E=MC2. For Real.

“It’s all relative.”

I was 18. It was my senior year of high school. And it was my time to shine. Since I had first gotten the taste of winning a cross-country meet my freshman year, I became addicted. Addicted to being the fastest, the strongest, the one who always crossed the finish line first. Addicted to being the best.

And now here I stood on the starting line of the district meet, in what should have been one more easy step towards the championships. I had one of the fastest 800m times in the state and could finally get my shot at being declared “the best”. And through the first lap, all was going according to plan. I tucked behind the leaders, staying nice and relaxed, and as we leaned into the first turn I prepared to make my attack. I would open my stride down the backstretch and pull into the lead, then run as hard as I could until I crossed the line and either threw up or was entirely convinced that I would. This nearly always worked.

But today, something different happened. The girl in front of me slowed sharply, as the one behind me surged into the turn.* The latter stepped on my heel as the former became a perfect blockade from my clear path. In an instant, I was sliding. Then rolling. Then face planted into the track. I scrambled up to see the pack of four begin blistering down the backstretch and set the panicked chase in motion. I caught one by the last turn… a second as we came out of it. Now I just had to catch one more or my season would be over.

*Who does that anyway?

Only, I didn’t.

After the race, I didn’t throw up. Instead I kicked a bench. I punched the ground. I collapsed into a sobbing heap of disbelief. I really thought my life was over. Accordingly, my dad pulled me out of the stadium to save me from further embarrassing myself and my teammates and attempt to set me straight. His words were stern, but poignant.

It’s all relative.

This race, this title was important to me – but relative to the grand scheme of things, who really cares? Did I really think that people would talk about my “failure” for years to come, relative to my overall competence as a runner? (Admittedly, at the time I did.) Was it fair to deem myself a failure in the wake of four years of championships and titles, relative to teammates who would have killed to just once feel the joy of snapping the tape? Was this the last chance I had to be “the best,” relative to the long life ahead of me as opposed to the mere 18 years behind me. Furthermore, was “the best” at the Missouri State High School Track and Field Championships really “the best” relative to national championships, world championships… I don’t know, universe championships?

The simple answer is no. But unfortunately I did not yet understand this theory of relativity my wise father had shared with me. (He’s an accountable engineer. I make shit up for a living.) So I did what any other hyper-competitive, self-loathing teenager would do. I quit running forever.

St. Charles West High School Track Team - circa 1998. Clearly, I was all business.

Fortunately, forever was also a relative term, and after a few years I began to pick up casually running (NOT RACING) again. I ran a few marathons, since I thought I would suck at it - thereby removing the competitive factor, and when I moved to California back in 2005, fell in love with running the trails of the Santa Monica mountains. The first trail I ever ran was a 4.5 mile loop known as Temescal. I use the term “ran” very loosely, as what I was really doing could be best described as a 1 mile jog and then painful death hike to climb the remaining 700 feet in a mile to the “top”. I continued to run this loop over the next couple years, and while I could run more of it than the first time, there was always hiking involved. I began to wonder if maybe someday I could run the whole thing, though I couldn’t imagine it.

Flying down the once elusive beast, ye Temescal

I don’t remember the day, the exact date or the circumstances of the morning I ran every step to the top, but I remember the feeling. I remember making it past the left hand turn over the metal drainage thingee and not stopping. I remember the realization that if I just held out a little longer, I was going to do something that I was reasonably sure was impossible for me.

Not too long after, I was introduced to the San Gabriel mountains – the big girl mountains – which dwarfed the Santa Monicas in comparison. Roughly two years ago, I went for my first run out of Chantry Flats and it reduced me to tears. Climbing the 3,100 feet in 6.24 miles on Upper Winter Creek to the toll road was no joke, and it didn’t just slow me down. It broke me. I went back to Chantry many times that year, and every time it was hard. Every time I hiked. A few times I cried.

Snow covered UWC on a beautiful day that will be the exact opposite of July 23rd.

After over a year away from my elusive Upper Winter Creek, I unknowingly ceremoniously embarked on a loop up to Mt. Wilson and down Sturdevant on new years day. I immediately noticed that it was not as hard as I remembered… but still hard. And eventually, I still had to hike a few short times when things got really steep. But still, I began to wonder if someday I might be able to run all the way up to the toll road without stopping. And there it was:

Chantry was my new Temescal.

