivitamin when I remember - that ends up being ~ 5x per week usually. I'll add in the supplements the docs recommend - omega-3s (vegan) and B12 as much as I can remember. I won't change anything else. And after the 6-8 weeks, I'll do a blood test to see what, if anything, happened to me.
I guess I'll log what I'm eating too. (This part sounds like more work and less fun. But I said I was a scientist...) As a fun thing, I should benchmark a 5 or 10K now, and do it after 6-8 weeks to compare... but my hip is bugging me. Maybe I'll use my 2.5 mile handicap time instead. Unfortunately for this comparison, I'm planning on ramping up my training, so any gains/losses there may be explained by factors other than diet.
Once I complete that, I'm considering taking on the next extreme step of Vegan + no processed stuff whatsoever. No flour. No sugar. No diet soda. No gum. Whole foods only. This seems hard to me - hardly like living! No chocolate! No bread! We'll see when I make it through March and what the blood test shows. If I have fun with this, maybe then I'll go Paleo for 6-8 weeks and see the difference there. But for now, Super-Veggie me!
I know this isn't really scientifically meaningful, a sample size of one. But come on! Should be fun!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Quad? Oh, yeah... right...
This year is already full. Chock full. So when I'd recovered from the Bandera 100K, I suddenly realized I had 4 weeks to train for the Mt. Taylor Quad. Hm, interesting choice. I didn't get signed up for the Sandia snowshoe race in time, which is my typical snowshoe prep. I skied from my front door once. I skied down the green runs on Sandia peak once, and did the service road once. I biked the tram to la Luz once. That's about 1/3 the typical race specific training I do for the quad. On the plus side, I made it out to Mt Taylor twice to do the ski, and once I got in the snowshoe also.
Even more important - I took a x-c ski lesson. yup, a lesson. It was the best thing I'd done for my cross country skiing ever. Two hours with Jessica Kiesel increased my confidence on the skis about 100x. Now when I got unbalanced, or fell, I knew what I had done wrong. I could correct it - it wasn't just some random chaotic occurrence that I couldn't prepare for or counteract. What a relief!
I love the Quad. The scale of the race is huge - hey, start in this town on your bike, and go up that mountain there, and run, ski, and snowshoe along the way. I love the volunteers - the father-son team that helped me at the run/ski transition, the group of 3 or 4 people that helped me at the downhill run bike transition - just fantastic, in great spirits, patient, encouraging, helpful. I love the feeling of dropping off the gear the night before, the feeling of weightlessness and fatefulness that follows. I love the mix of competitors. Most other races, the newbies can blend in. But the challenge of the quad - all the gear, all the transition areas, the route - there are so many questions to ask, that no new racer is so sanguine to hide in the shadows without asking any questions. Even after 4 years of doing the quad (and paying attention) I still find new things to try, new information, new ways to consider the course. I know too, that even if I have a bad day, it'll be a day to remember - which in lots of ways is equal to a good day.
Two weeks before the race, my tight IT band, hamstring, and glutes on my right side morphed into a pretty sore hip/gluteus medius. Rats. Guess I should have paid more attention to making my yoga sessions. I took a few days off, and saw my chiro, but it continued to bother me. But, I didn't want to skip the quad. Unthinkable. So. I thought I'd just do it, and not push too hard. I didn't make up any time estimates, or review last year's time, or think about fast transitions. (That is so very unusual for me!) I kinda hoped I'd beat my friend ES, but even that wasn't a driving factor. I didn't want to hurt myself further - that was the goal.
I didn't even wear my Garmin for the race. (But I did wear my timex watch, and start the stopwatch at the gun. I'm still me.)
I could tell on the bike up that my training had been minimal. I was kind of glad that I hadn't bothered to calibrate my speedometer - it said I was going 10 mph., but I knew it was slower. I traded spots with ES a few times in the early part, then didn't see him again. I passed another fellow on a FELT - I complimented him on his bike, and he returned the favor. We had the best weather I've ever seen, calm and sunny. At transition, ES came in as I was changing shoes and we yelled out encouragement to each other. He was gunning for a PR, and the way he had trained he deserved to get a big one.
1:12 read my watch on the way out of transition - oof, I think that's a lot slower than I've done previously. Oh well. I was able to run the whole dang run route this year - I think that's a first for me. I had felt my hip on the bike, but the pain dulled during the run. My screw shoes were an excellent addition to my race gear - not a single worry about slipping. Magical! I overheated a bit in my jacket and hoody, but it wasn't too bad. I ate 2 gummy bears and an orange slice, but ignored the gel packet in my pocket. Oh, and I'd forgotten to take any salt tabs on the bike. oops. I got to the run/ski transition in 2:08 - hey, that's a pretty good run time. Awesome. The volunteer had my bag waiting for me, and she left to go get my poles. I didn't see my skis - drat. So I waited for her to come back - which she does... with my poles. "Uh, could you get my skis? my boots are on them, and I can't change..." She points to my side - "they're right there"
oops. I apologized and thanked her like five times. I'm so blind, deaf, and dumb during a race. I remembered my snowshoe backpack, and headed out.
2:11 read my watch. Hey, not bad. And the ski up was just what I remembered. La-la-la.... I didn't take it easy exactly, but I didn't push it either. A woman passed me, I thought she was in my age group. I let her go. On the steeper sections I could feel my hip, and since I was making decent time, I didn't feel any need to push it. On my way up heartbreak, I passed a guy with kicker skins. Poor guy. he was slipping and sliding, his herringbone-ing was erratic. It was going to take him a long time to get up that steep slope. I gave him what encouragement I could. In transition I see Ed. I ask him to take care of my skins, but he demurs and a volunteer says he'll do it, and take care of my stuff. Cool! I get into my snowshoes with my shoehorn (awesome!) and leave. I check my watch, but can't make sense of what it says.
I decided I would run to the edge of the world without walking - which I don't think I've ever managed before. Maybe silly, but it seemed like a fun idea at the time. I didn't have too much problem with that and I was pretty happy with myself. Until the two people I had passed while running in my snowshoes passed me back as I started hiking up the last steep 100 yds to the peak. Oh well. I had also decided I wasn't going to stop on this hike up to "try to catch my breath". Which I also managed. Wahoo! At the top, I get a good look at my watch - 3:20. hey... I think that's a few minutes ahead of last year... but I don't remember exactly. nice! I decide to get a shot of something at the edge of the world to celebrate. I cruise down the downhill shoe - once of my favorite parts of this race. And it's hard to not think about my time now... wonder if I can do better than last year? At the edge of the world, they offer me water - "how 'bout something a little stronger?" the group of guys laugh and give me a shot of Hot Damn. Woot!
I run into the shoe/ski transition, and ask a volunteer about my skis...
"what number?"
"my number is 16"
"here it is" pointing to some skis that are not mine at the base of a pole marked 16.
"no those aren't mine."
"well, what do yours look like"
flustered, "um, they're white grey and red I think"
we're wandering around the transition area now, hunting among all the skis.
"what number did they tell you before you left?"
"what? I don't know... a number... " I'm more flustered now.
After wandering helplessly for endless minutes, other racers coming and going, I spot my skis laying on the ground (near number 7 post). Relieved, but still frustrated, I start shoving on my gear. My socks get bunched in my boot. I can't figure out how to click my new ski pole hand loops back into the poles. I am entering the Bermuda triangle of bad race transition attitudes. My jacket zipper gets stuck. I still can't clip into my poles, and decide to head down without being attached to the poles. Have you ever tried that? Just hanging on to the poles without straps? It's hard not to drop your poles. Really hard.
ok, reset.
Stop. fix the sock in your boot.
Check. (a little snarky)
Take a deep breath, and figure out your pole straps. Oh, see, there's a hole for the clip on the opposite side from were you were looking.
Check.(a little sheepish)
ok, head out.
Although normally the approach to the downhill ski part winds me tighter than a gen chem lab monitor the day we do the thermite reaction, I had actually been looking forward to this part today. Because I had taken a lesson! I was all smart and stuff. I centered myself on my skis, bent at the knee, and glided off. I looked at my watch, since I wanted to see how long it took me to ski down without the Bermuda triangle transition. 3:40.
And the ski went great. I was smiling the whole way. I wasn't tense; I negotiated the three 180 deg turns without a single wobble. I stayed low, but upright. What a difference! gone were the gritted teeth and the forced upbeat self talk -"you can do this, it's not that bad, don't freak out, speed is your friend...". Instead, I was just having fun. Some volunteers were watching at one of the u-turns, and they shouted out as I zoomed around the corner, "Just a walk in the park for you!"
And it was.
4:02 (ish) read my watch at transition. Hey. Hey, that's pretty good - I skied down in ~22 minutes, if you don't include the Bermuda transition. And... (adding slowly in my head) yeah, if I take 1h30 for the run and the bike, which I think is do-able, I'll be around 5:30 for my time. That'd be 15 minutes better than last year. Cool! The run/ski transition was facilitated by a father-son team. The son held open my bag and offered to take things for me. I love the volunteers here. And, I was off. Woot!
I enjoyed the run down - I worked a little on the steep downhill parts, and relaxed on the few uphills, not wanting to aggravate my hip. Which was burning a bit. While I was happy to see the parking lot come into view, I was more relieved to find my bike still in one piece and ready to take me down the mountain. My watch read 4:45 as I slipped my helmet on, got my shoes on, all amidst 4 volunteers holding this or that, bringing me water, taking away my run gear. Thanks guys!!
I thanked the volunteers and police officers for being out there, and then set myself to speed off downhill. I ignored my brakes, and stayed in my aerobars - I didn't feel any wind gusts. (Though others said they did on this section. I guess I was lucky.) The downhill bike is so much fun. I know the road well enough that I don't feel the need to brake, I know what turns to accelerate through, when to sit up for a sharper turn. Plus, I was in a very good mood now - last leg, faster than I thought I'd be, and there was NO WIND TO SPEAK OF! Even though I hadn't practiced my aero position, I stayed in it beyond where my shoulders started to ache. One guy passed me on the bike - part of a team, and I kept him in sight for most of the ride. I couldn't catch him, though. That's ok, I thought, my hip is aching now, so I just need to keep it steady and finish so I can dismount. The rough road through town vibrated my bike so hard my teeth ached, until finally I was up the short hill, and round the corner, down the hill and across the line. In my haste, I forgot to look at the clock. I wandered over to the water table, chatted with the volunteers. My watch read 5:22:XX - That's unbelievable. But I double checked with the race clock and that seemed about right. I hadn't taken any short cuts - I could remember every twist and turn... Pretty funny when you consider accusing yourself of cheating because your time is much faster than you expected. Final Clock time - 5:21:10. More than 24 minutes faster than last year. Encroyable!
Post race, I have a few thoughts:
So, goal for next year - let's go crazy. I want the sub-five t-shirt. I have no idea what it looks like, if it's technical or cotton, if it's female specific fit... but I want it. So. 4:59:59. :)
And now, to rehab my hip and train for the Ice Age 50 miler in May!
Even more important - I took a x-c ski lesson. yup, a lesson. It was the best thing I'd done for my cross country skiing ever. Two hours with Jessica Kiesel increased my confidence on the skis about 100x. Now when I got unbalanced, or fell, I knew what I had done wrong. I could correct it - it wasn't just some random chaotic occurrence that I couldn't prepare for or counteract. What a relief!
