Woolley Trail Half Marathon

When the winter has been long and February's only color is grey, what is a girl to do?  You convince your friends running a half marathon in the next county over is a great idea; teetering on brilliance actually.

They didn't buy the brilliance descriptor either.  However, they did agree to run it once the weather forecast promised it wouldn't be 20 mph winds with torrential rains.

We parked at the little church across from the starting line.  It was chilly and none of us really wanted to leave the warmth of the car.  Kathy points out the guy in the car next to us is eating a fast food cheeseburger.   The three of us giggle.  Surely he wasn't going to be running the race and if he was, he'd regret his Breakfast of Champions about mile 4.

The line was short to pick up our race bibs and timing chips.  People were milling about and we watched as the early start marathoners began to line up.  I caught the eye of Heidi, a fellow Marathon Maniac, and ran up to give her a hug and give her well wishes on her race.  8 a.m. sharp they were off and we cheered and clapped as they headed down the trail; then quickly went back to the car where it was warm.

Our bibs in place and timing chips securely fastened to our shoes, we made our way to the porta potty line.  Standing in line, we hear things as "crossing the creek" and "change shoes" and "how many times do we cross it?".  Karen asks someone what they are talking about and we quickly realize we did not get the last email and up until that point had been blissfully unaware we would have to run through a creek.  Twice.

At this point there is nothing we can do about it.  Onward and upward.  We'll just cross that bridge creek when we get to it.  (HA!  See what I did there?!?)

9 am and we were off and running.  Kathy, Karen and I made our way down Centennial Trail.  My plan was to run 3 easy, 3 faster, 3 easy and finish faster. It has been months since I ran any speed and I was looking to reintroduce myself to some faster miles without killing myself in the process.

As with all our runs, the three of us talk about everything and nothing.  We were enjoying getting out from our routine.  Unintentionally I found myself pulling ahead after mile 2.  They wished me a great race and I ran at a pace that felt comfortable.  Mile 4 came and I picked up the pace according to my plan.

The pace felt great.  I felt great.  The scenery was great.  Everything was great.  Mile 5 came and so did the water.  For a quarter of a mile we weren't crossing a creek, we were running down a creek.  The winter rains helped the creek change it's direction and it decided the trail was it's new course. 

A quick glance to the left I spotted where I could get to the high side of the trail by getting very little of my shoes wet.  I leapt to the side and inadvertently cut off another runner.  Apologizing, I moved to the side and Runner Man assured me I was fine and to continue on.  We managed to navigate our way; well, that is until we came up behind a woman tip-toeing in an effort to stay dry.  She would have no part in letting us go by.

We tried to stay in line, but she was making it painfully slow.  Hearing a "SPLASH" behind me, I see Runner Man taking off down the middle of the creek.  It took about 2 nano seconds for me to follow suit.  Once you're wet, you're wet. 

The water was ankle deep and soon gave way to some dry land.  Happy the wet part was over, I fell back into a good pace.  Then I turn the bend and SURPRISE! the creek was back.  This section was much deeper and much murkier than the other.  Following Runner Man, we made our way right down the middle of the creek.  It was calf deep in some spots and where-did-my-shoes-go deep in others.

And it was awesome.

Into mile 6 my feet no longer felt soaking wet and I had gained my pace again.  I noticed the leaders of the half marathon were coming toward me.  The lead man and woman were in perfect unison.  I wondered if they trained together.

Reaching the turn around, I had to remind myself my plan was to run miles 7, 8, and 9 at an easy pace.  I tried to slow to a 9 min pace but felt so good going faster that I found it difficult to reel it in.  Since it was an out and back course I knew the creek running was fast approaching and my pace would slow again.  I decided to do what felt good for as long as I could. 

It was here I realized I had not seen many women runners hit the turn around before me.  How many had gone by?  6? 7? 8?  Could I place in the top 6 female over all?  I laugh as it becomes clear I am not a competitor.  A competitor would have definitely known how many women were ahead of her.  Not me.  I'm still feeling good.

Armed with this little nugget of wonder, I start to focus on women ahead of me.  There's one.  I reel her in, and pass her.  "Good job" I say as I go by.  She smiles and says, "Go get em!".
 

Coming toward me are the very recognizable forms of Karen and Kathy.  They too enjoyed running through the creek and we give each other high fives.  Karen snapped a picture of me and I gave her a thumbs up. 

The creek is ahead and this time I plow my way right through the middle.  When it gets to be calf deep I try and make my way to the side.  Big mistake.  I sink into 8 inches of muck which apparently fell in love with my shoe as it reeeaaallllyyy didn't want to let it go.  I wonder if I can finish a race with one shoe.