Over two months of very productive and smart training flew by, with all my runs out of Chantry taking me backwards on the course to work on the descent from Newcomb’s. The staples became the 4600 foot, 10 mile relentless yet 100% runnable climb up to Mt. Wilson out of Eaton Canyon, and adventures up Baldy Road and beyond for icy, snowy slogs above 8,000 feet in the backcountry. I finished my weekends wholly exhausted but satisfied with the climbing. I knew I was getting better – I could feel it – but relatively I had nothing to compare myself to. Until last weekend.

Heading down to Eaton Canyon after the standard 4600' climb.

Heading down the toll road after another Wilson summit.

After a 7k+ 22 mile day running up the ski slopes of Baldy, we camped at Manker and then headed to Chantry Flats. Dom came down with a fever, but insisted that I get my training in as I felt perfectly fine. So I headed up Upper Winter Creek, fully resolved to just see how I felt and possibly turn around at the toll road if the day wasn’t particularly great. It was a pretty perfect day, the sun shining brightly and me comfortably running in nothing but shorts and a bra top. I ran relaxed for the first two miles until I reached the split, where I knew things would get a great deal steeper. But a mile later, I suddenly realized I hadn’t yet needed to hike. I didn’t feel like I was pushing, yet I was still running further than I had before. Interesting…. That’s when the first thought crept in:

Maybe I can make it to the bench.

Owning the slopes on Saturday, sans board, plus microspikes

I hit the bench, and with only a half mile or so to the toll road, I knew what I had to do. Run every step of Winter Creek. I actually couldn’t believe how great I felt. Sure, I had to push in a few really steep sections, but I was once again, about to do something I had once thought was impossible for me. Compared to Temescal, this run was over 4 times as long with 4 times as much climbing and some magical math percentage that equals “way harder”. When I eventually popped out at the toll road, I was overcome with happiness, but it still wasn’t enough.

Fuck it. We’re going all the way to the top.

The fireroad from the UWC split up to Wilson; Mt. Baldy in the background saying, "Climb me too! I'm more legit!"

It was only 1 ¾ miles to the peak of Mt. Wilson, including a mile of gradual fire road to let my legs recoop from Upper Winter Creek before blasting them with a final ¾ mile of rocky switchbacks. I knew I could do it. I knew that I needed to do this. And so I did.

Blazing back down the mountain via Sturdevant, I meditated for awhile on the significance of conquering my new Temescal. And though this 17 mile route was much different than the 4, the effect was the same. I felt forward momentum. I felt progress. I felt my work coming to fruition. So many times in my running and my life, I allow myself to be consumed by the frustration of “why can’t I do this right now?” I compare myself to others and refuse to see that their circumstances are different than mine. I forget to content myself with “soon” rather than “now.”

I feel like this has been the lesson my dad has been trying to teach me all along. It all comes down to the same thing, and now I understand. It IS all relative. When I am impatient, it is not lack of patience. When I am unhappy with myself, it’s not the inability to be happy. It’s all the blindness I’ve had to accepting things as they are, relative to me - my life, my abilities, my choices, my experiences, my circumstances, my everything. The only real problem would be if I was unsatisfied with my world and my work. But I’m not.

The other engineer in my life recently asked me a similar question:

Do you want to be really fast or are you in it to endure the long one?

All I had to do was take a look at the last few years of my life and my relative progress to determine the answer. Yes. I am definitely in it for the long run. Now there is only one question that remains:

I’ve conquered the new Temescal. Now what’s the new Chantry?

Relativity: I used to hike all the ups. Now it's easier to run every step.

Relativity: 2 years ago, a mountain 50k was a huge race to prepare for - the longest I'd ever run. Now it's a standard training run.

Relativity: I used to run races 1/400th of the distance I do now.

Changes, My New Name & January Totals

This song has been my official jam of 2011. Hence forward, you can now refer to me as "Bandida."

"Bandida" - Audra Mae

First of all, here’s an opposite of change:

I’m excited and honored to be running for Saucony again in 2011, to stain a fresh set of their great apparel with mud, rip a few more pair of ignite shorts and tear the shit out of at least two pairs of Peregrines. Seriously though, I’ll only run for a company I believe in that makes shoes and clothes that are the best I can get. Being a company dedicated solely to running , Saucony is always on the forefront of the latest technologies and delivering competitive runners exactly what they need. Case in point: their expanding minimalist line, which includes my shoe picks for the year – the Peregrine (trail), the Kinvara (road) and the Hattori (training). Basically, they know what’s up and I can get behind that.

