The Dreaded Flat Tire

"I get it.  It's like someone has told you that you can't breathe anymore."  A friend told me when she saw me in my walking cast for the first time.  What a relief to hear those words.  Someone actually got it.  Eight weeks ago I was a stronger, more confident and dedicated runner that I've ever been.  It felt amazing.  I was at the top of my game and only four weeks away from running my first 50K trail run.  I had been training for the last four months and was having the time of my life on the trails.  I lived to run.  Then I got injured and my world was turned upside down.

At first I was scared, but hopeful.  The race was four weeks away.  I would only miss one long important run before tapering for the race.  I had weekly visits with a highly skilled ART certified chiropractor who treats Olympian athletes and countless runner in Eugene.  I slept in a night splint that was supposed to help my foot heal.  Not only was it terribly uncomfortable but it also gave me a nasty case of insomnia.  Multi-hour sessions cycling on my stationary bike, swimming and lifting weights would replace my running for the next few weeks.  While far from ideal, this plan would enable me to complete the race that I was so excited about running and had trained so hard for.

As race day approached, my foot continued to hurt despite the fact that I had been following all the doctor's orders and was cross-training, stretching, icing, splinting and giving myself ultra-sound treatments in the bathtub once or twice a day.  Much to my chagrin, my non-injured foot developed tendonitis from having to compensate for the injured foot.  Now both of my feet hurt and they hurt all the time.  It was my heart that really ached.  I felt such an overwhelming sense of grief and loss.  Letting all those four months of hard training pass without my culminating event was just too much to take.  Additionally, I had hotel reservations for two nights, had paid my registration fees, bought my t-shirt and the best hydration pack for the big day.


At the appointment before race day, my typical jovial, chatty doc was quite somber during my treatment.  While my foot was supposedly healing according to my chiropractor, it was in no way ready to take on 31 miles of grueling mountainous trail running. "On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being terrible and 10 being wonderful, how good of an idea would it be for me to run this race?"  I asked after he flat tired me.  I was still weighing my options and not ready to give up yet.  "One, maybe a two," he replied.  I was still skeptical.  Doc continued voicing his professional opinion.  "You would be in pain throughout the whole race.  It would be unlikely that you'd be able to finish the race."  The room was spinning, I was fighting back tears at this point but still wasn't ready to throw in the towel.  "After the race, it'd be likely that you wouldn't be able to walk for two weeks.  You would be out of running for the next two to three months.  I am sorry.  I hate flat tiring runners.  If you were one of my athletes at the Olympic Trials, I'd pull you from the race."  How many more ways did this poor guy need to explain to me why I shouldn't run this race? 

This wasn't happening.  It's all a bad dream I thought as I pedaled home on my bike.  What was I going to tell my husband?  What was I going to tell my running partner with whom I had signed up, trained and fretted over race details with?  Not only had I let myself down, I was letting them down.  Over the last few months, I had been so public about my intentions to run this race.  Everyone knew about it.  Suddenly I was terribly embarrassed that I went and got myself injured.  Why did I chose that location?  Why didn't I stick with my beloved soft dry forested Rideline Trail?  Why did I run two miles more than my training plan indicated I should run?  Why did I barrel down that hill?  Why did I wear those shoes?  Why didn't I take an ice bath after that run?  Why didn't I rest after the race rather than go to a social event afterwards?  Why didn't I immediately see a doctor when I found that I couldn't put any weight on that foot the following day?  Why did I throw an end-of-the-year party for my kids' preschool rather than take care of myself?  Why, why, why?  Why me?  Why now?

Are You Crying?

I am hearing voices again.  Well, maybe not voices in the plural sense, but, darn it, Tom Hanks keeps yelling at me.  "Are you crying?!  There's no crying in ultra-running!" he heartlessly screams in my face.  It wasn't until I reread several of my posts that I realized just how many tears I've shed around running for the last couple months.  I have really outdone myself the last couple weeks with my latest injury that has caused my training to come to a screeching halt.  If ultra-runners had stage-names like strippers or derby girls, mine would be Waterworks or Weepy Willow.  So what's with all the tears?  It really is rather strange that something that brings me such joy can turn me into a blubbering basket case.