I love the Quad. The scale of the race is huge - hey, start in this town on your bike, and go up that mountain there, and run, ski, and snowshoe along the way. I love the volunteers - the father-son team that helped me at the run/ski transition, the group of 3 or 4 people that helped me at the downhill run bike transition - just fantastic, in great spirits, patient, encouraging, helpful. I love the feeling of dropping off the gear the night before, the feeling of weightlessness and fatefulness that follows. I love the mix of competitors. Most other races, the newbies can blend in. But the challenge of the quad - all the gear, all the transition areas, the route - there are so many questions to ask, that no new racer is so sanguine to hide in the shadows without asking any questions. Even after 4 years of doing the quad (and paying attention) I still find new things to try, new information, new ways to consider the course. I know too, that even if I have a bad day, it'll be a day to remember - which in lots of ways is equal to a good day.
Two weeks before the race, my tight IT band, hamstring, and glutes on my right side morphed into a pretty sore hip/gluteus medius. Rats. Guess I should have paid more attention to making my yoga sessions. I took a few days off, and saw my chiro, but it continued to bother me. But, I didn't want to skip the quad. Unthinkable. So. I thought I'd just do it, and not push too hard. I didn't make up any time estimates, or review last year's time, or think about fast transitions. (That is so very unusual for me!) I kinda hoped I'd beat my friend ES, but even that wasn't a driving factor. I didn't want to hurt myself further - that was the goal.
I didn't even wear my Garmin for the race. (But I did wear my timex watch, and start the stopwatch at the gun. I'm still me.)
I could tell on the bike up that my training had been minimal. I was kind of glad that I hadn't bothered to calibrate my speedometer - it said I was going 10 mph., but I knew it was slower. I traded spots with ES a few times in the early part, then didn't see him again. I passed another fellow on a FELT - I complimented him on his bike, and he returned the favor. We had the best weather I've ever seen, calm and sunny. At transition, ES came in as I was changing shoes and we yelled out encouragement to each other. He was gunning for a PR, and the way he had trained he deserved to get a big one.
1:12 read my watch on the way out of transition - oof, I think that's a lot slower than I've done previously. Oh well. I was able to run the whole dang run route this year - I think that's a first for me. I had felt my hip on the bike, but the pain dulled during the run. My screw shoes were an excellent addition to my race gear - not a single worry about slipping. Magical! I overheated a bit in my jacket and hoody, but it wasn't too bad. I ate 2 gummy bears and an orange slice, but ignored the gel packet in my pocket. Oh, and I'd forgotten to take any salt tabs on the bike. oops. I got to the run/ski transition in 2:08 - hey, that's a pretty good run time. Awesome. The volunteer had my bag waiting for me, and she left to go get my poles. I didn't see my skis - drat. So I waited for her to come back - which she does... with my poles. "Uh, could you get my skis? my boots are on them, and I can't change..." She points to my side - "they're right there"
oops. I apologized and thanked her like five times. I'm so blind, deaf, and dumb during a race. I remembered my snowshoe backpack, and headed out.
2:11 read my watch. Hey, not bad. And the ski up was just what I remembered. La-la-la.... I didn't take it easy exactly, but I didn't push it either. A woman passed me, I thought she was in my age group. I let her go. On the steeper sections I could feel my hip, and since I was making decent time, I didn't feel any need to push it. On my way up heartbreak, I passed a guy with kicker skins. Poor guy. he was slipping and sliding, his herringbone-ing was erratic. It was going to take him a long time to get up that steep slope. I gave him what encouragement I could. In transition I see Ed. I ask him to take care of my skins, but he demurs and a volunteer says he'll do it, and take care of my stuff. Cool! I get into my snowshoes with my shoehorn (awesome!) and leave. I check my watch, but can't make sense of what it says.
I decided I would run to the edge of the world without walking - which I don't think I've ever managed before. Maybe silly, but it seemed like a fun idea at the time. I didn't have too much problem with that and I was pretty happy with myself. Until the two people I had passed while running in my snowshoes passed me back as I started hiking up the last steep 100 yds to the peak. Oh well. I had also decided I wasn't going to stop on this hike up to "try to catch my breath". Which I also managed. Wahoo! At the top, I get a good look at my watch - 3:20. hey... I think that's a few minutes ahead of last year... but I don't remember exactly. nice! I decide to get a shot of something at the edge of the world to celebrate. I cruise down the downhill shoe - once of my favorite parts of this race. And it's hard to not think about my time now... wonder if I can do better than last year? At the edge of the world, they offer me water - "how 'bout something a little stronger?" the group of guys laugh and give me a shot of Hot Damn. Woot!
I run into the shoe/ski transition, and ask a volunteer about my skis...
"what number?"
"my number is 16"
"here it is" pointing to some skis that are not mine at the base of a pole marked 16.
"no those aren't mine."
"well, what do yours look like"
flustered, "um, they're white grey and red I think"
we're wandering around the transition area now, hunting among all the skis.
"what number did they tell you before you left?"
"what? I don't know... a number... " I'm more flustered now.
After wandering helplessly for endless minutes, other racers coming and going, I spot my skis laying on the ground (near number 7 post). Relieved, but still frustrated, I start shoving on my gear. My socks get bunched in my boot. I can't figure out how to click my new ski pole hand loops back into the poles. I am entering the Bermuda triangle of bad race transition attitudes. My jacket zipper gets stuck. I still can't clip into my poles, and decide to head down without being attached to the poles. Have you ever tried that? Just hanging on to the poles without straps? It's hard not to drop your poles. Really hard.
ok, reset.
Stop. fix the sock in your boot.
Check. (a little snarky)
Take a deep breath, and figure out your pole straps. Oh, see, there's a hole for the clip on the opposite side from were you were looking.
Check. (relieved)
Unstick your zipper, or you'll get cold. yes, people are passing you. It's ok.
Check.
All ready now? cheerful again?Check.(a little sheepish)
ok, head out.
Although normally the approach to the downhill ski part winds me tighter than a gen chem lab monitor the day we do the thermite reaction, I had actually been looking forward to this part today. Because I had taken a lesson! I was all smart and stuff. I centered myself on my skis, bent at the knee, and glided off. I looked at my watch, since I wanted to see how long it took me to ski down without the Bermuda triangle transition. 3:40.
And the ski went great. I was smiling the whole way. I wasn't tense; I negotiated the three 180 deg turns without a single wobble. I stayed low, but upright. What a difference! gone were the gritted teeth and the forced upbeat self talk -"you can do this, it's not that bad, don't freak out, speed is your friend...". Instead, I was just having fun. Some volunteers were watching at one of the u-turns, and they shouted out as I zoomed around the corner, "Just a walk in the park for you!"
And it was.
4:02 (ish) read my watch at transition. Hey. Hey, that's pretty good - I skied down in ~22 minutes, if you don't include the Bermuda transition. And... (adding slowly in my head) yeah, if I take 1h30 for the run and the bike, which I think is do-able, I'll be around 5:30 for my time. That'd be 15 minutes better than last year. Cool! The run/ski transition was facilitated by a father-son team. The son held open my bag and offered to take things for me. I love the volunteers here. And, I was off. Woot!
I enjoyed the run down - I worked a little on the steep downhill parts, and relaxed on the few uphills, not wanting to aggravate my hip. Which was burning a bit. While I was happy to see the parking lot come into view, I was more relieved to find my bike still in one piece and ready to take me down the mountain. My watch read 4:45 as I slipped my helmet on, got my shoes on, all amidst 4 volunteers holding this or that, bringing me water, taking away my run gear. Thanks guys!!
I thanked the volunteers and police officers for being out there, and then set myself to speed off downhill. I ignored my brakes, and stayed in my aerobars - I didn't feel any wind gusts. (Though others said they did on this section. I guess I was lucky.) The downhill bike is so much fun. I know the road well enough that I don't feel the need to brake, I know what turns to accelerate through, when to sit up for a sharper turn. Plus, I was in a very good mood now - last leg, faster than I thought I'd be, and there was NO WIND TO SPEAK OF! Even though I hadn't practiced my aero position, I stayed in it beyond where my shoulders started to ache. One guy passed me on the bike - part of a team, and I kept him in sight for most of the ride. I couldn't catch him, though. That's ok, I thought, my hip is aching now, so I just need to keep it steady and finish so I can dismount. The rough road through town vibrated my bike so hard my teeth ached, until finally I was up the short hill, and round the corner, down the hill and across the line. In my haste, I forgot to look at the clock. I wandered over to the water table, chatted with the volunteers. My watch read 5:22:XX - That's unbelievable. But I double checked with the race clock and that seemed about right. I hadn't taken any short cuts - I could remember every twist and turn... Pretty funny when you consider accusing yourself of cheating because your time is much faster than you expected. Final Clock time - 5:21:10. More than 24 minutes faster than last year. Encroyable!
Post race, I have a few thoughts:
- Geez, that's way faster than I ever thought I'd go. And I didn't feel like I was pushing too hard. Cool.
- The ski down + transition took me 32 minutes. That's ridiculous. I can do better than that!
- Say... wait, I wonder how much better I can do?
- Being vegan for one week before the quad (for the first time ever) had no effect on my energy levels.
- Not having Coke for 2+ months before the Quad ... or during the Quad .... or after the Quad... had no effect on me either. Sorry Coke. You can toss my application for sponsorship.
- I ate almost nothing the entire race (4 gummy bears and an orange slice. And the Hot damn). Not sure I noticed that either. I did drink water though.
So, goal for next year - let's go crazy. I want the sub-five t-shirt. I have no idea what it looks like, if it's technical or cotton, if it's female specific fit... but I want it. So. 4:59:59. :)
And now, to rehab my hip and train for the Ice Age 50 miler in May!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
GC double cross. Or rim2rim2rim, if you prefer
I wasn't sure I wanted to write this out. It was a special experience for me in so many ways. Writing it down could reduce it to some kind of normal stature for a running trip. Just describing the canyon from standing still at the lip, holding my breath, peering down and across... words are inadequate. It's almost better to just go ahead and call it a ditch, so that by sarcasm the reader might be able understand the actual beauty and grandeur of the thing before you, the thing you can't bear to waste time trying to describe.
But writing is remembering, and a doorway to re-experiencing the things that have touched me. So, whether or not the effort is in any way complete or adequate, I think the prompt it may offer to bring the emotions, sights, sounds, and sensations back to me is the reason I want to write it down. This is bound to be long. Just warning you. I just want to set down the whole thing. This might take awhile.
I'd seen the Grand Canyon once before, with my parents and Co in 2005 I think. We hiked partway (1 mile?) down the Bright Angel Trail. I couldn't at the time really imagine trying to run down to the bottom and back up. It was hot. It was rocky. It was steep and there was mule poop to avoid. And - it was a LONG WAY to the bottom. I saw the signs that warn against such a trip, the dangers of dehydration and fatigue, and believed them. To the heart of myself, I thought you'd have to be an excellent hiker to do something like that. Mom joked that I'd rather be running the whole thing, and I exclaimed that, no, hiking was just fine by me. I threw it out to a few friends after returning that maybe we could hike down one day, and hike up the next. It is such an extraordinary place I couldn't help but want to experience it again, and in a different way. A few were interested, but most would have rather taken the mules, especially for the way up, so the proposal fizzled and was mostly forgotten.