Loyal to the sport, indeed.

Now, here are the official

CHANGES I’M MAKING in 2011

A grande jete into my training. (Baldy proving grounds in the background)

This year, I’ve vowed to focus not only on my training, but also taking better care of myself and being safer in the process. How?

1. I got a Goretex Paclite shell to keep me warm and dry in adverse conditions. I have gone hypothermic TWICE now in a race. My stubbornness says I don’t need special, $200 gear. My body says otherwise. Luckily, Santa also thinks I should be warm.

2. I bought a pair of polarized sunglasses and wear them when it’s really bright to protect my light blue eyes. I started getting freaked out that after long days of running, sometimes my vision was really blurry. I don’t feel like going blind any time soon, so ole ‘coon eyes mcgee it is.

3. I ALWAYS put sunscreen on at least my face, or at least wear a hat. I do not want skin cancer and/or to look like leather when I’m 32. Even though I never burn, I understand this is necessary and I was being foolish for never applying. I even took it one step further and bought a daily moisturizer with SPF after I started noticing signs of wear and tear on my 27-year-old face.

4. I at least have the idea to text someone where/what I’m running, since during the week I pretty much always hit the trails alone, in the dark. This necessity was reinforced after viewing 127 Hours. I have yet to put it into practice, but I’m planning on it.

5. Probably the biggest change I’m making is taking better care of myself on the mental level as well. I’m learning to recognize paths of thinking that are destructive to me, my relationships with others and prevent me from reaching my full potential both as an athlete and as a person. And I’m committed to doing things differently.

CHANGES I’VE NOTICED

A 27 mile, 6200 up day in the Baldy backcountry - a new favorite run.

I know. I know. It’s only been a month. But I swear I’ve already noticed some differences! Maybe it’s just that I’m so damn excited to be back into training and working towards a challenging goal. Or maybe it’s that nice rest I gave myself at the end of 2010 that after 2 years, finally got me back to 100%. Whatever it is, these are the facts:

I’ve run at least once every day since a random Tuesday of last year – a longer stretch than I’ve had in years, maybe even since high school cross-country. Not because I’m obsessed with running every day, but because I can and I don’t yet feel like I need a break. Mark my word, I will take a day when I need one. Hell, I’ll take two if I need two. But the point is, my body is sustaining the mileage and I feel good.

For the first time since my senior year of high school, I have a really healthy relationship with food. Whether it was struggling with my changing body as a distance runner, or feeling the pressure to look perfect in a shiny, barely there uniform as a professional dancer – to be honest, I’ve always had issues with how to eat… or not eat. Now it’s all coming together – I listen to what my body needs, I have the means to purchase those things, and I eat and drink what I’m calling for. Including meat. Including greens. And guess what… including sugar.* I’ve always eaten generally “healthy,” but I’m not depriving myself of anything anymore. (Only the things that make me feel crappy, which ironically are fast foods and anything over-processed.) And it’s working… I have energy, I feel great and my body’s leaning out nicely. I can see and feel a major difference.

*And definitely including beer.

Hi!

JANUARY

I started the year with the goal of sticking to no more than 70-80 miles a week with minimal twice-a-days, in order to really give my body a chance to adjust to the high mileage. For the most part, I stuck to the plan (sans one week where I ran 90, but that was MLK’s fault) and felt good. What I am most pleased by is my ability to put in some solid climbing at elevation back-to-back most every weekend. I work on keeping a sustained pace and have really surprised myself at being able to run uphill for 2-3 hours without stopping. It’s weird. And I like it.

Here are the numbers for the first month of the year:

327 miles

60,600 ft ascent

63 hours of running

*The number I am really happy about here is the amount of ascent, a great chunk of which has been spent at elevation. I had one week in there with over 17k of climbing which is close to where I'd like to be this spring relative to my goals and my body.