I am a recovering self-proclaimed micromanaging control freak.  For the most part, this has served me well in life.  As my wise life coach told me three years ago, it was time for a different chapter of my life.  I needed to relinquish the facade of control that I felt I had over the universe.  It was time to wrap my carefully honed, overly-utilized perfectionism in a beautiful box, fasten a coordinating bow, attach matching helium balloons with pretty curly ribbon, thank the contents of the box for helping me out all these years and ever so lovingly and gently, release it into the universe where it belongs.  I can't tell you how cathartic that moment was.  Pressure was off.  I was a changed woman.  Like any addiction, I wasn't "cured".  I would fall off the wagon from time to time and easily slip back into those old habits and patterns before I was even aware of it.   This desire for control usually shows up tenfold when I find myself eye to eye with a formidable challenge or obstacle.


I love and thrive on a good challenge.  It makes me feel alive.  In these respects, running has been both a blessing and a curse for me.  It's a blessing because it's brought me such joy.  For the most part, I have fun when I run.  I feel great, strong, alive and ready to embrace life.  So many wonderful friendships, opportunities have arisen from my interest in running.  It keeps me physically healthy and allows me to eat what I want, when I want without counting calories.  When I have a tough day, all I need to do is lace up my running shoes and hit the trails.  Before I know it, I've blown off some steam, regained perspective and reached that lovely blissed out feeling.


It's a curse because it's brought me such pain.  Every friggin' time I train for something, I suffer some annoying repetitive stress injury.  The physical pain is one thing, but the mental anguish of having my carefully crafted race goals and running regimen sputter and threaten to dissolve altogether is a whole other can of worms.  The latter is so much for difficult to deal with.  I no longer have control over my running domain as I once thought.  If something so good for me keeps hurting me, why do I keep coming back for more.  It almost seems like battered wife syndrome.  Perhaps it was time to accept the fact that running doesn't agree with my body and find something more forgiving.  Ultimately I keep coming back to control.  Running is immune to my controlling powers.  Try as I may, nothing that I do will guarantee a good run or race. 


So what the hell do I do with all this wisdom?  I've been sidelined from running for the last two and a half weeks.  In nine days, I am slated to run 31 miles, which under the best circumstances would be a stretch.  Last night I ran five miles, the longest that I've run for a little over two weeks and woke up with a foot that just might have been more pissed at me than I was at it.  Do I suck it up, hope for the best, suck down a handful of Advil and go for it even at the risk of further damage?  Do I cut my losses and not even show up to the start line and enjoy the rest of my summer unscathed?  I still don't know what I'll do.  I'm not in control.  Time will tell.  What I do know is that the time for crying is over.  I can't believe none of you dope slapped me after hearing/reading my many self-absorbed laments.  My imaginary Tom Hanks was the one to rouse me and set my mental wheels spinning.


I keep reading all these amazing quotes.  The resounding one for me is "Encourage your hopes, not your fears."  That is where I am at this exact minute.  I am setting aside my fears and encouraging the hope that I will show up at the start line come race day, have an amazing journey and cross that finish line with a smile on my face and satisfaction in my heart.  When I want to cry or even whine, I will remember Amy Palmiero-Winter's heart, determination and drive at Western States 100.  There she became the first amputee to complete this challenging race.  There's no crying in ultra-running?  Tom, I'm afraid that you just might be right.  Crying keeps you from keeping a stiff upper lip, looking obstacles and challenges squarely in the eye and giving them every ounce of heart you have. 


To read about the amazing Amy Palmiero-Winter click on the link below:
http://www.sacbee.com/2010/06/28/2853609/ny-woman-becomes-first-amputee.html

Hay in the Barn

I nervously sat in the doctor's office awaiting news that I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like.  A stress fracture?  Plantar Fascitis?  The timing was lousy as hell.  One week before my longest, perhaps most important and highly anticipated trail run.  Travels, illnesses, family commitments and injuries have prevented my running partner and I from running several of our long runs together.  I had sorely missed the company and comradare.  We finally hit the trails together like old times for a 12-15 miler at Mt. Pisgah.  It was a spectacular run with my two favorite running mates.  Hindsight is a bitch.  Around mile 12 I vaguely recall trying to descend a rocky steep hill and feeling a snap that sent me skipping down the next switchback putting as little weight on my left foot as possible before opting to walk down the rest of the hill.  If only I had known that the weird feeling that I felt likely was my plantar fascia tearing fiber by fiber, perhaps I would've walked the rest of way or sent my running partner to fetch the car and pick me up.  I was having too much fun and my training plan was etched in stone for the next four weeks.  I shook the foot out a little, stretched some, let my partner take the lead and gingerly finished up the run.

