Bears, moose and first race of the season

We kicked off the spring with our running club's first run of the season, and I didn't totally suck. This was news to me since I'd done no speedwork (ummm, what is speedwork?) and very little pace work. I also hadn't raced in two years. Add in that it was a 7.5km and I've never been known for my speed and, well my only expectation was to finish without puking.

I'm happy to say that I did just that. In fact, I felt strong the whole way. I realize that this probably means that I didn't push myself enough but so what, eh? I had fun, and that's what counts.

I've become obsessed with wearing my bright orange hat on every. single. run.

My time wasn't the best but wasn't the worst: 37:01. My 10K time used to be faster but I need to take into perspective that I haven't raced for two years and only began running consistently again earlier this year. Mostly, I just blessed to be able to run, and race, again, injury-free (knock on desk).

MM did well, too, so it was a good evening all around. Anchorage Running Club puts on some great events, very low-key and friendly. I love the vibe. Plus there are usually cookies at the end, which is a huge motivator the last few miles.

The next day, MM and I hit the Turnagain Arm Trail in the evening for 6.5 miles of rutted trail, and hills. It was one of those magical runs when your legs feel fatigued but your minds says 'Go, go, go,' and everything blurs and comes together until you feel transcended by it all.

And then we came around a curve and saw the bears. The first bears of the season, a blackie mother and three cubs, all of them scurrying off the trail, no doubt due to the loud warning of my bear bell. We stood there, close together but far enough away to feel safe, and watched the cubs scamper up an old tree as the mother nudged them off into the brush.

Black bears moving off the trail, right in front of us, such a treat.

I wish I could describe the feeling: heart-pounding, the taste of danger in our throats and yet that thrill, that exhilaration of coming so close to wildness. We waited for a few minutes after they disappeared and then continued running. At the top of the very next hill, we encountered a moose.

This was a youngish moose with an attitude, and it wouldn't get off the trail. Because of heavy brush, we couldn't go around it, either. We crouched in the bushes and waited. Whenever we crept too near, it splayed back its ears and kicked out its legs as if to say: Come any closer and I'll cream you good."

It finally wandered off into the brush and we kept on running and believe it or not, less than a half mile up the trail we came across yet another moose, this one a lot more mellow; we were able to run around it with ease, though I held MM's hand and made him run on the side of the moose, so that if it charged he would be attacked first, hee, hee.

On the way back, we saw two more moose up on a hill and off the trail. It was wild. It was like running through an open zoo. I felt charged and free and alive. And everywhere around us were perks of green: grass shooting out of the ground and leaves budding on the tree. Such hopeful shouts of color!

Green!

The last half mile of the trail is downhill and groomed and fast. It's also very peaceful, almost serene, with views of the inlet on one side and trees, trees, trees on the other.

I don't really have any big expectations for this year's running season. I want to run, and as much as possible. I want to run trails, as much as possible. I want to see how far I can go, push my limits, venture out into that no-man's zone (no woman's zone?) where you bonk and want to die but keep on going and then, magically, you feel strong again, and whole and complete and reborn. I so look forward to reclaiming that feeling.

Until then, have a great weekend, everyone. Run, hike, read, but mostly, do whatever it is that makes you feel the most alive.

Sad news: Our last cat is dying. We just got the lab reports today, her kidney function is almost zero and there is really no hope. Tears my gut. We lost my most favorite cat last year, my dog earlier this year and now Fluff-Busters is going, too (The Last Pet Standing, as we call her). She has lost so much weight yet she's still feisty, still kept me up last night, wanting to go outside. Having pets, and loving them fully, is such a joy, and such a heartbreak. Here's to you, Fluffers. You've been a great friend, and a warm, fluffy spot to lay my head during hard times. Happy journeys, little one.

I want! I want! New shoes

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm a bit obsessed with running shoes lately. I have no idea if I'm compensating for a lack in my personality, using them as a fulfillment in my not-so-exciting life, or if running shoes simply, as my grandmother would have said, float my boat.

Whatever the case, my new Merrell All Out Rush trail shoes arrived in the mail yesterday. Is there anything better than new running shoes? Or at least new running shoes that fit. I unfortunately ordered the wrong size and had to reorder (seems my feet have gotten a little bigger, fancy that). What this means is that I have to wait another week, or longer, until I can actually slide them on my feet, take them out to the trails and do all sorts of dirty things to them.