Deciding I loved my shoe more than the muck possibly could, I yank my foot up and keep my shoe.  Back to the creek I go.  Splashing through the creek is destroying my pace but I am having too much fun to care.

Done with the creek, I look up ahead and see another woman.  Slowly and surely I gain on her.  As I come along side her, she decides she has another gear.  It's ok, so do I.  After a mile, she realizes I am not going anywhere and she slows. I go by.  I turn and tell her "Great job".  She says nothing.

Am I 5th?  Am I going to finish in the top 5??  The thought is enough to keep my pace strong.  Finishing top 5 female is something I never thought I could accomplish and I surely did not want anyone passing me in the last mile.
 
With this section of the trail flat as flat could be, I see the finisher's chute ahead.  No matter how many steps I run, IT IS NOT GETTING ANY CLOSER.  This has got to be the longest quarter mile ever. 

An eternity later, I cross the finish line in 1:57:28.  A man with long hair and beard congratulates me, places a medal around my neck and hands me a statue. 

"What's this?" I ask.

"You won 3rd female overall.

The heavens part.  Angels sing. 

"What?  I've never done that before."  I begin to cry and he hugs me.  The volunteers at the finish clap and cheer and hug me.

 
A short time later, Kathy and Karen cross and we find ourselves warming by the heaters, eating some of the best soup ever known to mankind and talking with those around us.  The man to my right had come in second, missing first to the girl I had witnessed him running with at the turn around.  Although he did not take first, he did manage to score a huge personal best.

"I'm curious," I ask, "Do the two of you know each other?  I saw you after you hit the turn around and you were in complete unison with your running."

With a big smile and  laughter in his voice he says, "No.  We don't know each other.  I just did not want to get beat by a girl." 

"So.  What you are telling me is - not only did you get beat by a girl but you owe the undeniable strength of Girl Power for your PR today."  We laugh and trade high fives and eat more soup.


The runners around the heaters are trading stories, eating great food and laughing with each other. 

 Mr. Cheese Burger For Breakfast Boy?  He ended up sitting on my left by the heater after the race.  I asked him how he felt after eating such a stellar breakfast.

"I regretted my choice about mile 3.  I'm never doing that again."  

We also learn he drove 3 hours to run this race. Which is proof positive one simply can not beat the great atmosphere of a local race.  The Woolley Run is one of those races.  Terry Sentilla and his crew do a fantastic job with this race and making each runner feel spoiled.

Once I got home, my husband promptly put my trophy in the bookcase in our living room. 

Ok.  I'll admit it.  That silly little bobble head trophy makes me smile.
 
 

 

Sun Mountain 25k Trail Race

We pulled into the Chickadee Trail head parking lot at 8:30; 3 1/2 hours after leaving home.  The time had gone by very quickly, but how could it not with views like this along the way?

There was plenty of time before the 10 am start to get our race numbers, eat and use the outhouse.  As more people began to arrive, we were also able to incorporate some awesome cross training for our swimming by learning how to hold our breath when using the outhouse.  It helped us feel hard core cuz we don't even swim.

The kids 1k race started 15 minutes before our race and it was fun to watch the joy come across their faces as they ran their hardest down and around the trail.   Their excitement was contagious.  As you can see here :
Those may look like confident smiles, but really we are a bunch of road runners who like to run on dirt every once in awhile. 

With some course advice and a loud "GO!" from James the race director, we were off on our 15 1/2 mile journey.  304 runners converged onto the trail.  Very shortly after the start, it became a single track trail weaving around Patterson Lake.  We were like a parade of ants at a picnic, all marching in perfect unison down the trail.  Until someone stopped; then it was kind of like dominoes except the dominoes were sweaty.  Kathy and I were loving every single minute of it.

We came to a small meadow between scattered trees exploding in wild sunflowers and blue bells.  I wanted to stop and snap a picture but the ant march was clipping along pretty well and I didn't want to start a game of dominoes.

A few miles into the race the trail widened and we were all able to spread out.  Never one to take a camera (you think I would eventually remember) I dedicated myself to taking selfies on this run to capture the scenery.  Taking pictures while running was a completely new experience for Kathy and I.  Here's our first one - EPIC.
The look on Kathy's face : Are you sure you are doing it right?
The look on my face : Hey look, all I have to do is press this button!

Ok, so maybe we would have to practice.  Please note though, how steep the climb is in a relative short distance.  This is one of the many hiking (read : walking) sections of our race.

The trail came to a clearing as it wound up the side the mountain.  Displayed before us were mountains in the Okanogan Forest and wild sunflowers kissing the mountainsides.  In order to capture the view, we tried to take our picture again.  This time it's quite evident we are both thinking the same thing : Did it take the picture yet?