Heading into February, I’ve definitely started to notice the miles a little. My long runs on the weekend are great, after I warm up, but anything less than 7 or 8 during the week feels pretty shitty. I’m going to continue at around 80 per week, but am going to try to focus my weekday workouts a little more in an effort to breathe some life back into my legs. I also need to start getting some speed work in, more out of curiosity than anything of where I’m at as far as running Boston. I paced some kiddos last weekend at the Students-Run-LA 18 miler (in prep to run the LA Marathon – yep, 2,000+ kids running 26.2 miles! So cool and inspiring!) and though my group was an easy 8:30-9 min/mile pace – my quads were pretty rocked from 2 ½ hours of pounding on the roads. My plan is to start getting a 10-15 mile tempo run in on the roads during the week, so as not to sacrifice any mountain time (fun time!) on the weekends. After conferring with “coach,” the thought is that if I can keep up the work, training through C2M and then kick it up to 100 mile+ weeks with at least 20k of climbing (I’m averaging about 13k now, so not too far off), I should be in good shape for giving AC a solid effort. In the meantime, I shall remember this mantra, courtesy of JDF:

"To be worn out is to be renewed."
-Lao-tzu

Indeed.

Now, enough with the seriousness. Look at how much fun I am having…..

June & I at the notch - getting our elevation on. (June's running States this year!)

Always focusing on proper hydration.

Some days, you've got to do handstands and eat ice cream sandwiches at the beach.

The ruggedly beautiful Baldy backcountry - leaving Stockton Flats, enroute to Gobbler's Knob

An extraordinarily tough day ending with an extraordinarily beautiful sunset - I'll never forget this one.

Mt. Baldy - the official new favorite playground

Easy Like Sunday Morning

I only know one other man with a mustache that sweet.

Waking up sore and exhausted is tough. Waking up sore and exhausted with another long run in the big girl mountains* looming ahead is a bit daunting. Add some pouring rain and driving wind in there and you’ve got yourself a whole mess of “not gonna lie, I really don’t want to do this right now.”

*San Gabriels

Such was Sunday morning, as I awoke to all things comfortable: a warm, snuggly bed, cinnamon oatmeal, love, laughter and the freedom not to have to do anything. I had slept in until 7:45-ish after a night of hard sleep that could only be induced by the cumulative effects of hard training, and only disturbed by restless, twitching legs. But now I was awake, aware, and faced with that dilemma that ever so often creeps into the mind of a committed ultra endurance athlete – Technically, I don’t have to, but….

I looked out the window. I looked in the mirror. I could see the torment in my own eyes. I stalled with breakfast. I stalled with conversation. I stalled with every nonessential activity I could thing of. But there was an unspoken agreement. There was a common understanding.

Oh, we would be running today.

And so it would be, as we hit the highway in the Jeep and headed for the hills. It was an odd and somewhat ominous drive, as our typical loud singing, car dancing and blaring excitement for the day ahead was replaced with silence. I focused on the road and tried to convince myself that once I got going I’d feel better. And that another 4k or so of climbing wouldn’t really be that bad. And that I wanted to get out of the car and get started.

And so it was. We began climbing up Echo Mountain in the drizzling rain with the goal of getting some time in on rocky Sam Merrill, which represented miles 89-91 on the AC course. My body was tired and my legs were tight as I picked my way up the winding switchbacks, waiting for that a-ha moment where I warmed up and a little fire would light under my feet. However, as I reached the top of Echo 2.7 miles in, I was only more exhausted than when I had started. I began picking my way up Sam Merrill, but I could feel my form deteriorating and the full weight of my body with every step. Dom had doubled back to catch me, and I told him I was unsure how much farther I could go today. It wasn’t necessarily the number of miles, it was those which were vertical, and out here – vertical miles were inescapable. (Which is why we love it so.) I committed to running to the end of Sam, and then maybe I’d head back down if I couldn’t get it together. At this point, I had fallen UPHILL twice and I could just feel that I was running altogether ugly. 10-11 hard fought miles wouldn’t be a wash for the day and so I committed myself to knocking out these next two of climbing the best I could.

Sample of conditions on Echo Mountain Trail, as captured by Louis Kwan (who we ran into doing REPEATS up the thing - crazy man!)

Accordingly, I downed some calories and a Saltstick and focused on the task at hand. Get up this hill. One. Step. At. A. Time. As the trail wound upward, out of the exposed fire ravaged ridge and back under the cover of the forest, the grade became a great deal gentler and my feet began digging into the softened earth. I felt power in my stride and running became natural again. Mileage thoughts began to creep in – technically it doesn’t matter if I only run 11, but if I just go a mile and a half farther up, I can hit 14 to stick to the plan of 70 on the week. When I popped out at the intersection with Lowe Rd and Idlehour, I was all teeth... which were officially sunk into a day of training.