Aren't they sexy? Kind of masculine yet just girly enough to let the guys know that I mean serious business.

I was perfectly happy with my perfectly wonderful new shoe choice, even though I couldn't actually run in them yet.

Then Sunday happened.

Sunday, you see, was MM's birthday, so naturally I took him out to REI for new running shoes (I mean, where else does a woman take a man for his birthday?). He tried on a pair of Sportiva that were so colorful and bad-assed that I almost salivated, so of course I had to try on a pair for myself. I couldn't just sit there and do nothing.

And I kind of, sort of fell in love with the Sportiva Bushido. I slipped my foot inside. I tightened the laces. I took one step, and then another. Before I knew it, I was running around REI, dodging mother's toting little kids and bearded dudes in scruffy but expensive outdoor gear. My feet felt happy! My ankles felt sturdy. I started to slyly calculate in my head: If my partner picked out an inexpensive pair of shoes as his birthday present, I just might be able to swing a pair for myself, hee, hee.

Sadly, these aren't my shoes and this isn't my yard, either.

He didn't. After considering a pair of yellow Altra's that made his feet look like duck feet, he settled on the Sportiva. I sighed,kicked off my Bushidos, put my smelly Hokas back on (love my Hokas but they don't do well on technical trails) and plucked out my credit card. I was very gracious when I handed him the box. I think I even smiled. I might have even said, "Happy birthday." I might have said this with little to no grudge.

So now I'm torn. Do I take the Merrell's back and get the Sportiva? Or keep the Merrell's and be satisfied with my first choice? The Merrell is light and flexible and airy with a kick-ass ridged sole for firm footing. The Sportiva is more durable and firm and hearty with its own particular kick-assed sole yet not as flexible or roomy.

I want them both! I need them both! My checking account, however, begs to differ.

Whatever the case, last week was a jump-back week. This is when, after two or three weeks of increasing mileage, I cut back, relax and recover, and eat like a pig. During this jump-back week I also managed to hurt my back (is it a coincidence that I hurt my back during a jump-back week?) at a new job I took for the summer and consequently didn't run at all Monday-Wednesday. I ended up with 25 miles for the week, a disappointing amount but as my partner often says, and usually when he's mad at me: It is what it is.

Last but not least, pics from Saturday's trail run, where I bonked big time and almost cried due to the over 1250 elevation gain in 8 miles.

One of the few straight areas of the whole damned run, trust me.

Dandelions (I call them dandy lions) are my favorite flower of all time.

Look! The trees are blooming! So. Exciting.

Have a great week, everyone.

Runner's trot (or sprinting towards the woods)

Saturday's run begam well, as runs usually do.

That's a bit of a lie. It's started out okay. Nothing dramatically awfully or stupendously wonderful. Just okay.

I snagged my partner (i.e., bribed) into accompanying me on a 14 miler through the Campbell Creek Trails. My stomach was a bit off but the sun was shining and temps were in the 50s, a perfect Alaska spring day.

So we drove to the trailhead and I buckled on my bright purple and orange Nathan hydration vest and we took off.

I "borrowed"this pic from swimoutlet.com. Why someone would wear a hydration vest while swimming is beyond me.

We started off slow. The trail was rutted and muddy and the first six miles were my least favorite section. I kept glancing at my watch. Time dragged.

"Running slow sucks," I said to my partner. He nodded his head wisely (he's learned to agree with me while we're running).

Finally we reached the better part the trail and I perked up. There were hills (hills!) and curvy areas (curvy areas!) winding through birch trees and the sun was out and life was good. And we had eight more glorious miles to run.

I've been following training advice from Runner's Connect coach Jeff Gaudette, who sends informative emails a couple of times a week (wish I could afford to hire you as my coach, Jeff, but think that will have to wait a bit, sigh, sigh), and geared this run around his philosophy of starting out slow and then progressively picking it up and finishing at half-marathon pace.

I started picking it up at the ten mile mark and by the last mile, I was sprinting, fast. This may or may not have been because I was in desperate need of a few sturdy bushes.