  Let's just admire the sunflowers shall we?

This picture may look like the highest peak of our race, but it is not.  I think this is mile 5 or 6.  The climbs were difficult yet the scenery was so spectacular it more than made up for it.  Surrounded by wild sunflowers, we decided this would be a good time to play the You-Run-Up-Ahead-And-Take-My-Picture-While-I-Run-By-With-The-Sunflowers-Behind-Me-And-Then-I'll-Do-It-For-You game.  Never heard of it?  Weird.

The dirt trail turned onto a forest service road, to turn back onto a dirt trail again.  All the while we were surrounded by forest which gave way to sweeping views of the mountains around us and the valley below us.  At the half way point we felt a twinge of sadness as we knew we were half way finished.  We didn't want it to be over.

Spectacular isn't it?

Kathy and I had become the masters at selfies.  It's hard to tell what exactly we are taking a picture of here, so let's just admire how we've mastered taking our own pictures shall we?

Somewhere between mile 8 and 9 we came across the only aid station on the 25k course.  It was an oasis of water, electrolytes, coke, grapes, watermelon, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, chocolate and potato chips.  If you've never run a trail run before those delights alone should be enough to get you out there.  I'm not sure anything tastes as good as salty potato chips after climbing to 3700'.

We left the aid station after satisfying our cravings and headed to what we thought would be downhill.  At some point this trail is going to actually go back down isn't it?  The steepest climb lay ahead.  We left a forest service road for an incredibly steep, single track ascent.  At the top we stopped a minute to take another selfie (I mean, "catch our breath"). 

Some kind runner offered to take our picture for us.  Maybe they could tell we were novices and decided if we wanted a good picture, they were going to have to help us out.  Or that maybe we couldn't breathe and hold a camera at the same time.
 

One begins to realize how high we have climbed when the tops of the massive evergreens are that close.

We finally begin our descent down.  YES!

The single track trail was easy to follow.  The winter had taken it's toll on the trail however and it often felt like we were running in a wash out as we maneuvered past rocks and roots.  This glorious down hill was FAST and over with quickly.  As we rounded a corner we were greeted with a long uphill section.  We were a little confused as we had thought once the downhill had begun, the DOWNHILL HAD BEGUN.  Surprise!  Just one more section of uphill.  We could see the carrot dangling and we chased it.  The downhill was close, we just had to find it. 

As the race promises, there is a downhill.  We fell in line with 3 other runners.  Kathy led the group, followed by me, a guy from Seattle, a guy from Georgia living in Issaquah and a woman who celebrated the February birth of her daughter by running up and down this mountain.  Our laughter echoed in the hillside.

We discovered Mr. Georgia-Living-In-Issaquah is friends with the race director James.  He also informed us he just opened up a trail running store called Uphill Running.  Upon hearing the name we immediately put two and two together.  The elevation profile of this race was clearly his fault and we felt compelled to tell him so. 

The descent was rapid.  The uneven terrain was felt in my ankles.  We kept a very close eye on the trail rather than the scenery around us.  After 3 hours in the trail, we met the first person of the day actually coming toward us.  Carrying pizza.  Either this Pizza Delivery Boy was the best Pizza Delivery Boy EVER or we had to be near the finish line.

He said it was a half mile away.  It was a mile.  He was close.

We were sad the best race we've ever run was almost over but excited as despite it being far from easy, we easily had fun.  So we took another picture.

 
Obviously I haven't mastered this selfie thing.

The finish line was filled with people screaming for each and every runner that came in.  The finish line was crossed only when you got your high five from James.  He gave me mine in 3:06:47 after I started.

Our husbands were there waiting for us as well as Kathy's son Kellan who would be celebrating his 19th birthday by running the 50k the next morning.  After we finished, the band played while we sat in our lawn chairs, eating delicious pizza and drinking cold beer - the best finish to running the best run at the best race.

We've already got a race penciled in our calendar for next year; care to guess which one?

 

Mt. Si 50k

We rolled into the almost full elementary school parking lot shortly after 7 am.  The 2 hour drive was uneventful and now with a good 90 minutes before the start of my first ultra we could relax.  I stood in the line to pick up my race number; I realized I was surrounded by relay runners.

Mt. Si Ultra and Relay has been going strong for 31 years.  The 50 mile runners had started at 6 am and the 59-mile relay race would be starting in the next 45 minutes.  Costumes and team shirts were everywhere.  98 teams (5 runners each) belonged to the relay and their energy was contagious. 

At 8 am sharp, the first leg of the relay runners took off.  There were some very serious and some very not-so-serious runners in that group.  My nerves were starting again; I just wanted to get the show on the road.