I decided that I would probably go another 15-20 min up on the fire road and then head back to the car. As we wound around the ridge it got colder and colder, so I ran harder and harder to keep warm. The fog, combined with the blackened hillside created some serious Tim Burton shit and I laughed at how happy I was in this completely uncomfortable and inhospitable environment. I was just so gosh darned excited that my run had turned around – that is what made me comfortable.

So, what I realized was happening now is that I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t remember exactly how much farther it was to the summit and I couldn’t see anything to make guesstimates, so I just kept at it. Keeping at it took me right to the top of the fire road, and even still, I didn’t want to go back. So I briefly explored a little single track before reasoning that I should go back down to the main road so as not to lose myself and add the aspects of worry and confusion to our already foreboding day. Before starting the decent, I decided to leave a little note in the mud, both for reassurance and smile purposes. Just as I was properly punctuating my greeting, I heard a voice behind me:

Hey, come up here. It’s snowing!

Sure enough, the rain was turning to snow right before our eyes. It was one of those moments where you couldn’t really do anything but just stand there, close your eyes and tilt your head to the sky, and smile. Magic.

The details of the descent were somewhat inconsequential, save my notations of how hard Sam would be after already having run 90 miles... of hellacious climbing... now in the dark. I opened my stride and pushed the pace in a few sections and relaxed into others, focusing more on form. I was running naturally. Comfortably.

As I wound down Echo mountain, I dipped out of the gray and became sandwiched between two cloud layers. The effect was pretty dazzling, as the sun stretched to highlight the trail and the weather swirled all about the mountain, above and below. As I ran the last few miles down to Pasadena, all I could think about was how completely and amazingly this day had turned around for me. Things didn’t just get better. They got awesome. I love surprises.

Down in the city, we capped off the run with some Mexican replenishment replete with a couple Negro Modelos and celebrated our bad day gone good. Looking back, it’s funny how our linner conversation echoed that same sentiment, on a much grander level. I’m talking about life, people. As we ate our delicious $15 meals in a warm restaurant, with gas in the car, rent paid, and nice gear on our backs, we discussed our gratitude for being able to finally live our lives more comfortably. Ahhhh, there’s that word again.

Less than a year ago, my life was much different. I was working tirelessly for a start-up that sucked the life out of me. I ate off $10 a week, never turned on my heat and sometimes had to literally run my errands because I couldn’t afford gas. I had to say no to social activities and scrape together enough cash to drive out to train, packing cheap food and sweating every quarter shelled out. I camped at races and shared meals when out with friends – always chosen by the largest number of calories per dollar and never by what looked good. It wasn’t terrible. But it was hard.

And now here I was, beginning to get a taste of the comfortable life America could afford you if you had the means to buy in. I could train the way I wanted. I could go to movies and concerts and dinners and drinks with my friends. I could buy presents for my loved ones and go on out-of-town visits. I could get nicer gear to keep me safe, warm and dry. I could eat. I could drink. I could be merry. And I was so very, very grateful.

Even still, how comfortable would I allow myself to be? Everything in my life – my apartment, my vehicle, my wardrobe – is built for function. And until now, that was always for necessity. Now, perhaps I could afford to begin acquiring nicer, more comfortable things – yet I have no desire. I think I’m afraid to lose that part of me that doesn’t need any excess, yet I am struggling with the pressure to create a more accommodating environment for the people in my life who perhaps do view these things as important. And not wrongfully so. I don’t blame anyone who would rather stretch out in a quiet Acura rather than bounce around in a Jeep with wet, muddy clothes permeating from the back. I myself occasionally enjoy curling up on a plush couch after dinner and surfing the channels, over spreading out on the floor and only being able to watch one of twelve DVDs on the TV I got for my tenth birthday. And I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t like to put on a pretty outfit, do my hair and makeup and hit the town.

Similarly, I wouldn’t blame anyone who would rather stay inside on a nasty day and be perfectly content with the fact they had already run 22.5 miles and climbed 4,000 feet the day before. But that’s where my path diverges.

Because when you don’t go out, you can miss the magic of rain turning to snow before your very eyes. You can miss the beauty of your body understanding the training and coming alive. You can miss the sheer joy of a few fleeting minutes flying down a single track that make the other four hours of grueling torture 100% worth it. You miss another opportunity to make yourself better. For me, the only way I can get to the things that make me truly unabashedly happy is by doing things that are hard. Things that “not gonna lie, I really don’t want to do right now."

Because the truth is, the only thing that makes me really, truly uncomfortable is getting too comfortable.