I am a busy woman with plans and commitments. I skipped my usual ice-bath, took a quick shower and high tailed it to my women's circle where I spent the next couple hours.  By the time I got home, I had missed my family and was feeling a bit guilty about the lack of time I had been spending with them with my training and work schedule, not and attempt at having a social life.  It was a beautiful day so I played outside with the girls, kicking soccer balls, being silly, picking up the backyard and gardening.  By bath time, my foot was downright sore.  As much as I wanted to help with bed time duty, I had to put my feet up and let my very capable and sweet husband take care of the girls while I elevated my throbbing foot.

It wasn't until I awoke the following morning and needed to make a trip to the bathroom that I realized something was wrong.  Much like a hand jerks up when it touches a hot stove, my foot jerked up the minute it grazed the hardwood floor.  Pain radiated from the arch of my foot and seemed to travel up through my leg like a volt of electric current.  It hurt like hell!  My husband was gone for a thirty mile morning run and wouldn't be home for hours.  What was I supposed to do?  I had to go to the bathroom, like, five minutes ago.  If I could avoid placing the middle part of my foot down, I might be able to get there.  My strong foot held most of my weight while my bad foot tip-toe limped.  My twin daughters looked at me with amused curiosity as I held firmly on to the window sill near my bed and somehow managed to hobble to my dresser.  From there, I shuffled down the wall of my room and found myself in the hallway.  God, this is humiliating enough already.  Please don't let me "have an accident" right in front of my daughters who WILL share this exciting household event with their entire preschool class.  Fortunately, I made it just in time.  Once that urgency was gone my mind floated to all the practical matters.

First, I had two little girls relying on me for breakfast and attention.  Second, I had 30 people coming over to my house for a potluck in five hours.  I was not ready.  I had errands to run, a backyard to set up, and food to prepare.  Steve would not be home for at least another four hours.  I was on my own.  Third, I had running plans.  That evening I was supposed to run 10 miles.  The following weekend I was supposed to do a 26 mile trail run before beginning my taper.  In four weeks I had my 50K trail debut that I already was nervous about.  WTF, WTF, WTF.  It was as if my life flashed before my eyes and I saw all that could have been if I hadn't been such a flippin' trail junkie.  What could I do?  Well, I took a couple Aleve, iced my foot, stretched my foot and leg a little, put on my lightest weight running shoes and tried to walk again.  I was able to walk gimpily around the house. Somehow I managed to pull it off and throw a pretty sweet event.  The only thing that I didn't have time to do before the guests arrived were my hair and makeup.

I recall saying something like "Yeah, that's not going to happen."  When my doc offered to put me in a walking cast and nix running for the next two weeks to heal my torn PF.  Then I started bargaining with him like an idiot.  I told him I had 26 miles to run that Saturday and a 50K to run in three weeks as if this would cause him to revise his prognosis.  I stubbornly agreed to wear a night splint each night and come back in for some ART the following week.  I also had said that I would try to avoid running as much as possible and opt for cross training instead.  I thought that he might be taking an alarmist approach to my injury.  Come hell or high water, I was running that 26 miles.  I walked out of the doctor's office in a daze and went about my day in a surreal fog.  What am I feeling?  What is this void?  Metaphors rolled in for what I was feeling:

The rug had just been pulled out from under me.
The wind had been taken from my sails.
I was suffering from a broken heart.
I had lost my best friend.

I fought to keep the situation into perspective.  A few weeks prior, my running partner had pulled her calf and was out of training for two weeks.  I recalled the reassuring e-mails that I sent her and tried to heed my own advice but it wasn't so easy.  I limped through my days the first part of the week.  Took a boat load of Aleve and Advil, elevated the foot, iced the foot and fretted and fumed about my unfortunate circumstances.  By Wednesday, I was ready to rip some one's head off.  It had been four days, an eternity since my last run.  I needed to give it a try to see where my attempt to run 26 miles at MRT would fall on the stupidity-meter. 