On cue, 5 minutes before the race was to start, the winds picked up and the heavy rain started.   Every last one of us had found shelter in the school to stay out of the elements as long as possible.  The announcer grabbed the bull horn and sighed, "Come on folks, there's nothing we can do about it" and he opens the front doors. 

Making our way out of the warmth of the building, I anxiously glance over at my caring and loving husband.  He was laughing.  Hysterically.  

My clothes were soaked at the start.  But that's okay, the wind was trying really hard to dry them for me.  The announcer didn't waste anytime - why should he?  Who in their right mind would want to be out in that weather?  We got to the imaginary line in the road and he yelled, "GO" and my first 50k began.

The course was very simple.  Two blocks out, turn right over the bridge, run to and cross over the other bridge and follow the Snoqualmie Valley trail for 15 1/2 miles.   Within a mile we were on the trail.  The rain had let up considerably and I found it easy to get into a rhythm.  Spring rains made everything so green.  It was beautiful.

We cross a side road where the trail cuts through the middle of a golf course.  There were golfers putting near by.  Who is crazy enough to golf in weather like this?  I'm certain none of them thought the same thing about any of us running by.

At the 5 mile mark, the trail intersects a major road and the flaggers were ready for us.   Across the street, I notice a man in a red jacket on a bike talking to another cyclist.  Wait... that red jacket is my husband!  Dennis road his bike out to cheer me on.  A nice surprise at mile 5.  The two of them loudly cheer me on as I disappear back into the trail.

This part of the trail I recognize.  Here was the finish line of the Light At the End of the Tunnel Marathon I ran in September; single-handedly my worst race.  The day before that marathon my anemia had become severe and our family received bad news concerning my mom's cancer.  Every step of that race was a struggle; that marathon shattered me.  Yet here I was running the same trail again.  I wanted redemption.

The trail we followed made it's way up the mountain.  Although the trail was not too steep in it's climb, it was definitely felt.  My mind stayed occupied with the scenery.  All around me were lush evergreen trees.  The deciduous trees dripped with goats beard lichen.  Bridges crossed swollen waterfalls.

Sun peaked out from behind the clouds and filtered onto the trail.   At times the mix of sun and trail looked identical to September's race and a sense of dread would wash over me.  I pushed it from my mind.  When the uphill climb got to be difficult, I began to chant "Up this hill.  Up this hill."    Shortly before mile 11 I took a small walk break of 15 or so steps and I was good to go for another mile.

My legs were tired and my right quad was starting to bother me.  Up this hill.  The rain started again and brought with it puddles everywhere.  My shoes squished.  Up this hill.  I knew once I got to the turn around point the course would begin to feel easier.  The turn around would bring 15 1/2 miles of downhill.  Up this hill.

The course markers pointed us down a forest service road leading to the main highway.  It was a steep downhill and a welcome change to all the uphill.  Every runner who had reached the turn around and making their way up the hill was walking.  Finally I reached the turn around.  An aid station was there with goodies and I drank some of the soda offered while another volunteer happily filled my water bottle.  God bless those volunteers.

30 seconds later I was walking up that steep hill.  At the crest of the hill I began to run and it felt so good.  The downhill made the running feel effortless.  My watch chirped at mile 17 and I saw my pace started with an "8".   I knew I had to slow it down with nearly half the race still ahead of me.

Oh my gosh.  I still had 14 miles to go.  FOURTEEN MILES.  The thought was overwhelming.

Mile 18 the sky remained cloudy, but the rain had let up.  Mile 19 my stomach started to get upset.  I wanted to take off my fuel belt as it felt so restricting on my waist.  I tried adjusting it.  Cruising into mile 20 the hail started; slight at first.  Then the skies opened and hail was bouncing off everything including my face.

That was it.  I was done.  I was cold.  I was tired.  My stomach was upset.  I couldn't feel my fingers.  And there was a man on a bike in a red jacket along the side of the trail.  Screaming as loud as possible at the sight of me.   There was a man in a red jacket!  I ran up to him and gave him a kiss.  I was surprised to see Dennis this far up the trail.  He was drenched and his bike was filthy.

We turned and headed down the trail.  He took my fuel belt and wrapped it on his handle bars (true love!).  My stomach instantly felt better and I felt 10 lbs lighter.  The downhill made for very little pedaling on his part and he coasted next to me.

As this was an out and back course, I met several runners heading up the trail to the turn around.  The 50 mile runners were inspiring and no one crossed paths without a shout of encouragement.  We were all miserable, but we all smiled at each other.