So a year or two ago, Bones proposed a down and up trip - in a day. Wow, I was actually able to consider this. I'd done the Leadville 100, so it seemed possible. But preparations stalled, and it got put on hold. But it never left my mind. We talked about a rim2rim2rim trip too... Some others blogged about it, and a video was taken. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had to do this run. The drive to take on the challenge kept surfacing each time I'd think about new things I'd like to do. It was on that list I have in my head of, "Who in the world DOES things like this?!?" the sense of incredibility and possibility at the same time made my pulse quicken and my smile broaden no matter where I was or what I was doing.
An off-hand email comment to Ken, and not only was he as excited as I was, but we found a date that works and made a reservation. Really? Is it that easy? I guess it is. Why wait? And the anticipation built over the intervening weeks. A self supported Rim2Rim2Rim run of the Grand Canyon. Holy cow.
We got there the night before we wanted to start in time to see the canyon... excuse me, the Canyon, in daylight. Scouting the South Kaibab trailhead, the Canyon drew me to the very edge like a fluttering uncertain moth to a flame. I felt like a kid in a candy store, peering at all the treats behind the glass counter. I wanted to press my face against the glass, so to speak, to get as close as I could to the thing I'd come here to see, to do. My heart palpitated as I looked north... and down.. and then north again. To see the whole distance laid out on that canvas directly in front of you without barriers or safety nets, it's intimidating. For once, I had no choice but to think about, to visualize the whole distance at once. It's 42 miles. I'd done that distance before. It's 10,400 in total elevation gain (and an equal amount of loss, of course) and I'd done races with that much gain before also. But I never think about or try to picture the whole distance at once. To SEE 4600 elevation loss. To SEE 21 miles over to the North Rim, hazy but visible. To know I was going to go THERE and BACK AGAIN. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was unbelievable that I was going to do this. That I thought I could do this. My heart didn't stop racing until I was well away (distance and time) from the edge and that view.
At the cafeteria for dinner, we spy three slightly tired looking fit people in running shoes. Turns out they had started from the north rim that morning, intending on doing R2R2R, but because they started a little late, spent a little time at the bottom at Phantom Ranch, and spent some time on the South Rim getting food, they decided not to try the return trip until the next day. I was a little amazed at their laissez faire attitude, and their willingness to waste time at each of those spots on the way out, but at least there was a room available for the night and they booked it. They assured us that we wouldn't need yak trax on the north rim (it was Nov. 11th, and they'd already gotten snow). Our own earlier scouting of the south rim assured us that the 100yds or so of trail with snow wouldn't be an issue, though it was a little slick. And they also confirmed water at cottonwood campground as well as Phantom Ranch. It was fun talking with them, and sharing the excitement of the trip. Armed with new knowledge, we set our alarms for 3:00 and hit the hay.
I resisted using my headlamp as we walked the quarter mile from the car to the trail head. Somehow, the light assaulted the quiet. The clouds kept the temperature warmer than the 35 we expected, but obscured the stars, and seemed to cloak and muffle the morning. At just about 4 on the dot, Ken and I exchanged excited glances, and I followed him down the path in the darkness. Our lights made holes in the blackness. From the day before I knew I was running through vista after vista; but now all that I could see was the red dirt path sloping steeply away from me cut across by log steps. Switchbacks appeared quickly out of nowhere, slowing us and redirecting our myopic course. I tried to picture where we might be on the landscape I'd seen the day before, but it was impossible. This was almost like I imagine caving to be. I had no sense of direction, only the sensation of running down endlessly. It felt like I was in a bubble - a few times I reached out to touch the cliff wall along side me just to reconnect to something solid. Running in the dark is a different kind of joy. It's solitude. It's close. It's the time to think of escape, full of the freedom to be or do anything. I could tell Ken was being very conservative; I kind of wanted to let loose a bit and fly. The thought of the view the day before and the intimidation I'd felt convinced me to trust his instincts and relax. Down, run-run-step, run-step, run, run, step. No rhythm. I felt like we'd been descending for hours. The descent is only ~6 miles on the S. Kaibab trail... surely we must be nearing the bottom. A grain of frustration - if the descent takes so much longer than I thought it should, what chance is there that I'll be able to "make up time" on the uphill where I'm weaker? I tried to glance at my Garmin, but can't catch a good look in the headlamp light bobbing as I run. Surely the dawn was coming? I looked for the horizon in search of a lightening bit of sky, but nothing. Finally a look at the Garmin showed the fact of our slow pace, and also reminded me to enjoy the ride, and not fixate on the small potatoes. Ken ran metronomically in front of me and I had fun matching his foot placement and watching him navigate. It was easy to imagine we were the only people awake. That thought brought the immediate burst of joy and giddiness - I was running the Grand Canyon with Ken. There was no place I'd rather be.
A tunnel carried us to the bridge, which could have been erected over an abyss of indeterminable depth in the darkness that still surrounded us. Could I finally see a little dawn? no. No, not yet. We ran along the flat trail bordering the river. When Phantom Ranch crawled out of the gloom, I realized I had no idea where, actually, the water was. I didn't know that the first building we came to, marked "Women" was a dorm not a bathroom. I was bewildered to find that door locked. What was I expecting, helpful volunteers to point the way? to pour me water? Big lighted neon signs? I laughed at myself. All was quiet, even in the middle of phantom ranch, as we filled our water and ate a little. Ken thought wistfully about a coffee, but the kitchen still looked to be closed.We found our trail to the north rim among the many paths to buildings and jogged off.
The next seven miles were along a river, barely uphill with some rollers. It was rocky now, as opposed to the (mostly red) dirt of the trail down. I really wanted dawn now. That strong want felt odd. I didn't feel that way at Leadville - what gives? I think I wanted to see what I was running through. I felt like I was missing it. I was tired of missing it. And, then I missed my footing. I went down like a hinge, hard and sudden without even time to windmill. I landed on my chin. Hard. On the bright side, I didn't skid. There was practically no broken skin, just a patch under my chin. I hadn't banged up my knees or jerked a hamstring. In fact, I felt fine. Ken, a little alarmed, insisted I sit for a bit. I didn't want to hold us up, or be a bother. Ken pointed out that striking my chin hard like that could cause a concussion. I protested, but sat for a few minutes anyway. Boy did I feel dumb - there really wasn't anything to trip over. I got up ready to go, and as I started to follow Ken again, I felt a little dizzy. (hm, guess I did hit my head a little hard.) It passed. The sound of the river kept us company, and 20 minutes down the trail, I could start to make out the cliff face on the other side, trees up ahead, and the sky. I tried turning off my light a few times too soon, but eventually the early light was good enough and I could put away the headlamp. Time to take stock - what was it like down here? Trees lined the river. Immense cliffs and boulders narrowed the sky to a strip right above our heads, still covered in clouds. Around every corner, the rocks formed shapes and angles that caught my eye. I looked up to my right, and wondered when we'd start to climb for real. A few times I thought we'd started, only to crest a small ridge and head down the other side. We came to cottonwood camp ground, but didn't need to stop for water - we did confirm it was on, though. The river sound pleasantly kept us company. Occasionally, we'd stop and point out something unusual. We took turns leading, and the miles quickly passed under our feet. Near Roaring springs, we passed the first person we'd seen on the trail. It was amazing to think we'd had this well known, popular, highly traveled national park trail to ourselves for so long. Roaring Springs itself was full of kids, it seemed like - maybe they'd camped the night before? We hiked straight on through, stopping to chat with those that asked where we'd been. I loved the astonished looks we got when we explained we were going from the south rim, up to the north rim, and back to the south rim all in one day. Almost without fail, the other hikers we saw wanted to chat, to share what they were up to and to find out what we were doing. I haven't experienced that sense of hiking community before. And normally I don't like to chat. I like to say hello and smile, and keep moving. But here, the discussion of routes, the sharing of the day made everything seem more real. I had witnesses now. People who had seen me out there in pursuit of this exciting and hard day. Each one was a valuable part of the experience and added to the joy.
We were well and truly on our way up now. The river dropped below us. The effort and rhythm of climbing seemed to have its own momentum and carried me along in Ken's wake. It was easy to slip inside of myself and relax. Almost like a rocking chair. My legs were working; something I could notice and appreciate like a birdsong or a warm breeze. Ken pulled me out of that trance to point out a beautiful high waterfall across the canyon. Once I'd stop to look once, I raised my head over and over again. Looking ahead, looking back. I couldn't tell exactly where we had come from that morning and kept looking for the vantage point that would show the south rim. The north rim was much different than I had expected - more like the east mountains near Albuquerque New Mexico with ponderosa pines, craggy red rock. It was larger than life, even close up. Looking up, I couldn't tell where exactly we were headed or how far it was to get there.
We came to another bridge, unexpectedly, and this was spanning a deep chasm between canyon walls. We passed a spire connected to our path by a small saddle. The pull to see if I could climb out to the edge was only overcome because Ken was a turn ahead of me at that point. Maybe on the way down, I thought.
There was a tunnel on this rim also, and from the far side of it, I could now see what I thought might be the top edge of the rim. The gray rock face was striped - stained with black, red, and pink ribbons of color carried by runoff. Every so often, the trail would level out as it curved and carved its way along a rock face. The north rim seemed wetter. Yeah, wetter, muddy even. And then there was snow. And ice. Climbing now was more of an effort, I could feel my calves working, and I was breathing harder as we gained altitude. Every once and a while, I'd slip in the snow or ice, wasting a step. Ken climbed faster, and got further ahead. He'd stop to take a picture so I could catch up. I kept trying to step out of the way of the view, but somehow always ended up in the shot.
Soon we were entirely on snow and ice, stepping carefully and deliberately. I wrinkled my forehead wondering how that pack of three runners figured we wouldn't need yak trax coming down. Seemed treacherous to me. The snow cooled air was nice to climb through. I couldn't help but consult my watch as the top neared. We had gone through phantom ranch at a really slow time of ~1:40. Both Ken and I had tried to estimate our total time. I thought 11 hours was do-able. The Fastest Known Time for women had just been set around 9 hours, I thought adding a couple of hours was about right. Ken threw out 14 hours, which worried me. But, he rationalized, if something went wrong, we needed to plan in extra time so we'd finish before dark and have plenty of food and light. Starting at 4 AM, +14 hours, means finishing at 6 which is dusk. Still, Ken thought that 12 hours was a better estimate since we weren't racing. Which automatically made me want to do better than 12 hours whether or not I was enjoying the journey. Which I absolutely was. But Still.
As we reached the top? 5:40. So 11 hours was not likely - we had a planned lemonade stop at Phantom Ranch for the way back + accumulated fatigue. But under 12 was definitely in the picture. Tee Hee!
The hiker who reached the top just behind us turned out to be from Milwaukee. Small world! He'd been back country camping for 3 days, and was happy to take our picture:
So, we grinned at each other like two kids, and turned about to retrace our steps. Wow, half way. And now, we get to see it all in reverse - and really see it, too. Not in the darkness, Well, unless something went tragically wrong.