I chose Pre's Trail, a flat bark chip trail to run a short, easy four miles on.  It hurt at the beginning and it continued to get worse as the run progressed.  It forced me to stop, stretch and cover much of the ground at a walk.  Thankfully, I was out there all alone early that morning.  I found myself crying again.  Pitiful, gasping sobs as my brain finally accepted the fact that I would not be running for at least a week and I indeed would miss my 26 miler on MRT.  Those facts, as much as they hurt, I could accept.  Kissing the last six months that I had been busting my ass training for my first 50K trail run was another story.  I refused to give up that dream.

 

I turned to my StarTrac stationary bike to keep my body conditioned for this race as my foot healed.  I rode with a vengeance.  While I climbed hills on my bike, I envisioned my legs powering up hills along the course.  When I started to feel sorry for myself, I read stories about folks training for Ironman.  When I got bored riding for hours on end, I streamed movies on Netflix.  It's been a full week since I've run.  I keep threatening to go out and hit the trails.  My poor dog looks about as depressed as me about the lack of trail time.  I hope I'm doing the right thing, but there are no guarantees.  I see my doc tomorrow and am hoping that he finds that my foot has healed in record speed and that he gives me the green light to run to my heart's content.  For now, I have to be believe that three weeks into the race that the "hay is in the barn".

Trails and Tribulations

At mile 19  I found myself on the ground, crying, frustrated, lonely, exhausted.  I had been running out on these trails for four and a half hours.  Tearfully, I assessed the damage.  I was muddy and had grass sticking out of the fingers on the hand that held my water bottle.  My other arm and hand hurt from where I had caught myself going down but other than, that I was intact.  This was the second time of the day I had tripped and ended up sprawled across the trail.  My fatigued shuffling legs found a solitary rock protruding from an otherwise flat, muddy section of the trail and down I went.  I couldn't bring myself to get up to run the last two miles of today's run.

What was I doing out here all by myself?  I had woken up at 5AM, left my slumbering family, driven 45 minutes out of town to spend the next five hours running by myself in the middle of nowhere.  What the hell?  Why do I torture myself like this?  I was missing out on hanging out with my daughters and my husband.  I missed them with the very core of my being.  Am I selfish for spending a day of each precious weekend training for these crazy endeavors?  If I couldn't manage to run 21 miles now, how would I ever manage to run 31 miles, at altitude in five weeks?

For the six miles prior to my fall, my mind was doing a number on me.  My mantras went from HTFU, HTFU, HTFU (Harden the fuck up) when my legs hurt and when I felt too tired to carry on, to "I am strong, I am strong, I am strong. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this."  Hands down (no pun intended considering my current predicament) this was my hardest trail run ever.  The original plan was to pick the easiest, flattest trail within an hour of my home that would be safe for me to be on by myself.  This led me to Fall Creek Trail in the Willamette Forest Wilderness which, without a doubt was the most technical trail that I had ever run. After running 13 miles there, I fled to Lowell to buy potato chips and Oreo cookies before running my final eight to ten miles on the North Shore trail at Lookout Point.  I am familiar with this trail.  It would be easier and faster. 

Albeit, beautiful, both trails had a myriad of obstacles through which I had to problem solve and navigate.  From streams trickling down the center of the trail, to mud, roots, rocks, branches and fallen logs littering the already narrow and uneven trail, to prickly vegetation encroaching upon the trail entangling itself around my bare legs, there was never a dull moment out there.  It was as if nature was conspiring against me.  So much for easy, two solid weeks of Oregon rain had turned the creeks along the quaint North Shore trail into angry rushing rivers that at first I tried to circumnavigate or rock hop around.  Eventually I got so tired I just waded through them.  Water up to my shins, mud trying to suck my running shoes off my feet, eyes on the lookout for sneaker roots or rocks, I was constantly thinking about my motion, my surroundings and what I needed to do to get from one place to another.  There was no meditative hum or state of bliss that I am so accustomed to and thrive on while trail running.  Today's run was pure, unadulterated, self-imposed work.