Mile 21 I reached an aid station and knew the hardest part of my run was over.  Today's goal was to have a strong 20 to 24 mile run and then lighten the pace considerably for the remainder of the race.  I called it good at 21 miles.  Grabbed a swig of soda and headed back down the trail.

Keeping pace behind me, my husband - who had been with me at the September race - remarked how I am running much stronger than last time.  "Your pace is stronger, your posture is better - it's like your running is completely different."  He gave me the redemption I was looking for.  I was am a different runner.  My anemia is gone and Mom is with Jesus.   My haunts of that September race disappeared.

The rain let up again by mile 25 and the sun came out.  Mile 26 brought us to the highway again and Dennis went left heading back to the school while I continued straight onto the trail.  Glancing at my watch at 26.2 miles I smiled as each step forward would be a distance I'd never run before.   I ran some, walked some and enjoyed each step of the way. 

Relay Exchanges were vibrant as many energetic-cuz-they-didn't-just-run-28-miles runners cheered loudly as we passed through.  As I made my way down the trail, I could hear fast footsteps behind me; their speed giving evidence they were relay runners.  Without fail, every single one would tell me "Good job" or "Looking good" as they passed me by.  They instinctively knew how deflating it could be to be passed at that stage of the race.

Mile 29 my watch chirped telling me the battery was low.  OH NO YOU DON'T.  You better last as long as me out here Mr. Watch.  If I'm doin' it, so are you.   Of course talking to your watch is normal at mile 29.

Mile 30 I was on the bridge greeted by a volunteer telling me to be careful on the stairs.  STAIRS!  At mile 30.  Oy vey.  I carefully made my way down and ran toward the last bridge.  I was in the home stretch. 

I crossed over the last bridge and had less than half a mile to go.  Two women were lazily window shopping in town.  Upon seeing me, they set their purses at their feet and began to clap for me.  I threw my hands in the air and told them I was treating myself to a latte when this was over.  Not just a latte but a grande latte.  Yes. I. Am.

A relay runner, who looked an awful lot like the running Forest Gump, stood on the side of the road screaming for me.  He ran by me and gave me a hard high five.  I thought my hand was going to fall off.  Maybe I was a little tired.

The finish line was a buzz of relay runners waiting for their team to finish.  The announcer calls my name as I crossed the finish line.  I JUST COMPLETED MY FIRST ULTRA! 

My watch read 31 miles exactly with a time of 5:33:09; 11th female overall and first in the 45-49 age group.  I hugged my husband and cried.   This was my strongest race in 2 1/2 years and brought me the redemption I sought.

Winning doesn't always come from a time on a watch or from being the fastest.  Winning can come from pushing past that which haunts you and finding strength on the other side. 

Today, I won.

Fragrance Lake Trail Half Marathon

"Name please."

"Fiorucci," I answer.

While the registration volunteer scoured the sheet looking for my name, the person holding the bib numbers says, "I've been waiting to get my picture with you."

Confused, I look over to see my friend Esther.  In complete shock, I may have squealed in delight.  I first met Esther in 2009 at the Capital City Marathon in Olympia, WA.    We live 4 freeway hours apart from each other, have not run a race together since that day, yet keep in touch through social media.  She wanted to surprise me and in that she succeeded.  Happily, I might add.

With plenty of time before the race was to start; I took my goody bag and headed back to my car.  Inside the goody bag was a pint glass commemorating today's race.  Yea, I was pretty sure I'd be using that bad boy at the end of the day.

Waiting for my friends to arrive I studied the course map.  A few of the trails I had run before, others like the brand new Cyrus Gates Overlook Trail, I had not.  Every report told me the views from Cyrus Gates Overlook were incredible and I would love it.

The elevation profile was worth my attention and I made a few notes.  Maybe I should have included funeral arrangements.

My friends had started rolling in and Trevin, Kellan, Stephanie, Jenny and I made our way to the starting line.  The race director, Candace Burt, was giving us some final instructions.  The chatter from other runners made it difficult for me to hear.  My mind wandered; I wondered if there were toe tags in the goody bag that I had somehow missed over my excitement of the pint glass.

We were off.  Trevin, Kellan and I kept an easy pace to start.  The choice was made for us really, as the start consisted mostly of single track trail.  As I knew I wouldn't be taking first place - a shocker to some I'm sure - I happily kept in line with those around me.

The "Urb", as we locals call the Interurban Trail, is a much wider gravel path and easily thinned the group.   This was the easiest mile of the race.   And by easiest I mean flattest.   Mile 2 we turn onto Cleator Road, a gravel road heading straight up the back side of Chuckanut Mountain.  Trevin and Kellan take off at good strong paces. 