Saturday's training run on the Leona Divide Course, thanks to RD Keira Henninger. I swear there were other girls there too!

This song has been rocking my life as of late, and applies perfectly to my thoughts. Enjoy your socks for a few more seconds... because you're about to lose them.

"I Want Something to Live For" - The Rocket Summer

Dear Winter: In Some Ways You are Awesome and in Others I am Done With You.

I’m going to be honest here.

I’m sick of running in the dark.

I’m sick of running in the cold.

I’m sick of wet feet and sloppy trails I can’t charge.

Freezing Rain Boney Mountain 3,000 gain mud breakfast (photo: Howard Cohen)

That’s not to say I don’t get my ass out there every day. And that’s not to say I don’t enjoy it. Much to the contrary, the very thing that gets me out the door is knowing that no matter how much I “don’t feel like it,” a mile or two in, I always end up warming up, finding a groove and being all together content in my run. Every. Single. Time.

But let’s be honest: only running in darkness before and after work five days a week is hard. Not only for motivational reasons, but also running at night on the trails is different. While often magical, it slows you down. In short, I miss running fast, wild and unrestricted, and right now, I don’t get the opportunity to do that much. Weekends are reserved for loooooong adventures in the San Gabriels on the AC course, and that means a ‘sustainable pace’. Flying down a hill at 5:30, is not exactly sustainable. For Katie, that is.

All that being said, guess what people? The days are getting longer. If I go run Work Hill directly from the office, I can get one summit in at sunset. And let me tell you, it’s freaking glorious. And now on morning runs, I only run UP in the dark (which is actually kind of great, because I can’t see the grade as well). Then I get to the top and see some amazing sunrises (Southern California is really giving it to us right now) and tear back down, running free. I bet you thought this post was dedicated to complaining, but you were wrong.

Example of my LA sunrises - taken 1/13 Westridge Coyote Run, as seen by K. Chan's camera

In short, I’m excited and I’m impossibly optimistic right now. And I can help but see the expanding days as a metaphor for my expanding potential. With each sunrise, I’m shedding a little more light on my abilities from places once hidden in dark corners of my mind. And with each sunset, I remember to let go of the negatives as I plunge forward in my training, inspired.

1/9: Eaton Canyon to Heaven. It's only 4,600 feet up!

June and I on the toll road up to Mt. Wilson in a true Winter Wonderland.

Look what was outside my window on my last Southwest flight...

Speaking of my training, right now I’m focused on just getting back into the groove of running every day and the absurd amount of climbing that my AC Project requires. I’m confining myself to no more than 70-80 miles a week right now and holding off on twice a days until my body is super comfortable with these numbers and workouts. Too much too soon is a big downfall of mine, and I’m committed to remaining uninjured as a result of overtraining this year. That said, I’ve definitely kicked the year off right with some downright epic long runs out on the AC grounds. And I’ve got the burning quads, cuts and bruises, ripped gear, insatiable hunger and wet, muddy clothes littered about the house to prove it. Also, my legs are already covered in poison oak (despite the use of Tecnu, calf sleeves and the shower) and last Saturday I got bit by a vampire somewhere out of Chantry. It’s tooth is still in my shin, and now I can no longer eat anything ‘lyme’ flavored without hilarious jokes abounding.

But for the biggest breakthrough thus far, I give you the day Katie ate a whole Chipotle burrito.

Reflections and Resolutions

My attempt at being highly appropriate.

Wow. It certainly has been a crazy year. Looking back and trying to process it all is damn near impossible – but the good news is that I’m not even sure that’s entirely necessary. Because now when I remember, I smile. Hours of dissecting words turn to one poignant moment and I am inspired.

These are those moments. Formerly described by wordy, two-beer posts – now limited to 1-2 grammatically correct sentences.

ROCKY RACCOON 100

I know that simply finishing is more important than winning could ever be, and I vow to never lose that focus.

MIWOK 100K

Sometimes, no matter how prepared and strong you are, it is simply not your day and there don’t have to be any reasons. And on these days I enjoy the suffering.

GRAND CANYON R2R2R

Pushing up the Bright Angel switchbacks up to Indian Garden, I discovered a new gear and officially decided I would never say “I suck at climbing again.” Because I don’t.

WESTERN STATES

Running alongside Gabi as she pushed through her darkest moments allowed me to view myself in one insanely beautiful out of body experience. Her strength was an inspiration.