My worry about the footing on the way down wasn't realized. I slipped a few times, but no more on the way up. There were grippy parts on the snow pack, and it wasn't an issue to run carefully on them. So we descended. And once we reached the rocky packed dirt, we went faster. It felt great to run after spending so long hiking. We got to the tunnel in a flash - I couldn't believe what had taken seemingly so long to climb could be reversed so quickly. I skipped for a few steps with happiness for being in a wonderful place, for being able to run through it, for the great company, for the mountains, trees and rocks, for the gratitude of having such a trail by which to experience it all. I told Ken about the spire and the saddle I wanted to explore. I neglected to mention that I kinda wanted to scale or climb around the spire. I thought I'd just hold that in my back pocket for now. The bridge also came more quickly than I expected. The memory of Matt Hart's ultrarunning video and the runner crossing the bridge came to mind, and then I had Coldplay's Viva la Vida in my head. Don't watch that video, it'll only infect you with the desire to run all the races I want to run.
At the spire, I crossed the saddle to it, but there doesn't seem to be a great way to climb up or around it. I figured I'd save that adventure for another time. I was looking forward to running along the flattish section near the river to Phantom Ranch, and pretty eager to see the rest of the canyon. I felt buoyed by the completion of the first half, so confident and happy about the trek so far. I slowed and let Ken get a little ahead of me so I could look around a little more. On a step pretty much like all the other steps I'd taken, I felt a sharp stabbing in my right calf. Ack. I'd never felt that before, but I stopped and stretched. Ken was out of sight already. Ow, that really hurt. I stretched and massaged, but the feeling only came back whenever I stepped. Worse when I ran. Ow.
Ooops.
Ow.
Well, I thought, it was probably a calf strain or something. I can walk. Running is pretty painful; but maybe it will be better on the flat or uphill parts to come. I'm more than 1/2 down to the bottom, and 17 miles from the end. Better catch up to Ken, who hopefully is waiting somewhere (probably with the camera out). At least the view couldn't be beat! As I spotted Ken, I really hoped that whatever this was would pass and we'd be able to keep going more normally. I didn't want to crawl out of the Canyon after dark. Phooey. I told Ken the sorry news, and we walked for awhile. I enjoyed the hike as much as I could - still great company, still great views. Eventually, though, I couldn't stand it. I wanted to run the darn thing. I wanted Ken to get to run. I thought about taking an ibuprofen, and decided to wait until I got to phantom ranch. But I didn't wait to start running. It wasn't fast, by any means, but it scratched the itch. The pain dulled a bit; the calf clenched painfully every time I stepped over something - which was frequent with the logs and rocks set into the path for water diversion. Running along the river wasn't quite as free and fun as I'd expected, but it was a joy to see the things we'd passed by in darkness. My brother Fred had told me to look for certain geologic formations - the Vishnu schist cutting through the Zoroaster granite. I thought the chances I'd be able to see this were slim to none, so I was tickled to see clear examples of this. I had Ken take several pictures to send to Fred. Which I haven't actually done yet, shame on me (but here's a picture to prove I did it!). Some formations fascinated me - one looked like fins of black rock standing on edge in the grass.
Getting the chance to admire and witness huge formations, intricate formations, visible weathering - it was not too hard to put the calf pain in a box and close the lid.
That's not to say the lid stayed on, but it was ok.
At phantom ranch, we met the three runners that had spent the night on the south rim - they were taking a leisurely day getting back to the north rim and were happy to see us. (one of them is missing in this picture - probably getting his lemonade!)
I popped some ibuprofen with my lemonade, which was quite tasty! I could tell Ken was getting antsy at the ranch. Sitting down in the middle of a run and taking a load off is anathema to him, so we headed out pretty quickly. That was fine by me; in case my calf got worse on the uphill, I wanted plenty of time to hike to the top without worrying about the onset of the darkness and the cold. It was certainly stiff after the 10 or so minutes at the ranch, no need to give it more time to freeze up completely!
We jogged to the bridge spanning the colorado river. On the way, we passed a woman standing off to the side facing the river. Just standing there, not moving. And then I realized she was watching something. I looked quickly to where she is looking, and perhaps 10 yards away was a deer grazing on some leaves. Totally unconcerned that three people were mesmerized by its eating habits, it went on munching until Ken and I couldn't see it any longer.
Over and over again on the way to the top, I had the same reoccurring thought: "Wow, this is what I was passing this morning in the dark? I was here less than eight hours ago?" I really enjoyed crossing the bridge and getting a good look up and down the river. The river that you can't really see from the top. And at the bottom, there isn't the feeling of amazing expanses of space that you have at the rim. For me it felt conversely hidden, secluded, very immediate. Red and black canyon walls isolate you on the path. There is only forward and backward to consider.
As we started heading up, I insisted that Ken go ahead of me - he'd been following me since my calf starting hurting. I wasn't moving quickly, and I didn't want to feel and pressure to try and go faster. I was so pleased that I had been able to run along the river, that my calf wasn't getting worse. I actually enjoy following - to me I feel less responsibility, and less watched. I could stop as I liked to look at the view that we ran through before. I liked watching Ken hike easily ahead of me - covering the ground and avoiding obstacles and seeming relaxed, too. I aspire to that.
I was still shuffling my feet so that the best leg would go over the obstacle - I probably resembled an elementary school kid trying to figure out the hurdles. Up we went, pausing every so often and never running out of exclamations on the scenery. Some of the flatter sections we actually ran - I was surprised, but though my calf clenched, it held up.
I love scrambling onto ledges and into nooks and crannies, and this hike was no exception - when the trail ran along side a carved out cave/niche with a hole in the roof, I had to climb up into it and have a look. I was having a blast. I couldn't believe we were on the final few miles of this adventure. It was incredible, and I wanted to soak it all in. The sun finally peaked out on us in the last 3 miles, lighting up the red rocks, highlighting the crevices, weathering, and angles of the rocks and rock faces that surrounded us at every turn. Looking back, we could see the trail we had descended and now climbed threading its way down into the canyon, disappearing and reappearing around the bends in the trail. No forest here on the south rim, and the contrast from the wetter ponderosa and pinion studded couldn't be ignored. Somehow that environmental difference made the scale of our day seem even larger.
Unlike along the river, I was having to work quite a bit on this climb, even with baby-ing my calf. We passed several groups. One pair, a father and daughter I think, we had seen on the way up the north rim. They were hiking Rim2Rim that day. The father was quite over-weight (which says nothing about how much hiking experience he had) and you could tell he was working very hard on the climb. He congratulated us on making such good time on the way back and we talked about how lucky we'd gotten with the weather. It was neat to see how proud the daughter was that her father was climbing the Grand Canyon. A little farther on, we ran into a group that had come partway down S. Kaibab and now was on their way back up. Just as I was passing them, a young teenage girl fell across my path, clutching her calf and yelling in pain. The kids around her didn't seem to know what to do. I remember getting calf cramps in HS track and not knowing what the heck was going on. So I told her she had to stretch the calf out to get it to release. I showed her how to use a nearby boulder to stretch, and stayed with her until it released. She was a little bewildered at this strange woman helping her, in running gear, sweaty and everything, but she was relieved once the pain went away. I told her it'd probably happen again before the top, and just to stretch it out when it did. This made me look up, to try to figure how long we had to go to the top. How much farther? I could tell the afternoon was wearing on; my watch read after 3.
I couldn't see where the trail met the top, so I kept moving. We came to the icy parts. They hadn't bothered us much on the way down. Now, with tired muscles and poor reaction times, I was bent double trying to stay upright and keep moving forward. Ken even got a picture. So close to the top, I was still admiring the view, but my focus was on the finish. I still wanted to beat 12. I passed more people. Ken was well ahead of me at this point; the steeper pitch (it seemed like) + the ice + my calf + my fatigue meant my pace was quite slow. I knew I was on the final switchbacks, and so kept moving forward. At last, I craned my head to look up, and there was Ken, at the end of the trail. What an amazing feeling, to complete something so incredible. A group was at the top, admiring the view. They asked what we'd done, and we explained. They were astonished - then again, so was I. It's hard to believe I did that. I was elated, and grateful, and tired. It had taken us 11:46 to finish. Not 11 hours, but less than 12. It was an excellent compromise.The post run meal + wine never tasted so good.
But writing is remembering, and a doorway to re-experiencing the things that have touched me. So, whether or not the effort is in any way complete or adequate, I think the prompt it may offer to bring the emotions, sights, sounds, and sensations back to me is the reason I want to write it down. This is bound to be long. Just warning you. I just want to set down the whole thing. This might take awhile.
So a year or two ago, Bones proposed a down and up trip - in a day. Wow, I was actually able to consider this. I'd done the Leadville 100, so it seemed possible. But preparations stalled, and it got put on hold. But it never left my mind. We talked about a rim2rim2rim trip too... Some others blogged about it, and a video was taken. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had to do this run. The drive to take on the challenge kept surfacing each time I'd think about new things I'd like to do. It was on that list I have in my head of, "Who in the world DOES things like this?!?" the sense of incredibility and possibility at the same time made my pulse quicken and my smile broaden no matter where I was or what I was doing.
An off-hand email comment to Ken, and not only was he as excited as I was, but we found a date that works and made a reservation. Really? Is it that easy? I guess it is. Why wait? And the anticipation built over the intervening weeks. A self supported Rim2Rim2Rim run of the Grand Canyon. Holy cow.
We got there the night before we wanted to start in time to see the canyon... excuse me, the Canyon, in daylight. Scouting the South Kaibab trailhead, the Canyon drew me to the very edge like a fluttering uncertain moth to a flame. I felt like a kid in a candy store, peering at all the treats behind the glass counter. I wanted to press my face against the glass, so to speak, to get as close as I could to the thing I'd come here to see, to do. My heart palpitated as I looked north... and down.. and then north again. To see the whole distance laid out on that canvas directly in front of you without barriers or safety nets, it's intimidating. For once, I had no choice but to think about, to visualize the whole distance at once. It's 42 miles. I'd done that distance before. It's 10,400 in total elevation gain (and an equal amount of loss, of course) and I'd done races with that much gain before also. But I never think about or try to picture the whole distance at once. To SEE 4600 elevation loss. To SEE 21 miles over to the North Rim, hazy but visible. To know I was going to go THERE and BACK AGAIN. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was unbelievable that I was going to do this. That I thought I could do this. My heart didn't stop racing until I was well away (distance and time) from the edge and that view.
At the cafeteria for dinner, we spy three slightly tired looking fit people in running shoes. Turns out they had started from the north rim that morning, intending on doing R2R2R, but because they started a little late, spent a little time at the bottom at Phantom Ranch, and spent some time on the South Rim getting food, they decided not to try the return trip until the next day. I was a little amazed at their laissez faire attitude, and their willingness to waste time at each of those spots on the way out, but at least there was a room available for the night and they booked it. They assured us that we wouldn't need yak trax on the north rim (it was Nov. 11th, and they'd already gotten snow). Our own earlier scouting of the south rim assured us that the 100yds or so of trail with snow wouldn't be an issue, though it was a little slick. And they also confirmed water at cottonwood campground as well as Phantom Ranch. It was fun talking with them, and sharing the excitement of the trip. Armed with new knowledge, we set our alarms for 3:00 and hit the hay.
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| I wrestled the camera away from Ken to get these pictures. |
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| It's a long way down... and across... |
As we reached the top? 5:40. So 11 hours was not likely - we had a planned lemonade stop at Phantom Ranch for the way back + accumulated fatigue. But under 12 was definitely in the picture. Tee Hee!