Here I was, on the ground at mile 19, four and half hours into my run.  My dog Japhy, who had not strayed more than three feet in front or behind me was concerned.  He started licking my salty face, urging me to get the hell up already and get back to it.  I brushed myself off, wiped away the tears and put one foot in front of the other until I found myself running again.  Two more miles, two more miles.  All I had left were two more miles.  Thoughts of walking kept creeping into my head.  If I had to walk, I'd walk.  When I couldn't walk anymore, I'd crawl.  Isn't that what the hard core ultra athletes say?  One more mile, one more mile.  All I had left was one more mile.  I thought about my husband running two 24 hour relays.  The spent look in his eyes.  His state of primal exhaustion.  The lack of coherence during the last fifteen miles of his first hundred mile race.  A half a mile, a half a mile.  All I had left was a half a mile.  I was so very tired.  I  could see my car.  I could see the reservoir where I'd soak my weary legs.

 Snarling barking dogs were held by their fishermen owners as Japhy and I ran right by them.  There was the dock.  Glanced at my Garmin. 20.92 miles.  I needed to keep running.  I wasn't going to stop until it said 21 dammit.  I kept running, much to the surprise of the on-looking fishers on the shore, I ran as if my life depended on it until the Garmin beeped right at the edge of the dock.  21 miles.  I hit stop. I made it.  I had been running for four hours and 49 minutes.  This was the most time I had ever spent on my feet running.  I allowed my momentum to carry me straight into the lake where I stumbled on the slippery rocks fully clothed and planted myself waist down into the frigid water.  There I sat in a daze for the next fifteen minutes and thought about what I had just done.  Shivering, rubbing the dirt off my legs and arms, I was eternally grateful to be done with the run.

Running in the Twilight Zone

It is pouring down rain today just as it has been all week long.  I had planned a post-work, hump day ten mile trail run and had been looking forward to it.  A little rain sure as hell wasn't going to stop me.  By the time I got off work and was going to pick up my daughters, the clouds had blown away, the sun had come out and it was dry and balmy.  Since the weather had changed, I didn't give clothing or gear much thought as I got dressed. 

Dog, leash, Garmin, trail shoes, light-weight long sleeve shirt and capri running pants were all that I felt I needed for today's 10 miler.  Japhy and I set off for our adventure.  The closer we got to the trail, the more I realized how unprepared I was for this run.  I didn't even have water; so who knew what else I have overlooked.  I swung by a convenience store and bought some water.  A mile away from the trail, the sky decided to open up and dump on me.  I looked down at my outfit.  Hmmm, this wasn't good.  No raincoat.  No hat.  Cotton socks?!  .

I parked the car and wondered if I should just go back home.  I was not dressed for this, had no Gu or a means to carry my water.  Crap, crap, crap!  I NEEDED this run.  I had two black garbage bags covering and protecting my dog's seat.  I decided that I'd just have to wear a garbage bag.  I yanked one off the top half the chair, ripped a neck hole, two arm holes and slipped it on.  Not bad!  Now for a hat.  I dug around the back seats of the car.  Nothing.  I hopped out into the rain and popped the trunk looking for lost treasure.  Score!  I found my holstered water bottle from last Saturday's long run and it held a Gu!.  This wasn't so bad after all.  Only thing that I wasn't able to conjure was a hat to keep my head and face from getting rained on.  I settled on securing my hair with a lone bobby pin I found in the console.

The rain was really coming down now.  I was sure it'd be better once I made it .25 up the hill and under the forest canopy.  It was time to hit the trail before I changed my mind.  It had taken me a whole 20 minutes to drive up here so I'd at the very least, I'd run four miles.  I could settle for six, be happy with eight and would be stoked with my planned ten.  Let's do this!  I opened up the door.  Japhy looked at me with confused eyes and didn't move a hair.  I expected HIM to come out in this weather?  Was I nuts?  I coaxed him out, carefully tucked the key into a pocket in my pants and set off for what might be a very short trail run.

My sleeves were instantly drenched and clinging to my arms.  The garbage bag covered me from my neck to my knees and was serving its purpose of keeping my torso dry and warm.  My hair was drenched and I'm sure I had mascara running from my eyes down to my cheekbones.  Note to self: Take off mascara before post-work runs.  The first mile, I had my doubts as to whether or not this was a good idea.  I had heard a few claps of thunder and tried to avoid thoughts of being struck my lightening.  Since I had only heard thunder and hadn't seen any lightening, it had to be very, very far away from me, right?  Onward!  This is CRAZY!  I thought as I ran up the hill that had turned into a quickly moving stream.  Did I mention that I opted for my non-Goretex trail shoes?  My feet were soaked after only 10 strides.