BADWATER

The amount of love in my heart is terrifying. Also, I got next…

ADVENTURES IN COLORADO

There are things in life I simply cannot control, nor do I want to. But I can always control my ability to pick up and go on insanely beautiful, awesome, challenging, amazing adventures, and for that I am eternally grateful.

COMPLETING THE FULL BACKBONE TRAIL

It’s not about the races, the competition, the controlled environments. This day and these flashes of solitude, gratitude and utter peace is why I run.

FIRETRAILS 50

When you are emotionally void and broken, you would be a fool not to expect that to carry over into other activities. Even running. And guess what? That’s life.

OZARK TRAIL 100

I pushed my body harder than I ever have and red-lined on the limits until it broke. For that, there is nothing to be ashamed.

RIDGECREST 50K

This was the day and the moment that I finally let go. I’ll never forget it.

Yes, this year was riddled with setbacks, injury, heartache and struggle. But this is all overshined by experiences and moments that I will never forget. Finally crossing the finish line with every one of my friends at RR100 after a truly epic battle. Almost sliding to my death off Baldy and being rewarded for living with probably the best sunrise I can remember (and I’ve seen quite a few). Driving, singing, talking, laughing. Running the last mile of Badwater with Dom and being utterly consumed by emotion as he crossed the finish line. Running and sliding down a glacier. Rebuilding the fire ravaged Angeles Crest course. Living. Loving. Beers on the North Rim. Swimming under waterfalls. Dancing. Climbing higher than I’ve ever climbed. Running harder than I’ve ever run. Discovering a deep-rooted unshakable strength that in one moment threatens to destroy me, and in another makes possible a world of experiences with the purest of mind and heart. Watching Gordy complete his hard earned lap at Placer High with tears streaming down my face. Hugging my brother when he returned to American soil. Falling in love all over again. The field of wildflowers in Death Valley. Kissing Ann Trason’s 1994 cougar. My dad carrying me back to the 68 mile aid station with tears in his eyes. Blissful moments of weightlessness. Photos. Videos. Concerts. Hugs. Finally quitting my job. Friends. Each sunrise. Every sunset. New trails. Old trails. Life.

In short: the hard stuff was worth it. Another year has gone by and I’m stronger still. I know myself better. And I like myself more.

Oh, where you've carried me...

And now for the good stuff. Looking forward. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited heading into a year of racing ever. I believe that is largely due to my plans. Have I set lofty goals? Yes. Do I plan to run myself into the ground trying to achieve them? Absolutely. Is this smart? Who the hell knows. What I can say is this…

I finally am in a position where I can work a normal 8-5 job and that’s it. No extra gigs and the free time is mine. I can afford to eat well and race. While life isn’t perfect, I am very happy. So the time to “go there” is now…

My goal race for 2011 will be Angeles Crest 100 in July. Beginning January 1^st, I have vowed to dedicate myself wholly and fully to training in pursuit of beginning to actualize my potential at mountain running. Weekdays will be filled with training before and after work. I will do core work at least 2 days a week and ballet/stretch at the very minimum one night for an hour and a half. Weekends will involve camping in the San Gabriels and running morning noon and night on every inch of the course. I will climb mountains every day.

Leading up to AC, I’m looking forward to running Coyote 2 Moons 100k on my birthday weekend, posting a decent time at the Boston Marathon and hopefully tackling this awesome 40 mile Wrightwood-Baldy run dreamed up at the SMM 50k with Sarah from PCTR. Other than that, I’ll be helping Dom at Miwok and that’s it. No more races – just consistent training. The only time I’ll semi-taper is for Boston, maybe 5 days. The goal is AC and I aim to find out what I’m really made of.

A Happy New Year it shall be…

I Choose the Sun: Ridgecrest 50k

Understand.

On Thursday I decided that I’d head out to the high desert for one more race this year. Mainly because it was much better than just sitting at home. You see, everyone else was up at the North Face Endurance Challenge, but for personal reasons I had elected to stay back. I felt like everyone else was at the biggest party of the year and I was freaking grounded. Only then I realized I wasn’t grounded and there was another more low key house party going on and that I should probably go. Besides, acoustic guitars and cans of PBR are way more my style than champagne and tuxes.