I was, you see, paying for my "sins" from the previous night, which had come back to haunt me, and they haunted me with a wicked and mad vengeance.

I'm ashamed to admit that I have a bit of a problem (an addiction?) with hot sauce, mainly Huy Fong Sriracha Sauce, which is pretty much a staple in my diet. I've been known to drink the stuff. I put it on everything. I seriously become depressed if I don't have any around.

The sad truth about eating too much hot sauce, though (warning: TMI?) is that it works both ways: It's hot going in and coming out.

Feeling a roaring heat in your stomach inch ever-so-merrily down your digestive tract while running a fast last mile of a 14 mile trail run is not exactly enjoyable.

I moved like crazy toward the finish and bolted off to the bushes, where I crouched in agony (agony!) for a good five minutes. It was a sorry end to a run that began with a lackluster mood but progressed to a strong (but hot) finish.

An hour later found me curled on the couch, still damp from a bath, and happily squirting sriracha sauce all over my dinner. I doubt that I will ever learn.

But look at this! Earlier tonight our moose friends paid a visit, such a treat to look out the window and see their knobby and ridiculously-shaped heads peering in at us (and no, I wasn't eating hot sauce at the time).

Have a great week, everyone.

This week's stats:
Monday: Rest, weights and 60 minutes bike
Tuesday: 8.5 miles, hilly and steep trails
Wednesday: 8.5 miles, hilly and steep trails
Thursday: 7.5 miles, paved Coastal Trail
Friday: Rest
Saturday: 14 miles, hilly trails
Sunday: 7.5 miles, paved Coastal Trail
Total: 46 miles 

Kissing trees

Oh, I had a really bad run on Wednesday. And yet it was also a really great run. Let me explain.

I'm tentatively thinking of running the Resurrection Ultra 50-miler this year and have been doing back-to-back trail runs, not really long distance at this point so much as agonized distance, you know, a lot of gnarly hills and bad trails conditions: mud, rocks, roots higher than my ankle. And did I mention hills?

Tuesday I tackled Turnagain Arm Trail, in all of its muddy glory, and felt strong most of the way, even on the steep and frequent hills. So I went back on Wednesday and did it all over again, and I just wasn't feeling it, you know? My legs were heavy and my back sore from lifting weights the evening before and I mistakenly wore a new pair of shoes without the proper lacing, and they flopped against my ankles with each leap over each rock, and I was soon irritated and hungry and discouraged and muttering to myself... you get the picture.

My floppy-laced new shoes! Don't they look embarrassingly clean and tidy?

Mostly, though, I was disappointed to realize that I wasn't in as good as shape as I had assumed. Running for two weeks on mostly paved trails and streets in Philly and then last week on paved Coastal Trail, I had deceived myself into thinking I was stronger and faster than I actually am.

Then I hit the trails and the frequent and never-ending hills and bad footing put me in my place.

Yes, this is part of the trail.

On the way back, after straggling up the Rainbow hill (over a 1.25 miles of relentless incline and switchbacks), I seriously thought of stopping and calling MM to pick me up. But I knew I'd hate myself for quitting so I struggled on and then, I don't know, I somehow ran right past that shitty mood and started feeling happy and glorious and oh-I'm-running-on-beautiful-trails-and-everything-is-perfect. And it got so bad that I stopped to kiss a few trees, just because I could (and because no one else was around).

I felt so thankful to be back running, you see. Last year I barely hit the trails, due to a combination of a fall that messed up my knee and a brutal work schedule, and the year before I injured my foot mid-summer and was out through winter. So yes, even a tortured and agonizing run is better than sitting on my ass, watching movies and feeling terribly sorry for myself, which I'm ashamed to say I happened more than I'd like to admit.

But being injured makes a person really, really thankful to be running again, and times be damned, just putting one foot in front of the other and gliding over a trail can be enough to bring tears (the good, happy kind of tears) to the eyes. And maybe, just maybe, stop along the way and kiss a few sturdy (and sexy!) spruce and birch trees.

Running while traveling: Philly editon

When I arrived in Tucson 10 weeks ago, the first thing I did was get on blogs and map out running routes, and I found them, too, everything from paved bike paths along dried river washes to canyon and mountain trails. Discovering places to run in Tucson was easy.