I, along with 95% of the rest of the runners, walk the ascent.  This is not a leisurely walk, this is a huffing-and-puffing-I-will-blow-your-house-down kind of a walk.  I reach Two Dollar Trail and begin the ruthless switchbacks to Fragrance Lake.  At the time I thought them ruthless, little did I know - I had not yet met the switchbacks of Cyrus Gates.  Ignorance is bliss.  And I, apparently, was extremely blissful.

After a mile or so the ascent becomes much more manageable, with uphill and downhill sections before coming to the edge of Fragrance Lake.  Despite the name of the race being "Fragrance Lake Trail Half Marathon" we spend very little time at the lake itself.  Here's a picture I stole borrowed off the Internet.  It was taken during the summer.  It does not look like this in February, which is a good thing as I may just have stopped at the lake at that point and called it good.

My legs are pretty tired as I turn onto South Lost Lake Trail.  Never have I run this trail before so I keep telling myself this is the adventure part of the course.  Next will be Cyrus Gates Overlook.  "Enjoy this.  Enjoy this.  Must enjoy this." became my mantra.  I enjoy a nice downhill section where the course has dropped 645 feet in half a mile.  My pace is good.  I am strong. I am Queen of the Mountain.

Just as quickly as I fitted that crown onto my head and held my royal scepter high for the world to see, the realization sinks in, for every step I have taken downhill, I have to go all the way back up - as in to the ridge line.  You know, ridge lines that are found at THE TOP OF MOUNTAINS.

No sooner had I realized this, the trail begins to climb.  In less than half a mile I climb from 480' to 1500'.  The views are spectacular and I try and enjoy them.  My quads are mad at me and very tired.  I am not sure I have ever worked them so much and they are making me very aware they are day dreaming of lounge chairs and pool sides.

I start thinking about coca cola.  I begin praying that there is some at the aid station at the start of the Upper Ridge Trail.

By the time I hit Cyrus Gates Overlook I know my quads are toast.  This new trail is so steep in spots stairs made of wood and dirt are built into the mountainside to help one along.  Normally, this would make me happy, but in order take the stairs, one must actually lift your feet onto them.  To lift my feet, I needed my quads and they deserted me about 400 feet down the mountainside.  My quad muscles were shaking so much on one of the flight of stairs, they dang-near buckled and I grabbed a tree so I wouldn't tumble backwards.

As I fear for my life, I remember I am suppose to enjoy the view.  I look around; justifying I should see the views my quads died climbing up to.   It's breathtaking.  Or maybe it was the elevation stealing my breath.

Glenn Tachiyama is an incredible photographer who was waiting for us near on one of the switchbacks on Cyrus Gates Overlook.  He snapped this picture of me.
I am smiling.
It's a lie.
The only thing I was thinking about was coke.

8 miles later I am finally at the highest point of the course.  I continue to follow this trail knowing there should be an aid station close by.  Since I chopped my legs off and threw them down the mountain about a mile before, I watched the trail paying close attention to rocks and roots.  No need to fall today.  I have yet to fall on a trail run and I wanted to keep it that way.

I begin to hear someone yelling my name.  And a cowbell.  I am hearing a cowbell.

Am I dead?  Do angels ring cowbells at the pearly gates?

When my senses returned, I realize my friend Sherry is cheering me on and ringing the cowbell.  She is one of the angels at the only manned aid station on the course.  I am beyond excited to see her.  I ask her if there is coke.  She exclaimed, "YES!"  to which I may have begun to cry. 

Pop had never tasted so good.

After filling one of my water bottles with this liquid sugar, I begin to hit Upper Ridge Trail knowing the hardest part of the climb is over.  I am at the top.  The rest of the course is rolling and then downhill.  This is my favorite elevation to run.  I take it careful as this is the most technical with a plethora of rocks and roots. 

It isn't long before I recognize a familiar face ahead of me.  I have caught up to Esther.  We run the ridge and catch up on life.  She takes a fall and assures me she is fine.  I watch my footing, knowing my legs are weak.

We are among tall evergreens and the roots are plenty.  Often the very roots we try and avoid are the ones giving us an extra grip on our footing.  The trees are massive.  One moment I am eye level with a branch, the next I am looking straight up at them.  Hmmm.  I am not sure how that really happened, but I do know it was the quickest my body has moved all day.  It finally happened.  I fell and have a wicked awesome bruise on my butt to prove it.   I won't be including a picture of that however.

But it is awesome.