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| Hiker from Milwaukee, WI |
The hiker who reached the top just behind us turned out to be from Milwaukee. Small world! He'd been back country camping for 3 days, and was happy to take our picture:
So, we grinned at each other like two kids, and turned about to retrace our steps. Wow, half way. And now, we get to see it all in reverse - and really see it, too. Not in the darkness, Well, unless something went tragically wrong.
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| Let's Run! |
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| At the saddle and spire - flummoxed. |
Ooops.
Ow.
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| Vishnu Schist! Zoroaster Granite! |
Getting the chance to admire and witness huge formations, intricate formations, visible weathering - it was not too hard to put the calf pain in a box and close the lid.
That's not to say the lid stayed on, but it was ok.
At phantom ranch, we met the three runners that had spent the night on the south rim - they were taking a leisurely day getting back to the north rim and were happy to see us. (one of them is missing in this picture - probably getting his lemonade!)
I popped some ibuprofen with my lemonade, which was quite tasty! I could tell Ken was getting antsy at the ranch. Sitting down in the middle of a run and taking a load off is anathema to him, so we headed out pretty quickly. That was fine by me; in case my calf got worse on the uphill, I wanted plenty of time to hike to the top without worrying about the onset of the darkness and the cold. It was certainly stiff after the 10 or so minutes at the ranch, no need to give it more time to freeze up completely!
Unlike along the river, I was having to work quite a bit on this climb, even with baby-ing my calf. We passed several groups. One pair, a father and daughter I think, we had seen on the way up the north rim. They were hiking Rim2Rim that day. The father was quite over-weight (which says nothing about how much hiking experience he had) and you could tell he was working very hard on the climb. He congratulated us on making such good time on the way back and we talked about how lucky we'd gotten with the weather. It was neat to see how proud the daughter was that her father was climbing the Grand Canyon. A little farther on, we ran into a group that had come partway down S. Kaibab and now was on their way back up. Just as I was passing them, a young teenage girl fell across my path, clutching her calf and yelling in pain. The kids around her didn't seem to know what to do. I remember getting calf cramps in HS track and not knowing what the heck was going on. So I told her she had to stretch the calf out to get it to release. I showed her how to use a nearby boulder to stretch, and stayed with her until it released. She was a little bewildered at this strange woman helping her, in running gear, sweaty and everything, but she was relieved once the pain went away. I told her it'd probably happen again before the top, and just to stretch it out when it did. This made me look up, to try to figure how long we had to go to the top. How much farther? I could tell the afternoon was wearing on; my watch read after 3.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
What happened to the rest of 2011?
It blew up.
But the running was still good. Better than ever, actually. Not just faster - oh, yes, I did manage to get faster - but better too. The running has been all mine again, a great outlet for joy and frustration.
I feel like I don't really deserve the speed I've found. Or maybe it found me, I'm not sure. Maybe it was lurking there the whole time, waiting and watching from some dark alley. But for whatever reason it sprung itself on me this fall and is holding tight. I still don't think of myself as being able to do some of the things I've done.
I PR'd my 2.5 mile handicap by a minute.
I ran Run Rabbit Run 50 miler (on short notice with little specific training) and finished in 10:08. That's a 2 hour PR.
I ran a Rim-2-Rim-2-Rim Grand Canyon trip and got to experience that immense beautiful awesome ditch while doing my favorite thing. One of the best running experiences ever.
I ran the Rehoboth Beach Marathon in 3:27. That's a 26 minute PR. I qualified for Boston, something I thought would be really hard for me to do.
And in the first part of 2012, I ran the Bandera 100K in 13:20. The first 50K lap I did in 5:50, which is my 50K PR by ~18 minutes. And it's a PR on that course by 40 minutes.
So, as the repository for my running, I'm now up to date. I may come back and write race reports for myself, maybe not. All of those race experiences were stand outs, with great memories every single one. I can't believe how much fun this running faster thing is. I'm freer now to see running wholly in the way that I've only struggled to catch glimpses of before. The expression of being something small in the midst of something great, the wonder of being able, the honesty and un-pretentiousness of lacing my shoes.
Here's to more of that!
But the running was still good. Better than ever, actually. Not just faster - oh, yes, I did manage to get faster - but better too. The running has been all mine again, a great outlet for joy and frustration.
I feel like I don't really deserve the speed I've found. Or maybe it found me, I'm not sure. Maybe it was lurking there the whole time, waiting and watching from some dark alley. But for whatever reason it sprung itself on me this fall and is holding tight. I still don't think of myself as being able to do some of the things I've done.
I PR'd my 2.5 mile handicap by a minute.
I ran Run Rabbit Run 50 miler (on short notice with little specific training) and finished in 10:08. That's a 2 hour PR.
I ran a Rim-2-Rim-2-Rim Grand Canyon trip and got to experience that immense beautiful awesome ditch while doing my favorite thing. One of the best running experiences ever.
I ran the Rehoboth Beach Marathon in 3:27. That's a 26 minute PR. I qualified for Boston, something I thought would be really hard for me to do.
And in the first part of 2012, I ran the Bandera 100K in 13:20. The first 50K lap I did in 5:50, which is my 50K PR by ~18 minutes. And it's a PR on that course by 40 minutes.
So, as the repository for my running, I'm now up to date. I may come back and write race reports for myself, maybe not. All of those race experiences were stand outs, with great memories every single one. I can't believe how much fun this running faster thing is. I'm freer now to see running wholly in the way that I've only struggled to catch glimpses of before. The expression of being something small in the midst of something great, the wonder of being able, the honesty and un-pretentiousness of lacing my shoes.
Here's to more of that!
HR pacing
I was as antsy to pace at Hardrock as I am for the races I actually run. Bones and I drove to Silverton Friday morning and watched what some might call an anticlimatic start. A few of the runners in front ran a few yards before they joined the rest of the field in power hiking up the first climb. To me, though, the start just built on the anticipation of the last week.
Despite wanting to see as much of the race as possible, Bones and I knew we'd likely get little sleep in the next 48 hours. So. Back to the hotel for another 3 hours of sleep. It's a precious commodity for crew!
We both had left our best raingear at home, like fools, and so we shopped for new rainjackets in Ouray. They had a decent selection, but at regular price, neither of us bought one. We thought we'd try to get away with our water resistant stuff, or borrow something if it was necessary. We spent the rest of the day scouting some of the trails in Ouray, specifically Bones's section coming down from Engineer. It was helpful to get a look at the markers on the side of the trail, and how closely they were spaced. We caught up to the rest of the crew, who had manned the Maggie Gulch AS earlier, and headed to Grouse Gulch together.
We set up our chairs, and settled in to wait, and watch the runners coming down the switchbacks on the grassy slope. It was sunny and cool. As it drew closer to the time we were to expect Ken and Neil, we started calling out when a runner came into view with a green or blue jacket. Judy would look through her camera - is that Ken's running style? Was Neil wearing calf sleeves? Over and over we would think that maybe it was them, only to see our mistake and start looking again. The estimated time passed - but soon, Neil came down - the relief in Judy's voice was plain. On his way out of the AS, Neil walked straight up to Kurt, stops in front of him, hand on hips, and says accusingly, "Coonrod! This is fucking HARD!"
The light was starting to fade a bit, and we saw Ken's characteristic stride. Everything was laid out, Jean and Kurt go to meet him at the road. It was clear from their expressions as they walked Ken to the AS that all was not well. Bones has been set to go the second Ken gets through the AS, but Kurt pulled him to the side and started explaining the facts of life. Ken had gotten too cold. His stomach had gone. He'd need to sit for a bit, get warm, and get some calories. Kurt looked especially worried. "He's come back before, but maybe not from this deep..."
This crew knew it's business. We can't get Ken warm outside the tent, so into the tent he went. I was not the only one to question whether he'd be able to continue. Not that he ever said one word of complaint, just a serious but dazed look, with an occasional slight smile thrown in - I think that was meant to be reassuring. Darkness fell, it started raining. I guessed Bones and I should have bought those rain jackets! He dug the spare crew rain jacket out. Great, now it's cold and wet and dark. After more than half an hour in the tent, Ken got up and prepped to leave. Bones' face revealed his anxiety about shepherding an already weary, nauseous runner over a high mountain in the rainy darkness. They strode off, one resolutely, the other with some fidgeting into the obscuring darkness, and I wondered how the next several hours would play out. Would Ken come back, as he had in so many other races? How would he manage the cold wet night after already getting too cold once before?
We packed up from Grouse in the dark, carrying chairs and bags and jackets, dodging raindrops. We headed to Ouray for some sleep in a hotel there for some of us, others would barely rest their eyes before jumping out of bed to meet Dennis or Neil. Ken and Bones were due to come in around 2, if their pace was ok, and Josh was to take over pacing. In the middle of the night, I heard Bones' voice and thought blearily that good, Ken's through, and Bones will get some sleep. I finally woke up around 7 am. To an empty hotel room, save Kurt's niece (still asleep) and his dogs. Who looked at me expectantly. They are unresponsive when I ask them ever so politely where the heck everyone has gone. I look for a note. nothing. I sent texts to everyone. Nothing. Finally I reluctantly texted Bones, not wanting to wake him early after a night of pacing. He filled me in on the rough night, slow progress though rain and cold. But Ken had made it to Ouray, and after a nap there, he had headed out with Josh - well behind his estimated time, but still moving, upbeat, and determined.
We rounded up the others and made the trek to Telluride. I drove: I had just been over this road from Telluride to Ouray twice the weekend before (failed hut trip). I skillfully avoided being pulled over for speeding this time. We ate at the grocery store deli, and got to the park just in time to see Kurt heading out - he let us know that Neil and Dennis were doing ok. So we set up to wait. So much of crewing is eating and waiting! Now the weather had cleared for the day - sun, a few light clouds, good temperatures. Runners and pacers were coming through steadily, until, sooner than I expected, we heard Ken and Josh. The hive of activity around Ken recommenced - food, sit down, drink, repack the bag, shoe change? (why bother?). We got the download from Josh - his spirits were good (aided perhaps by the spirits that Josh toasted him with) he was moving pretty well, he wasn't eating a lot, but he would eat when pressed. Richard paid close attention. Quickly, Ken was ready to go - which jacket, gloves, armies, more gels? more waffles? And they're off again. And we pack up the chairs, bags, jackets, and tromp through the sunny park and reload the truck. Off we go again to Chapman.