Then I flew out to the Philly suburbs to visit with my sister and mother, and the running got a little bit more complicated.

I'm not a city person. My ideal view is of mountains. Yet, surprisingly, I found running through the city to be exotic. Weaving in and out of crowds, with buildings on one side and the Schuylkill River on the other, was a blast. And thanks to Google map, I found more than enough running routes including everything from flat and paved bike paths to wooded trails and out-of-the-way hilly trails tucked around a college campus. Below are a few of my favorites.

Kelly Drive: A paved and flat bike trail winding around the Schuylkill River, past boat houses (on weekends you can often catch the regattas). The path leads past the Philadelphia Museum of Art, also (sadly) known as the "Rocky" museum, which features the steps that Sylvester Stallone ran up in the movie. An interesting note: My sister is friends with a man who was one of the kids running with Stallone in the movie and, according to him, they had to do numerous takes because the kids kept beating Stallone to the top of the steps, hee, hee).

Haverford Nature Trail: This 2.5 mile wooded loop spanning Haverford College in Ardmore, outside of Philly, was a welcome surprise. The surface is packed dirt, with just enough rutted areas to keep it interesting. It also varied enough in scenery that multiple loops didn't become boring. An added plus: Afternoons often included yummy college guys running shirtless.

Forbidden Drive Trail: Oh, I loved this trail! Wide packed dirt, smooth surface, lots of trees, and Wissahickon Creek running alongside. A good place to pack on the miles, though according to my sister, it isn't always a safe area for a woman running alone, there have been numerous rapes plus an area by the covered bridge without cell phone reception. My advice: Run on weekends during peak times or with a running buddy.

Cynwyd Heritage Trail and West Laurel Hill Cemetery: The Cynwyd Trail is only a couple of miles from my sister's house and offered two miles of paved and dirty trail (four miles out and back). A nice place for a quick run and to get away from traffic. The bordering West Laurel Hill Cemetery offers great hills and a relaxing place to zone out and pick up a few extra miles.

The most surprising thing about running in Philly, though, was how much I enjoyed it. The weather was warm, and as long as I stuck to side streets there was little problem with traffic.

I've always believed that I could never be happy without mountains or quick access to wilderness area. But walking and running through Philly, alone and with my sister, offered me a different perspective, and I soon understood that happiness comes from within, and that as long as I have places to run, places that offer long, uninterrupted miles, I can be momentarily and spontaneously content.

A quick cheer: A big yippee (yippee!!) to Karen Kidwell, who PRed in Boston Marathon on Monday with a killer time of 3:30. I've been following Karen's blog for years and had the opportunity to meet her last year, which was a welcomed pleasure. Way to go, Karen! You are awesome and madly fast. P.S. Her hubby Matt also PRed.

Rock the Boston hills, okay, Karen? P.S. I "borrowed" this pic from your blog, hee, hee.

Mileage last week:
Monday: 10 miles (last Philly run)
Tuesday; Traveling
Wednesday: 7.5 miles, Coastal Trail
Thursday: 11 miles, Chester Creek Trail
Friday: Rest day: Weights and bike plus power walking Kincaid Park hills
Saturday: 6.5 miles, Turnagain Arm Trail
Sunday:  5 miles w/ surges, Campbell Tract Trail
Total: 40 miles

Bliss

I must admit that I had a bit of a time adjusting to Alaska. After seven glorious weeks in Tucson and two in Philly, Anchorage felt gloomy and cloudy and cold.

Probably because it was gloomy and cloudy and cold.

Still, once I hit the trails I felt better. I ran the first couple of days back on the Coastal and Chester Creek Trails, which are paved bike trails through wooded areas and along the inlet. The views are beautiful and while I enjoy running these, I couldn't wait to revisit my beloved and rugged "real" trails.

I don't know why I love trail running so much, if it's the rough footing, which forces me to use more of my senses, or the feeling of being surrounded by trees and mountains and water, which makes me feel smaller and less significant but also part of a larger whole.

All I know is that the longer I run, the louder my heart sings.

I can't wait for the snow to clear in the higher elevations so that I can hit the mountain trails. Until then, I've been loving the Turnagain Arm Trail, which is south facing and filled with steep hills and roots and rocks and all manner of wild and wonderful things.