We follow Lower Ridge Trail back to Cleator Road.  The road is now another uphill section climbing back up to Fragrance Lake.  We decide we are hard core and begin working intervals into our run.  Maybe just one interval.  And it was to the second tree on the right.  From there we indulged in an uphill 'rest' period of walking.  Once we came to this trail head, we knew it was all down hill.  We pinky swore that it was ok to do whatever needed to be done to finish and we wouldn't feel bad about leaving the other behind.

Shortly after, we began running downhill.  Finally, I began to feel my groove again.  Esther tells me we have about two miles to go.  We pick up the pace and I am feeling great going down the hill.  She keeps her own strong pace and the distance between us begins to widen.  We holler to each other we will see each other at the finish line.  THE FINISH LINE!

A massive evergreen has fallen over the trail during one of our winter storms.  The branches hold the tree about 3 feet off the trail.  This poses a problem.  I can not climb over the tree as it would require a ladder or Superman.  I had neither.  I had no choice but to bend down and crawl under it.    My quads had left me for Mexico.  It wasn't pretty, but I did it.

I am back on The Urb and so close to the finish I can taste it.  I round the corner heading into Larabee State Park and toward the finisher chute.  Trevin is waiting for me and gives me a high five.  He tells me be prepared for yelling.  I don't know what these means until I round the final corner and see the chute.

My friends are lined up waiting for me and they begin yelling.  Kathy, Karen, Kellan, Stephanie and Jenny cheer loudly as I cross the finish line.  I am surrounded by those who know what it's like to push yourself and still come out standing on the other side. 

The most physically demanding race I have completed to date and I can still smile.

Just don't ask me to climb anything for awhile.

Nookachamps Half Marathon

"The wind will be a head wind the entire race." Terry told us. 

It was mile 3 when Karen, Diana and I realized he wasn't kidding.  The winds were sustained at 25 mph, gusting up to 50.  More than once, if we were caught mid-stride, the wind almost knocked us over.

"This is almost as bad as CIM," Karen recalled. 

"Just not as wet," I interject.  And as if on cue, the rain starts; feeling like little razors against any exposed skin.

We pass the 10k turn off and I silently wonder if it wouldn't be smarter to make the turn and call it good at 10k versus a half marathon.  We continue on.

Diana had run a 100 mile race just 11 days prior and Karen and I passed the time by asking her questions.  We both can not wrap our minds around running a distance of 100 miles and Diana is extremely humble in her accomplishment.

We decide if we ever accomplished a 100 mile race, we would find it difficult not to mention this at every presented chance.

"Yes, can I have a nonfat latte please?  Because I just ran a hundred-miler."

"I'm going to swing by the store on the way home to pick up milk because I just ran a hundred-miler."

"Hello?  Yes, hi. I need to bring my car in for an oil change because I just ran a hundred-miler."

Ok, maybe Karen and I aren't as humble as Diana.

The road we are following turns into the blink-and-you'll-miss-it town of Clear Lake. The rain has let up but not enough to bring on spectators.  There are no town folk walking the streets and cheering us on today.   

We leave the main street and find ourselves face to face with a decent sized hill.  And a head wind.  Sigh.  Karen has grown quiet and after running together for 4 years, I know she is trying to tap into that inner strength.  A mole hill can look like a mountain on any given race day.  To hear me above the wind I have to yell, "Shorten the stride, pump your arms!"  She nods.  We slow our pace knowing we are not racing this half marathon and our pace is irrelevant.

Diana power walks up the hill and keeps pace with us.  This makes Karen and I laugh as we realize we definitely are not running a race pace.

At the top of the hill we welcome a slight downhill leading us to the edge of Mud Lake. The next couple of miles we enjoy the flattest part of the course.   Farm lands of pastures, horses and cows pepper the route.  

We have reached the out and back section and begin scanning the faces for people we know.   Our friend Steve is braving the elements with his daughter's cross country team and manning an aid station.  We give him a high five.  The rain has started again and stings our skin.

The rolling hills hit us in the last 3 miles of the course.  An eagle screeches and we find it soaring above Barney Lake.  A sight so beautiful it takes our breath away.  Or maybe it was the 40 mph gust of wind that took our breath away.  Yet there it was soaring on the wind that fought against us; spectacular.

The last mile is upon us and we try and pick up the pace so we can finish.  We are exhausted from the windy fight and Diana tells us her legs are tired.

   

...You know, cuz I just ran a hundred-miler.

Finally we are rounding the last corner turning into the parking lot of the Skagit Valley College.  The last hill awaits spitting us out onto the oval track and into the finisher's chute. 

Each of us is surprised to see the clock read 2:01:35 as we were certain the pace we had been keeping against the wind would have brought us in around 2:10.  A volunteer hands us our medals and we head straight to the gym to try and warm up.  Diana leaves for home.