Then, on Friday I decided I wasn’t mentally capable of racing and tried to back out. But Gabi fed me beers and talked me back into it. Sneaky Gabi. So when I finally woke up on Saturday, I realized I needed to pack a bag and get the hell out of town. Unfortunately my morning was spent fielding phone calls and texts from racers, crews, spectators and mothers (everyone always seems to think I have answers), monitoring the action at NF via tracking, twitter, facebook (I had like 50 windows open) and watching the Western States lottery feed, praying that I wouldn’t get in and I would get $370 back on my debit card to use on Angeles Crest instead. I was like information central. It was all quite ridiculous.

FINALLY, I closed down shop, showered, threw my Saucony stuff in a bag and headed down to meet Gabi and drive out to Ridgecrest. I guess I was really going at this point. I’d done this drive many times this year heading out to Death Valley, and I’ve got to say – it felt nice heading out there to run myself. I was immediately glad I decided to go.

The day and night were totally relaxed and I woke up on Sunday totally excited. Not to race… but just to run. I could not wait to get out there and run 31 miles. I couldn’t think of anything that sounded more fun. That was a good sign.

A record number of entrants gathered in a big parking lot, the RD shouted instructions into a little plastic megaphone and finally shouted “Go!” And so we went. I felt no nerves. I felt no need to race. Today, I was just going running.

I felt as if I was floating along at about 8:30-9min pace, which seemed right, so I just locked in and allowed myself to pass and be passed without any regard for who they were or where I was. I quickly reached the 5.5 mile mark, key word being quickly, as I realized I was actually running under 8 minute miles. This seemed like a remarkably bad idea, seeing as though I wanted to enjoy this day and my knee was laden with tendonitis, so I tried to slow down a bit. Apparently that didn’t happen because at the 11 mile mark I was still running sub-8s. And I felt awesome. But I freaked out. I didn’t think I was capable of maintaining this pace, especially now that my legs were beginning to feel the climbs a bit. So I did finally slow down a little.

Now here comes the crazy part.

When I run 100 miles, or even sometimes a long, hard 50 – I expect to go through quite the range of emotions. Highs and lows, ebbs and flows. I look forward to this greatly. However, for the past six months I have been remarkably numb and felt nothing. During a 50k, I expect just to focus on the race… it will start to hurt a little… and then before I know it, it will be over. There are no tears in 50ks.

What happened next was entirely unexpected. The flame went out. I felt dead inside. I didn't care about anything at all. Nothing mattered. Whoa.

Accordingly, I was momentarily left with a feeling of complete and utter sadness and I feared that my day would end here on account of the burden. But surprisingly, something completely different occurred. Instead, I felt weightless. I felt the extreme happiness that I hadn’t touched for so long and I took flight down the trail.

The sun was shining through the clouds illuminating the desert floor and bouncing off of the large boulders scattered throughout my view. I felt the warmth on my face. I felt the wind in my hair. I felt alive. It was, as I like to say, the jam.

Running along, at mile something.

At about the halfway point, I began to feel the climbs a bit and backed off the pace, resolved to finish strong. I drank, I ate, I salted, I ran. That’s all there was. As I reached the marathon point, I laughed a bit at the realization that just a very few years ago I dreamed of the day I would break 4 hours and maybe even qualify for the Boston Marathon. Now here I was handily running under 4 for a split in a longer race, and I felt like I had been totally dogging it for the past 10 or so miles. Wow. You know, I spend so much time hating myself for what I haven’t yet accomplished that sometimes I fail to see progress. Today, that was not the case.

I saw.

Next, I did the only logical thing I could think of – run the last five miles as hard as I could until I felt like I would throw up. This proved to be great fun. And very confusing for the 10 or so runners that I passed. I crossed the line at 4:41:21, setting a PR by well over an hour. This is the second December in a row that I’ve gone to a race I wasn’t really stoked about running, with tendonitis in my right knee and not that great of an attitude – yet totally killed it.* My theory is that end of the year races are the one place that I really, truly have no expectations – so I’m finally free from the burden of my arguably destructive mind. Man, I need to work on that.

*I say this in terms relative to me. Not by industry standard. Yet.

My awesome desert art bobcat trophy/free apartment decoration.

And work on it I shall. 2011 is bringing me the Boston Marathon (what?! Yes.) and Angeles Crest 100 as goal races. Hopefully the lottery gods will allow me back into Miwok 100k to redeem myself as well. Until then, I have day after day of double workouts and long weekends climbing big mountains ahead of me.

Giddy-up.

Winners! At life!

"Mama you can choose the rain, but I choose the sun." ~Nikka Costa