Regardless of the rain, I was feeling great!  My body felt strong.  No signs of the gimpiness that I had felt on my four mile road run yesterday.  Two miles into the run, I was completely loose and ready to rock and roll.  Up and down the hills I went with nothing but the sound of rain on trees, my breath and footsteps.  I practically needed windshield wipers to keep the rain off my face.  There were several people out on the trail walking dogs, hiking or riding mountain bikes in this crazy storm.  I smiled like a madwoman and shouted "Great day to be on the trail!" as I passed them.  I was having fun!  This was turning out to be a fabulous run.  It's only rain right?  I wasn't going to melt or anything.

I happily ran along appreciating a nice long flat section until I spotted someone standing in the rain in the middle of the trail.  It was a man and he had a companion who mysteriously slipped behind a tree as I approached.  I wasn't sure if I should quickly pass them or turn around and run in the opposite direction as fast as I could.  The man actually turned out to be rather young.  He was holding, or rather hiding something, maybe a bong, behind his back and looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights.  Japhy by my side, I peeked over the trail to see who/what was hiding before I would make the decision to pass.  Holy shit!  It had a shrouded face and horns!  What the fuck?  I decided to play it tough.  I was faster than these two bozos, had my dog and would kick them in the nuts if they tried anything funny.  I laughed and said "You scared the shit out of me!" to the guy wearing a black scarf over his face and a viking helmet.  They sized me up and down, from my wet and wild hair, bleeding mascara, garbage bag and muddy legs and actually backed up a little.  I clearly had the upper hand here.  As I ran past them, they yelled "In all fairness, you scared us too."  I had a good laugh about that.   It dawned on me that my halfway point that I'd have to turn around and pass them one more time.  Good grief.  "Me again!" I cheerfully announced as I ran by them for the second time in 10 minutes.  This time I noticed that it wasn't a flaming bong that the kid was holding but rather a video  camera.  It looked like we had some amateur film-makers on the trail today.  Let's hope I didn't make the cut.

I had turned around 4.5 miles into the run so it would turn out to be a nine miler today.  Good enough for me.  I felt something biting at my heels.  Upon closer inspection I noticed that my wet socks were turning red.  Cotton socks?! What was I thinking?  My socks had slipped down causing my heel to rub against my wet shoe that was coated with sand and dirt.  This repetitive friction had worn away the skin in both heels and caused them to bleed.  4.5 miles to go!  Whoopie!  I pulled up my socks the best I could to protect my heels and ran as fast and as hard as I could.  I was cold.  I was wet.  My heels hurt.  After my close encounters of the third kind, I was creeped out.  I started hearing things and whipping my head around only to see emptiness.  Japhy didn't help either.  He'd stop every so often, stare nervously into the forest and growl lowly.  Get me the hell out of here!  This is a somewhat challenging trail with very few flat sections.  There are lots of long hills, roots, rocks, gravel, slippery bridges and no cell phone reception.  I ran as fast and carefully as possible and hoped that I'd have enough energy to keep this up and that I wouldn't fall.  Seven miles in, I started feeling calm again and settled back into enjoying my run.  The rain had subsided a bit.  Japhy was my trusty scout.  I kept my eyes on his black body expertly making its way along the trail all the way to my car.  Was I ever ready for this run to be over!  The run was overall pretty darn good considering the conditions.  Had I ever learned a lesson about what a big difference foresight, preparations and the right clothes/shoes for the weather could make on a run. 

Satori on the Trail

I just finished reading Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac.  It's one of my all time favorite books that is worthy of reading every few years.  This was the first time I read it as a runner and it touched me in an entirely different way.  Kerouac's spontaneous prose regarding his (Ray's) hiking experiences with Japhy Ryder (Gary Snyder) often mirror my feelings, thoughts and experiences when I'm out running the trails.  The following is one of my (many) favorite excerpts with which I can closely identify:

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.

The book is so honest, real and true.  One minute Ray is delighted and enchanted by all the beauty that surrounds him on a hike and experiences clarity, enlightenment and is at peace.  The next he's utterly miserable and is swearing, crawling into a cave, refusing to take another step.  As endurance athletes, don't we all experience periods of low lows and high highs?  Doesn't that make pushing limitations all that more meaningful?