Bones and I talked over how the rest of the day will go, who will drive Alex to KT? -Bones will. There's a map. Somewhere. Time to eat the second half of the sandwich. Chapman wasn't necessary a crew access point. We could have crewed on the dirt road, but instead, knowing we'd have some time to wait, we carted stuff to the AS. In the rain, again. On crossing the small stream on the way there, I saw a few branches and a 2x6" that could be stacked into a bridge... So a bridge I made. Crossing that multiple times I was very happy not to have wet feet already. I took some video to keep myself occupied. I helped out the AS staff, handing out water, soup, cookies. Judy and Neil came through looking wet and tired, but determined also. After a few minutes, they were repacked and refueled and headed out. The rain lightened a bit before coming down harder again. The AS tent got pretty crowded with crew, pacers and a few runners that decided to hang out, rest, and miss some of the rain. When it cleared, and the sun reappeared, we spent time watching the mountainside. Occasionally we'd see tiny black spots crossing the few snow fields. I hiked back along the path a few times, until I saw Richard and Ken coming toward me. Ken was quiet and focused as Richard told me what he'd been eating, that he hadn't been talkative and struggled a bit with the last climb. Ken had broken his one remaining hiking pole (the other had broken earlier) crossing one of the snow fields on the way down from the pass. This Ken was quite different from the Telluride Ken - no laughing, just tired and focused on continuing to move. Richard told me he was planning to nap at the AS, and when we got there, he tromped right over to the corner of the AS that was padded with blankets, took off his pack and laid down and didn't stir for 15 minutes. Nervously, the boys asked Richard about the last section. We tried to keep our voices down. Finally I prepped myself to leave on my pacing section - 8 miles over Grant Swamp pass. I was so excited to have the chance to pace Ken, especially after the way the race had started out. We laid out all the gear he'd need to take, I packed a few baggies of chips and other things I might be able to talk him into eating. Given the pace over the last section, we calculated a new estimate for arrival at KT, probably 4 hours from when we left. I don't think he actually slept, but after the allotted time, Ken got to his feet and we strapped his gear to him. Since the first thing we had to do on leaving the AS was to ford a wide and knee deep creek, we didn't see the need in changing shoes or socks.
Ken took Richard's hiking pole, and we headed out. Once across the creek, Ken found the pole to be too heavy, or just not right. I called out to Richard on the other side of the creek, and tossed the pole to him. Like a girl. I thought the pole might not even make it the 20 yds across. I never have learned to throw NOT like a girl. I guess that's just not high on my to-do list.
I knew we'd be climbing for the next few miles. We found Ken a suitable walking stick along the path, and we climbed. I related the whole of the failed hut trip story to Ken, including the mice, the poor directions, the massive number of downed trees, the lost trail on the first day, the lost trail on the second day. (I hoped he wasn't getting worried about my ability to stay on trail!) He seemed content to listen, and between episodes we lapsed into friendly silence. The trail arced steadily up through the pine forest. The rain had released the tell-tale piney-woodsy scent into the cool air. As we got higher, we'd traverse open meadow sections, and be able to look at the mountains that Ken had already crossed in the 80+ miles he'd done to get here. It was unbelievable to see the scope splayed out around us in the sunset. A few broken clouds were now all that was left of the rain. Every few minutes I'd prompt him to eat a chip, or drink some water, though he seemed fully capable on his own. He told me about Josh on top of Virginus, about the scree we'd be climbing up ahead, and the reward of the view of Little Island Lake from the pass. Kris and his pacer caught up with us just on the edge of the last meadow before the scree field. We chatted while they shed jackets getting ready for some harder work. Now I could see why some think the markers need to be closer together. It became a little hard to spot them in the rocks, with hardly any trail connecting them. But with Kris leading the way, the job of trail spotting didn't fall to us, and we climbed. At the bottom of the steep scree field, I left a lot of space between Ken and I to make sure he didn't have to worry about sending rocks down on my head. The scree was wet from the rain, making it less loose. With only a few brief pauses of a second or two, we scrabbled our way to the top. Ken, on a mission, continued right down the path, but I had to stop for a look. The valley we had just climbed out of was caught in the gleaming yellow light of sunset. Little island lake was still partially frozen over on the other side of the pass. Mountains, 13 and 14 thousand feet high poked the horizon in 360 degrees. It was overwhelming, massive, beautiful. Being in the high places in colorado makes me feel the wonder and awe like nothing else.
I darted after Ken and caught up to him in time to get to do a little snow and mud glissade-ing on the way down. (That was so much fun!) It was starting to get dark now, and we still had a few miles to go before the KT AS. Ken was running. After 85 miles and probably 25,000 feet of climbing so far, he was still running. I was amazed, and couldn't slouch along if I wanted to keep up. The mud got slick and deep in a few spots. Stream crossings were frequent, and made sure our feet didn't dry out, until finally we came to a creek? river? that was thigh deep and fast. Several snags had fallen right where the trail met the creek, and made it hard in the dusky light to figure out the best point to cross. I went ahead, scouting. I stepped over a branch, and lost my footing, going up to my neck in the water before I grabbed a part of the snag and scrambled to my feet in the now waist deep section I was in. I turned around, and with adrenaline pumping through my system calmly told Ken (who was looking upstream for a place to cross and missed me almost getting washed away) "Don't come this way." Little did I know that Ken had also dunked himself looking for a way across. Upstream a little was a much better, shallower place to cross with the help of a few rocks and tree branches. On the other side, we started moving again. I realized a few troublesome issues: 1. it was getting colder. 2. I was now completely wet underneath my rainjacket. 3. I didn't have any spare clothes with me, and my pack was also completely wet. 4. Movement would be the best way to warm up and dry off, but I would stay with Ken no matter what. 5. It was starting to rain again.
As we jogged steadily down the muddy trail, I found that the effort was enough to keep me warm, and the AS was no more than a mile or 1.5 miles ahead, where our crew would be. Where dry clothes or at least a dry shirt would be. I didn't need to worry about me, but I did need to make sure that Ken was still eating, drinking and not getting cold. We dug out handwarmers for him, and kept moving. Darkness creeped in on us while still in a forested section, and the rain turned to sleet. The trail left the protection of the woods to a traverse of a steep grassy slope. Markers here were sparse, and I was keeping a close eye on the trail for any turns. In one section, Neither Ken nor I had seen any markers for a seemingly long time. I hadn't seen any potential ways for us to take a wrong turn, either. I went ahead though, and ran quickly through the sleet until I saw another marker.
"Oh good! still on the right path. I thought we'd be able to see the AS by now, but it must be just ahead. Hm. how to signal to Ken that he should keep coming this direction. wave my light? Do nothing, and maybe he'll just keep coming? hm."
I settled on shouting once or twice and waving my light about. Maybe not the right thing to do; once he got to me Ken wanted to know what all the light waving was about. oh well. We're still running, the trail is faint. I shined my light on every marker I saw to reassure us both that we are still on the right track. Finally, the AS lights were visible, and pretty near to us. The hill must shield the AS from view.
I was getting colder and colder now. My clothes hadn't dried out, so I was looking forward to the change of shirt. And, I thought, I had done a good job of pacing Ken through this section. No major mishaps (I still didn't know he had dunked himself in the creek) and he was moving really well. I wished I could have seen more of the course, but maybe next year I'd get in, or get to pace someone else. What an amazing event. I ran over what I needed to tell Alex, the next pacer, and what items Ken would need from his drop bags.
Pulling up to the AS, all I could see was a tarp set into the hill side with some chairs and a couple of propane heaters. No Alex. No Bones. "Is there another tent? Another section of the AS?" I asked one of the volunteers. "No, this is it. What can we get you?"
No Alex. no crew bags. No dry shirt or warmer gear. What we had was what we were going to use.
Spaghetti noodles sounded good to Ken so I got him some of those and settled him right in front of the propane heater. There's a blanket over one of the chairs, and I wrapped that over his legs. I took my jacket off and wrapped that around his shoulders for an extra layer, as I could tell he was cold. The cold wind cuts through my wet tech shirt like nothing! As he eats, we talk about what we should do. Alex was really looking forward to pacing (everyone loves to pace at HR), and we wanted to give him every opportunity to get there. I checked my watch - we were a little ahead of the 4 hour mark, but the crew still should have beaten us there. I remembered the directions, and how tired Bones was - I wondered (to myself) if they were lost. After talking it over, Ken decided to wait for 30 min for Alex. As I turned to get more noodles and soup for Ken, I couldn't help smiling to think that I might get to continue on, see more of the course, and get to see Ken finish. I tried to get some info on the next section from the AS volunteers. They did warn us that within 100 yds, we'd come to a high fast water crossing that was a little treacherous. After that, one long climb and that should be it. The sleet turned to rain, and then back again. I helped the AS volunteers prop up the tarp to empty it of pooled water. I refilled the baggies I'd taken out of Chapman with chips and cookies. I got another bag from the AS and filled it also. And I made sure to eat something too, now realizing I might be out here longer than I thought. I took stock of the resources we had left: food, batteries, lights, and handwarmers. I found some handwarmers in my pack, and got them ready. I had batteries for my lights, and Ken had spares for his too. I noted what extra gear Ken had in case he got cold again. I was wearing everything I had - a ls tech shirt, tights, gloves and with the rain jacket Ken had draped on his shoulders, that would have to be enough. We were in pretty good shape, I thought. Ken had gotten warmer by now and was chatting with Lance. I couldn't believe how upbeat he was, sitting in an AS, pacer for the next section not showing up, no crew bags to raid, and the current pacer didn't know the route for this final section. I hoped I wouldn't mess things up. I also hoped he wouldn't want to wait longer than the 30 min he planned, as I wasn't sure what the next section held, and I knew the clock was ticking. Lance went and looked for Alex, but came back with no sighting. Ken looked at his watch, and at me, and said, "we'd better go."
"Yup, let's go. We're ready. I have snacks, here's your pack." I got Ken suited back up, with all his shirts and jackets on, both of us with handwarmers and we headed out in to the wet cold night. We made the turn by the white truck, and came to the water crossing. It was deep and fast, but only a few steps across. Not bad. Of course, it meant that our shoes were wet again, but I had long since stopped caring about that. Ken probably didn't even think about it anymore. And after the crossing? well, more climbing, of course, through more water. We entered tree cover again, and the trail was occasionally more solid. The trees dripped in our lights. Ken talked, told me how he knew Lance, and Kris. As the trail went higher, it got wetter - at one point Ken lost a shoe to the mud. Without bending down, he quickly shoved his foot back where it had been, and pulled it from the mud with the shoe on it before I even had a chance to react. Soon afterwards, I saw Ken look at a rock on his left, and do a double take. He chuckled, "I won't even tell you what I thought that was." And later, he shook his head at some rocks. "I can't believe it." he said. "Must be kids. Teenagers. Come up and write on all these rocks. Isn't that something?" He points to some rocks, maybe granite, that have some hatching in the marbling of them. He's pretty insistent, but my imagination fails me, and I can only say, "I don't see any writing, Ken." Wow, I thought. Hallucinations. Seems pretty tame and harmless so far.