Bye, bye Tucson (and visits by two rattlesnakes)

A week and a half ago I left Tucson. It was 85 degrees and I had a twisted ankle, bad cold and a heavy heart. I didn't want to leave. Living for so long in Alaska, I had forgotten what a gift it is to wake up to warm temperatures and sunshine. It made me realize that I'm more of a warm weather person than an Alaska person, though I do love Alaska dearly and madly, especially in the summer when the twilight spreads out over the land and I run Flattop after midnight, no one else around, and all of that silence.

Trail to Seven Falls

Catalina State Park

Phoneline Trail, Sabino Canyon

Black Bear Trail.

My last week in Tucson MM arrived and we moved from the beloved house I had sublet for six weeks (hopefully I'll be back there again in December and January) to a week-long vacation rental with a very tiny kitchen and very lovable dog, Ben. After losing Beebs earlier this year, it was nice having a dog to pet and hug, nice having the smell of dog in my nose, nice curling up with his head pressed against my leg.

Ben!

I ran a lot while in Tucson, averaging about 40-45 miles a week, and most of it on trails during the weekend, when I rented a car and headed to Sabino Canyon or Catalina State Park. During the week I ran at Reid Park or around the side streets. What I love about Tucson is the low-keyed atmosphere of the side streets. Third Avenue is a designated bicycle route and cars aren't allowed access off main streets, which keeps the traffic down. Riding a bike and running through Tucson, with the heat pressing down on my shoulders and the sky blue and nothing but the sound of my feet over the pavement and birds singing (the birds there sing all day, not just morning and evening) felt so peaceful and serene that I often couldn't stop smiling.

The second to last week I twisted my ankle and stupidly kept running. Why do I never learn? Why can't I accept the fact that when something hurts, it's probably time to stop running and start walking to the trailhead?

View from Blackett's Ridge.

Sabino Canyon

I bought a cheapo ankle brace at Target and MM and I ran lightly and hiked for the rest of the week. Okay, maybe I didn't exactly run lightly but I did try and keep my mileage down. We hiked Blackett's Ridge and ran (lightly!) all over Sabino and Ventana Canyon.

Top of Blackett's Ridge

One of the most memorable times was running up Phoneline Trail at dusk and then down to upper Sabino Canyon Road. We crossed the creek and lay in the sand, staring up at the sky. Then we ran to the top of the canyon and back in the moonlight, no on else around, the canyon gleaming white in the moonlight. It's something I'll never forget.

Two days later, we returned. It had become hotter in that short amount of time, with temps rising from the 70s to the high 80s, and we started off right before dusk, to escape the worst of the heat. A half mile up the trail we heard a rattle and both jumped back. "Rattlesnake," I yelled, but I wasn't too worried. The snake was off the trail in the brush and basically saying, "Hey, I'm here, just let me be, okay?"

Our friend, the snake

Later, we lay on a large rock stretching out over the canyon and watched the sun set, the sky glowing pink and darkness falling around us.

Halfway down, in the dark, we heard it again, another rattlesnake (what are the chances of coming across two different snakes in one evening?), this one louder, more persistent. We jumped back and rummaged in our packs for our headlamps. We didn't see the snake in the trail but we could hear it, and it was close. I led, since I knew the trail, with MM close behind me. We had to walk past where we knew the rattlesnake was, and we had to do so in the dark, with the puny glow of our headlamps. There was no other way, since directly to our right the trail dropped down to the canyon and to our left was the ridge.

So we moved forward and really, it wasn't that bad. Right when I rounded the bend, right when I thought we had made it, there was the rattle again, and it was loud and fierce and angry sounding. MM pushed me and I ran like hell, stumbling through the dark until the rattle died down.

We had to walk the rest of the way (about two miles) down to the bottom of the canyon in the dark, with every step wondering if we'd encounter another snake. We sang dumb songs and laughed, the way you always laugh when you're on edge and trying to distract yourself from your own precarious vulnerabilities.

When we reached the creek we lay in the sand again and stared up at the sky. There was a large ring circling the moon and it felt like such an undeniably perfect moment, the warm darkness and the sound of the creek and memory of the rattlesnakes leading us in and out of danger.