I love Ray's mad craving for a Hershey's chocolate bar towards the end of long, grueling hike and his serious noshing during or after his adventures.  There have been many a run or post-run that I felt like I would literally die if I didn't have a coveted food.  Everything tastes better out on the trail in the middle of a run.  A Lay's potato chip or a wedge of orange is an absolute delicacy. 

I've ditched my iPod and instead opt to listen to the sounds of nature, lose myself and/or meditate on my trail runs.  Now I'm wondering what it would be like to listen to a book like Dharma Bums as I run. I might have to give it a try.

Lastly, I must say that my dog Japhy Ryder, indeed lives up to his namesake Dharma Bums character.  Small, wirey with a sage-like grin on his face, my Japhy absolutely loves being out on the trail.  He is wise, silly, completely Zen, lives for the moment and has amazing trail sense.

Next on my trail-loving reading list: John Muir

High Definition Trail Run

I was running through spider webs stretched from one side of the trail to the other, brushing up against branches and vegetation, tripping over roots, breathing in the many scents of the forest, taking in the vibrant colors and hearing nothing but the sounds of the plants and the animals carrying on their blessed day.  It was the perfect day to be up on the gorgeous Ridgeline Trail in southwest Eugene with my only companion being my four-legged running partner, Japhy.  My Border Springer was thrilled to be out for a long run with me on this sunny spring morning.  This was a welcome respite from my several weeks of running the hard, unforgiving roads and bike paths with their obtrusive vehicular traffic, self-absorbed folks taking up more than their share of the path, traffic lights interrupting my running flow and views that I see in my mundane day to day life.  As soon as I hit the trail, it was as if a  switch was flipped. Today's run was a high definition, three dimensional delicious experience that made me feel downright giddy.

Not only had I immensely missed the trails these last several weeks, but I had also forgotten how meditative and cleansing running alone in nature's sanctuary could be.  The worries of the week were washed away as I took in the simplicity of nature.  The contrast of the deep purple wild iris shooting up from the chartreuse ferns and Jacob's Ladder were treasured gifts and reminders to appreciate sweet surprises and contrasts in my own life.  The sound of the water running down rocks and into glistening streams was more beautiful than any song on my iPod.  It reminded me of the continuity of life.  Like a branch falling from a tree, landing in a stream and bumping thorough protruding rocks before floating effortlessly along into smooth waters, we too hit rough spells in our lives that might be unsettling, scary and turbulent, but with patience and faith, transform into new realities.

Up, up, up the hills I went.  Sometimes running at a slow, easy pace and sometimes power walking with all my leg muscles activated.  The summit of each hill, no matter how temporary, was a welcome milestone along my journey.  Feeling the return of my normal pace, speed and running stride for a short straight along this hilly trail, made me appreciate them that much more.  Down, down, down the hills I went.  Shortening my stride and surrendering to gravity, I barreled down the hill with reckless abandon.  It was so fun, I couldn't help but shout whoops of joy on each crazy descent.

Japhy trotted along right in front of me. His ears drawn back to hear my footsteps and judge whether he needed to speed up of slow down to match my pace.  He made an excellent running partner this day.  As much a I look forward to and love running in the company of my running partner, momma runners and my husband, today no apologies or explanations were necessary when I needed to slow down, wanted to kick into high speed or stop to tie a shoe, take a drink or eat a snack.  Initially, I worried that I would be lonely or even scared out there on my own because of the recent cougar sightings, but today, it felt perfect.  Next week, I look forward to having two-legged companionship with the random conversation- sometimes deep, often time peppered with humor, but always interesting.  Today, though, I was the navigator of this experience and Japhy was along for the ride.  I could tell by his silly perma-grin that he was having the time of his life out there too.

Time flew by on the trails and before I knew it I was putting in the last few miles completely unaware of how much time had passed.  My legs were burning from exertion and my whole body was fatigued but my mind and spirit felt like I had spent nearly three hours in a deep meditation.  All the tension had melted from my body.  I felt a mental clarity that I had been lacking for some time.  Some people go to yoga, mediation classes, church or other places of worship, I on the other hand, prefer to slip into the protective embrace and solitude of forest trails for renewal, to find my humble place in the universe and to feel closer to the prescence of a higher power.