Trail markers guided us up and farther along, in and out of the trees, in a constantly waterlogged trail. Finally I could see we were nearing the top of something, and there were a few lights ahead of us. Wow, I thought - top of the last climb already?!? Pacing this section had been pretty easy after all. We should go down to an AS after this, and then the finish. The trail wound around a bit, but soon we were headed slightly downhill. I thought I could see some lights in the distance - must be the AS, I thought, and pointed it out to Ken. We were both cheered by the thought. We continued slightly down, and then... well. And then the trail turned up again. And continued up. I saw the lights I thought were an AS had disappeared. The markers started to get farther and farther apart again. I would sweep my lights back and forth, looking for a glint of reflective tape or metal. We were definitely going up now. I could see the shadowy form of the mountaintop in front of me, and what I hoped would actually be the top was not as near as I would have liked. I'd spot a marker, hike quickly to it. Turn and make sure Ken was still coming the right direction, then hunt for the next marker. I would shine the light on my back or the ground behind me to make it easy for Ken to see me. There was no trail over this grassy mountaintop. Tufts would turn your ankle while we hiked from marker to marker. It was slow, but we made steady progress. Ken would stop occasionally to rest on his stick - the one he originally picked up over 10 hours ago. At the top, we caught a little trail and followed it and the markers across the ridge, and then down into the next valley. Feeling so terrible that I had gotten our hopes up for the AS too early, I said only that we were "pretty close" to the AS now. Down we went, with a couple more chances at glissade-ing. The markers still weren't close together. Down, down... I haven't seen any markers in a little while. Worry clenched my heart. No, no no nonononononono. I can't have lost the trail now. Crap. "Ken wait here, I don't see any markers." I continued down a bit, and then concluded I've lost the trail. I headed back up, and told Ken we have to go back up to the last marker and go from there. Back up is the last place either of us wanted to go now. At least it wasn't raining anymore. I dashed ahead, and saw that after crossing a snowfield, I took us downhill, and there was a marker I missed directing us to the left. I called out, and Ken doesn't blame me, we just kept moving. Thankfully, the last AS popped into view. We both sat, just for a moment, and relaxed. Now we knew exactly how far we had to go (6.5 miles), the trail was downhill to Mineral Creek with a short climb after that. After getting something to eat, Ken's no dawdling law took effect and we're off again. We're energized to know how close we are to the finish. We caught up to Kris, who had gotten ahead of us while we waited at KT. Ken chatted for a bit, and then we pass. Ken was still moving really well, and we made good time down to the Creek. Compared to the crawling and uncertain uphill section between KT and Putnam, we were flying. At the creek, it was obviously fast, deep, and we'd have to be careful. A rope had been strung across to help. Ken, without waiting, said he'd go first to make sure it was safe. I'm thinking that perhaps that was my place, to make sure he's ok, but he can't hear my protests over the roar of the water. As he's 1/3 the way across, I hopped in. The shock of the cold took my breath, but holding on to the rope I made my way across. The creek yanked at my legs, not wanting to let me move perpendicular to the flow, barely yielding, tugged at my jacket. Without the rope, staying upright would have been more than just difficult.
Safely on the other side, in wet feet yet again (still?) we crossed the road - which made me think, "ah, just down there is Silverton, just a mile or so as the crow flies. Ken's doing great!" But we don't follow the road, oh no, we took an old jeep road up and around Silverton. Up is still not a direction either of us is too excited about. I kept looking for a trail breaking off the jeep road to the right, I could see the lights of Silverton through the trees. But the markers led us on and on. Until finally, we came to the right turn and entered the quiet streets of Silverton. Only another 1/2 mile, another few blocks. I was amazed by what I had seen of the course. Ken thanked me, and I thanked him for the adventure. More than I had bargained for, but just what I had wished for. We turned the corner and could see the finish line. The crew was all there, cheering. In the end I was lucky to get to see and experience 20 miles and 11 hours of the course. Amazing. After this, I will put my name in the hat for as long as I can still move forward.
Despite wanting to see as much of the race as possible, Bones and I knew we'd likely get little sleep in the next 48 hours. So. Back to the hotel for another 3 hours of sleep. It's a precious commodity for crew!
We both had left our best raingear at home, like fools, and so we shopped for new rainjackets in Ouray. They had a decent selection, but at regular price, neither of us bought one. We thought we'd try to get away with our water resistant stuff, or borrow something if it was necessary. We spent the rest of the day scouting some of the trails in Ouray, specifically Bones's section coming down from Engineer. It was helpful to get a look at the markers on the side of the trail, and how closely they were spaced. We caught up to the rest of the crew, who had manned the Maggie Gulch AS earlier, and headed to Grouse Gulch together.
We set up our chairs, and settled in to wait, and watch the runners coming down the switchbacks on the grassy slope. It was sunny and cool. As it drew closer to the time we were to expect Ken and Neil, we started calling out when a runner came into view with a green or blue jacket. Judy would look through her camera - is that Ken's running style? Was Neil wearing calf sleeves? Over and over we would think that maybe it was them, only to see our mistake and start looking again. The estimated time passed - but soon, Neil came down - the relief in Judy's voice was plain. On his way out of the AS, Neil walked straight up to Kurt, stops in front of him, hand on hips, and says accusingly, "Coonrod! This is fucking HARD!"
The light was starting to fade a bit, and we saw Ken's characteristic stride. Everything was laid out, Jean and Kurt go to meet him at the road. It was clear from their expressions as they walked Ken to the AS that all was not well. Bones has been set to go the second Ken gets through the AS, but Kurt pulled him to the side and started explaining the facts of life. Ken had gotten too cold. His stomach had gone. He'd need to sit for a bit, get warm, and get some calories. Kurt looked especially worried. "He's come back before, but maybe not from this deep..."
This crew knew it's business. We can't get Ken warm outside the tent, so into the tent he went. I was not the only one to question whether he'd be able to continue. Not that he ever said one word of complaint, just a serious but dazed look, with an occasional slight smile thrown in - I think that was meant to be reassuring. Darkness fell, it started raining. I guessed Bones and I should have bought those rain jackets! He dug the spare crew rain jacket out. Great, now it's cold and wet and dark. After more than half an hour in the tent, Ken got up and prepped to leave. Bones' face revealed his anxiety about shepherding an already weary, nauseous runner over a high mountain in the rainy darkness. They strode off, one resolutely, the other with some fidgeting into the obscuring darkness, and I wondered how the next several hours would play out. Would Ken come back, as he had in so many other races? How would he manage the cold wet night after already getting too cold once before?
We packed up from Grouse in the dark, carrying chairs and bags and jackets, dodging raindrops. We headed to Ouray for some sleep in a hotel there for some of us, others would barely rest their eyes before jumping out of bed to meet Dennis or Neil. Ken and Bones were due to come in around 2, if their pace was ok, and Josh was to take over pacing. In the middle of the night, I heard Bones' voice and thought blearily that good, Ken's through, and Bones will get some sleep. I finally woke up around 7 am. To an empty hotel room, save Kurt's niece (still asleep) and his dogs. Who looked at me expectantly. They are unresponsive when I ask them ever so politely where the heck everyone has gone. I look for a note. nothing. I sent texts to everyone. Nothing. Finally I reluctantly texted Bones, not wanting to wake him early after a night of pacing. He filled me in on the rough night, slow progress though rain and cold. But Ken had made it to Ouray, and after a nap there, he had headed out with Josh - well behind his estimated time, but still moving, upbeat, and determined.
We rounded up the others and made the trek to Telluride. I drove: I had just been over this road from Telluride to Ouray twice the weekend before (failed hut trip). I skillfully avoided being pulled over for speeding this time. We ate at the grocery store deli, and got to the park just in time to see Kurt heading out - he let us know that Neil and Dennis were doing ok. So we set up to wait. So much of crewing is eating and waiting! Now the weather had cleared for the day - sun, a few light clouds, good temperatures. Runners and pacers were coming through steadily, until, sooner than I expected, we heard Ken and Josh. The hive of activity around Ken recommenced - food, sit down, drink, repack the bag, shoe change? (why bother?). We got the download from Josh - his spirits were good (aided perhaps by the spirits that Josh toasted him with) he was moving pretty well, he wasn't eating a lot, but he would eat when pressed. Richard paid close attention. Quickly, Ken was ready to go - which jacket, gloves, armies, more gels? more waffles? And they're off again. And we pack up the chairs, bags, jackets, and tromp through the sunny park and reload the truck. Off we go again to Chapman.
Bones and I talked over how the rest of the day will go, who will drive Alex to KT? -Bones will. There's a map. Somewhere. Time to eat the second half of the sandwich. Chapman wasn't necessary a crew access point. We could have crewed on the dirt road, but instead, knowing we'd have some time to wait, we carted stuff to the AS. In the rain, again. On crossing the small stream on the way there, I saw a few branches and a 2x6" that could be stacked into a bridge... So a bridge I made. Crossing that multiple times I was very happy not to have wet feet already. I took some video to keep myself occupied. I helped out the AS staff, handing out water, soup, cookies. Judy and Neil came through looking wet and tired, but determined also. After a few minutes, they were repacked and refueled and headed out. The rain lightened a bit before coming down harder again. The AS tent got pretty crowded with crew, pacers and a few runners that decided to hang out, rest, and miss some of the rain. When it cleared, and the sun reappeared, we spent time watching the mountainside. Occasionally we'd see tiny black spots crossing the few snow fields. I hiked back along the path a few times, until I saw Richard and Ken coming toward me. Ken was quiet and focused as Richard told me what he'd been eating, that he hadn't been talkative and struggled a bit with the last climb. Ken had broken his one remaining hiking pole (the other had broken earlier) crossing one of the snow fields on the way down from the pass. This Ken was quite different from the Telluride Ken - no laughing, just tired and focused on continuing to move. Richard told me he was planning to nap at the AS, and when we got there, he tromped right over to the corner of the AS that was padded with blankets, took off his pack and laid down and didn't stir for 15 minutes. Nervously, the boys asked Richard about the last section. We tried to keep our voices down. Finally I prepped myself to leave on my pacing section - 8 miles over Grant Swamp pass. I was so excited to have the chance to pace Ken, especially after the way the race had started out. We laid out all the gear he'd need to take, I packed a few baggies of chips and other things I might be able to talk him into eating. Given the pace over the last section, we calculated a new estimate for arrival at KT, probably 4 hours from when we left. I don't think he actually slept, but after the allotted time, Ken got to his feet and we strapped his gear to him. Since the first thing we had to do on leaving the AS was to ford a wide and knee deep creek, we didn't see the need in changing shoes or socks.
Ken took Richard's hiking pole, and we headed out. Once across the creek, Ken found the pole to be too heavy, or just not right. I called out to Richard on the other side of the creek, and tossed the pole to him. Like a girl. I thought the pole might not even make it the 20 yds across. I never have learned to throw NOT like a girl. I guess that's just not high on my to-do list.
I knew we'd be climbing for the next few miles. We found Ken a suitable walking stick along the path, and we climbed. I related the whole of the failed hut trip story to Ken, including the mice, the poor directions, the massive number of downed trees, the lost trail on the first day, the lost trail on the second day. (I hoped he wasn't getting worried about my ability to stay on trail!) He seemed content to listen, and between episodes we lapsed into friendly silence. The trail arced steadily up through the pine forest. The rain had released the tell-tale piney-woodsy scent into the cool air. As we got higher, we'd traverse open meadow sections, and be able to look at the mountains that Ken had already crossed in the 80+ miles he'd done to get here. It was unbelievable to see the scope splayed out around us in the sunset. A few broken clouds were now all that was left of the rain. Every few minutes I'd prompt him to eat a chip, or drink some water, though he seemed fully capable on his own. He told me about Josh on top of Virginus, about the scree we'd be climbing up ahead, and the reward of the view of Little Island Lake from the pass. Kris and his pacer caught up with us just on the edge of the last meadow before the scree field. We chatted while they shed jackets getting ready for some harder work. Now I could see why some think the markers need to be closer together. It became a little hard to spot them in the rocks, with hardly any trail connecting them. But with Kris leading the way, the job of trail spotting didn't fall to us, and we climbed. At the bottom of the steep scree field, I left a lot of space between Ken and I to make sure he didn't have to worry about sending rocks down on my head. The scree was wet from the rain, making it less loose. With only a few brief pauses of a second or two, we scrabbled our way to the top. Ken, on a mission, continued right down the path, but I had to stop for a look. The valley we had just climbed out of was caught in the gleaming yellow light of sunset. Little island lake was still partially frozen over on the other side of the pass. Mountains, 13 and 14 thousand feet high poked the horizon in 360 degrees. It was overwhelming, massive, beautiful. Being in the high places in colorado makes me feel the wonder and awe like nothing else.
I darted after Ken and caught up to him in time to get to do a little snow and mud glissade-ing on the way down. (That was so much fun!) It was starting to get dark now, and we still had a few miles to go before the KT AS. Ken was running. After 85 miles and probably 25,000 feet of climbing so far, he was still running. I was amazed, and couldn't slouch along if I wanted to keep up. The mud got slick and deep in a few spots. Stream crossings were frequent, and made sure our feet didn't dry out, until finally we came to a creek? river? that was thigh deep and fast. Several snags had fallen right where the trail met the creek, and made it hard in the dusky light to figure out the best point to cross. I went ahead, scouting. I stepped over a branch, and lost my footing, going up to my neck in the water before I grabbed a part of the snag and scrambled to my feet in the now waist deep section I was in. I turned around, and with adrenaline pumping through my system calmly told Ken (who was looking upstream for a place to cross and missed me almost getting washed away) "Don't come this way." Little did I know that Ken had also dunked himself looking for a way across. Upstream a little was a much better, shallower place to cross with the help of a few rocks and tree branches. On the other side, we started moving again. I realized a few troublesome issues: 1. it was getting colder. 2. I was now completely wet underneath my rainjacket. 3. I didn't have any spare clothes with me, and my pack was also completely wet. 4. Movement would be the best way to warm up and dry off, but I would stay with Ken no matter what. 5. It was starting to rain again.
As we jogged steadily down the muddy trail, I found that the effort was enough to keep me warm, and the AS was no more than a mile or 1.5 miles ahead, where our crew would be. Where dry clothes or at least a dry shirt would be. I didn't need to worry about me, but I did need to make sure that Ken was still eating, drinking and not getting cold. We dug out handwarmers for him, and kept moving. Darkness creeped in on us while still in a forested section, and the rain turned to sleet. The trail left the protection of the woods to a traverse of a steep grassy slope. Markers here were sparse, and I was keeping a close eye on the trail for any turns. In one section, Neither Ken nor I had seen any markers for a seemingly long time. I hadn't seen any potential ways for us to take a wrong turn, either. I went ahead though, and ran quickly through the sleet until I saw another marker.
"Oh good! still on the right path. I thought we'd be able to see the AS by now, but it must be just ahead. Hm. how to signal to Ken that he should keep coming this direction. wave my light? Do nothing, and maybe he'll just keep coming? hm."
I settled on shouting once or twice and waving my light about. Maybe not the right thing to do; once he got to me Ken wanted to know what all the light waving was about. oh well. We're still running, the trail is faint. I shined my light on every marker I saw to reassure us both that we are still on the right track. Finally, the AS lights were visible, and pretty near to us. The hill must shield the AS from view.
I was getting colder and colder now. My clothes hadn't dried out, so I was looking forward to the change of shirt. And, I thought, I had done a good job of pacing Ken through this section. No major mishaps (I still didn't know he had dunked himself in the creek) and he was moving really well. I wished I could have seen more of the course, but maybe next year I'd get in, or get to pace someone else. What an amazing event. I ran over what I needed to tell Alex, the next pacer, and what items Ken would need from his drop bags.
Pulling up to the AS, all I could see was a tarp set into the hill side with some chairs and a couple of propane heaters. No Alex. No Bones. "Is there another tent? Another section of the AS?" I asked one of the volunteers. "No, this is it. What can we get you?"
No Alex. no crew bags. No dry shirt or warmer gear. What we had was what we were going to use.
Spaghetti noodles sounded good to Ken so I got him some of those and settled him right in front of the propane heater. There's a blanket over one of the chairs, and I wrapped that over his legs. I took my jacket off and wrapped that around his shoulders for an extra layer, as I could tell he was cold. The cold wind cuts through my wet tech shirt like nothing! As he eats, we talk about what we should do. Alex was really looking forward to pacing (everyone loves to pace at HR), and we wanted to give him every opportunity to get there. I checked my watch - we were a little ahead of the 4 hour mark, but the crew still should have beaten us there. I remembered the directions, and how tired Bones was - I wondered (to myself) if they were lost. After talking it over, Ken decided to wait for 30 min for Alex. As I turned to get more noodles and soup for Ken, I couldn't help smiling to think that I might get to continue on, see more of the course, and get to see Ken finish. I tried to get some info on the next section from the AS volunteers. They did warn us that within 100 yds, we'd come to a high fast water crossing that was a little treacherous. After that, one long climb and that should be it. The sleet turned to rain, and then back again. I helped the AS volunteers prop up the tarp to empty it of pooled water. I refilled the baggies I'd taken out of Chapman with chips and cookies. I got another bag from the AS and filled it also. And I made sure to eat something too, now realizing I might be out here longer than I thought. I took stock of the resources we had left: food, batteries, lights, and handwarmers. I found some handwarmers in my pack, and got them ready. I had batteries for my lights, and Ken had spares for his too. I noted what extra gear Ken had in case he got cold again. I was wearing everything I had - a ls tech shirt, tights, gloves and with the rain jacket Ken had draped on his shoulders, that would have to be enough. We were in pretty good shape, I thought. Ken had gotten warmer by now and was chatting with Lance. I couldn't believe how upbeat he was, sitting in an AS, pacer for the next section not showing up, no crew bags to raid, and the current pacer didn't know the route for this final section. I hoped I wouldn't mess things up. I also hoped he wouldn't want to wait longer than the 30 min he planned, as I wasn't sure what the next section held, and I knew the clock was ticking. Lance went and looked for Alex, but came back with no sighting. Ken looked at his watch, and at me, and said, "we'd better go."
"Yup, let's go. We're ready. I have snacks, here's your pack." I got Ken suited back up, with all his shirts and jackets on, both of us with handwarmers and we headed out in to the wet cold night. We made the turn by the white truck, and came to the water crossing. It was deep and fast, but only a few steps across. Not bad. Of course, it meant that our shoes were wet again, but I had long since stopped caring about that. Ken probably didn't even think about it anymore. And after the crossing? well, more climbing, of course, through more water. We entered tree cover again, and the trail was occasionally more solid. The trees dripped in our lights. Ken talked, told me how he knew Lance, and Kris. As the trail went higher, it got wetter - at one point Ken lost a shoe to the mud. Without bending down, he quickly shoved his foot back where it had been, and pulled it from the mud with the shoe on it before I even had a chance to react. Soon afterwards, I saw Ken look at a rock on his left, and do a double take. He chuckled, "I won't even tell you what I thought that was." And later, he shook his head at some rocks. "I can't believe it." he said. "Must be kids. Teenagers. Come up and write on all these rocks. Isn't that something?" He points to some rocks, maybe granite, that have some hatching in the marbling of them. He's pretty insistent, but my imagination fails me, and I can only say, "I don't see any writing, Ken." Wow, I thought. Hallucinations. Seems pretty tame and harmless so far.
Trail markers guided us up and farther along, in and out of the trees, in a constantly waterlogged trail. Finally I could see we were nearing the top of something, and there were a few lights ahead of us. Wow, I thought - top of the last climb already?!? Pacing this section had been pretty easy after all. We should go down to an AS after this, and then the finish. The trail wound around a bit, but soon we were headed slightly downhill. I thought I could see some lights in the distance - must be the AS, I thought, and pointed it out to Ken. We were both cheered by the thought. We continued slightly down, and then... well. And then the trail turned up again. And continued up. I saw the lights I thought were an AS had disappeared. The markers started to get farther and farther apart again. I would sweep my lights back and forth, looking for a glint of reflective tape or metal. We were definitely going up now. I could see the shadowy form of the mountaintop in front of me, and what I hoped would actually be the top was not as near as I would have liked. I'd spot a marker, hike quickly to it. Turn and make sure Ken was still coming the right direction, then hunt for the next marker. I would shine the light on my back or the ground behind me to make it easy for Ken to see me. There was no trail over this grassy mountaintop. Tufts would turn your ankle while we hiked from marker to marker. It was slow, but we made steady progress. Ken would stop occasionally to rest on his stick - the one he originally picked up over 10 hours ago. At the top, we caught a little trail and followed it and the markers across the ridge, and then down into the next valley. Feeling so terrible that I had gotten our hopes up for the AS too early, I said only that we were "pretty close" to the AS now. Down we went, with a couple more chances at glissade-ing. The markers still weren't close together. Down, down... I haven't seen any markers in a little while. Worry clenched my heart. No, no no nonononononono. I can't have lost the trail now. Crap. "Ken wait here, I don't see any markers." I continued down a bit, and then concluded I've lost the trail. I headed back up, and told Ken we have to go back up to the last marker and go from there. Back up is the last place either of us wanted to go now. At least it wasn't raining anymore. I dashed ahead, and saw that after crossing a snowfield, I took us downhill, and there was a marker I missed directing us to the left. I called out, and Ken doesn't blame me, we just kept moving. Thankfully, the last AS popped into view. We both sat, just for a moment, and relaxed. Now we knew exactly how far we had to go (6.5 miles), the trail was downhill to Mineral Creek with a short climb after that. After getting something to eat, Ken's no dawdling law took effect and we're off again. We're energized to know how close we are to the finish. We caught up to Kris, who had gotten ahead of us while we waited at KT. Ken chatted for a bit, and then we pass. Ken was still moving really well, and we made good time down to the Creek. Compared to the crawling and uncertain uphill section between KT and Putnam, we were flying. At the creek, it was obviously fast, deep, and we'd have to be careful. A rope had been strung across to help. Ken, without waiting, said he'd go first to make sure it was safe. I'm thinking that perhaps that was my place, to make sure he's ok, but he can't hear my protests over the roar of the water. As he's 1/3 the way across, I hopped in. The shock of the cold took my breath, but holding on to the rope I made my way across. The creek yanked at my legs, not wanting to let me move perpendicular to the flow, barely yielding, tugged at my jacket. Without the rope, staying upright would have been more than just difficult.
Safely on the other side, in wet feet yet again (still?) we crossed the road - which made me think, "ah, just down there is Silverton, just a mile or so as the crow flies. Ken's doing great!" But we don't follow the road, oh no, we took an old jeep road up and around Silverton. Up is still not a direction either of us is too excited about. I kept looking for a trail breaking off the jeep road to the right, I could see the lights of Silverton through the trees. But the markers led us on and on. Until finally, we came to the right turn and entered the quiet streets of Silverton. Only another 1/2 mile, another few blocks. I was amazed by what I had seen of the course. Ken thanked me, and I thanked him for the adventure. More than I had bargained for, but just what I had wished for. We turned the corner and could see the finish line. The crew was all there, cheering. In the end I was lucky to get to see and experience 20 miles and 11 hours of the course. Amazing. After this, I will put my name in the hat for as long as I can still move forward.
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