Hot chili awaits and although we've never eaten chili after a race before, we decide it is exactly what we need to try and warm up.  It works.   We begin feeling our fingers again.

We make our way back to the car and decide it's time to go.  Karen confesses miles 10,11 and 12 were very difficult for her.  She told me she gave herself a pep talk and asked my Mom to help her finish.  Tears brim my eyes.  

I carried my mom with me every step of this race; each step celebrating the life and legacy she left us.  She taught us how to persevere and today -despite the elements thrown at us- we persevered.

Thanks Mom.

 

The Chicago Marathon

Security is tight.  We are entering our specified entry point on Jackson Street in order to make our way to our assigned corral.  Security personnel are checking bib numbers making sure we are where we are suppose to be.  This is causing a bottle neck, but no one seems to mind.  We feel safer.

The Chicago Marathon is the first World Major Marathon on American soil since the terrorism at the Boston Marathon in April.  Runners everywhere are wearing items in support of Boston - shirts, hats, bracelets.  Pride entwines itself with my pre-race anxiety.

There are 6 World Major Marathons (Berlin, Boston, London, Tokyo, New York, Chicago) and this is my first.  There are 40,000 runners making their way around the start village and never once do I feel like I'm being herded.  It is evident this race is a well-oiled machine.  With the world watching, there are no hiccups.

Stephanie, Pat, Kellan, Kathy, Karen and I are standing in our corral.  Security closes the corral 10 minutes before the start of the race and we are safely tucked inside.  There is music, there is excitement, there is plenty of nervous energy.  Everyone is smiling.  The announcer begins to introduce the elite athletes lining the start.  We can't see them, but it is awe inspiring knowing they are there to race for their countries.

A woman begins to sing the American National Anthem.  Hats are removed and placed over hearts.  There is a sense of pride that one can feel permeating the air.  Her mic cuts out several times.  In unison, 40,000 runners sing the song for her.  Voices raised loudly and proudly singing the words which proclaim the love of our country.  As we sing the final line "...and the home of the brave" we think not only of our military but also of those brave spectators that lined the streets of Boston that day in April.  A single military fighter jet flies over.  I watch men and women wipe tears from their eyes.

The start line the day before the marathon.

At 7:30 the race begins.  It will take 12 minutes for our corral to reach the start line.  It will be well after 8 before the last corral starts.   I pass under the arch of the start and take my first steps of my first World Major Marathon.  I am running the streets of Chicago.

Pat and Stephanie fall into their pace and are gone.  Stephanie would set out and smash her goal of 3:45 and finish with a 3:42:43.  After running a 3:39 a few weeks prior, Pat would later finish with another sub-4.  Kellan takes off and despite little training due to a hectic college schedule and work, finishes with an impressive 4:22:05.

We enter a tunnel almost immediately and laugh at the men lined against the wall using the wall as a relieving station.  Before the race, the porta-potty lines had been long and never moved and one has to do what one has to do I suppose.  We are out of the tunnel and now running downtown Chicago.

There are people lining every side of the course cheering for us.   I have never seen so many people at the start of a marathon solely to cheer us on.  We are weaving through

the streets.  All around me are sights I have seen from my previous 3 days in Chicago.   My first time visiting this city and I am mesmerized by it's beauty.  Things I've only seen in pictures are now in my sights in front of me.  

Kathy, Karen and I try and talk, the crowds are screaming so loudly for us it makes it impossible to hear each other.  It doesn't matter, we are lost in the wonder of it all.  We've run countless miles together and we understand our silence just as much as we understand our thoughts.  Mile 5 comes and I make my first - of what would be later 4 - pit stops.  They continue on.

Around Mile 6 I look to my right and see the lake in the distance.  I try and tell those around me to look but my words are drowned in the excitement of the crowd.  I notice a man up ahead looking up toward a second floor of a building.  He waves.  Upon reaching the building I notice it is a rest home.  It's residents sitting in wheel chairs gazing out the window down on the runners.  I smile and wave.  I thank God for my ability to run.

We reach a turn around point and head back toward the city.  It is mile 8 and the crowds have not thinned out.  People are still screaming for us, their energy propelling us forward.  I see a man dressed in a Sponge Bob Square Pants costume blowing a horn.  I laugh as I know if my youngest son had been there, that would have been him.

The course brings us through a variety of neighborhoods.  Each one proud of their heritage.  Runners from all over the world are running next to me.  Some in shirts proudly declaring their nationality, others carrying flags.  A man standing along the course, in USA attire, screams in excitement for the runner next to me, "GO MEXICO!!!"  The man gives him a smile and a thumbs up.  I love the unconditional acceptance and wish that kind of exuberance was seen every day.

To my right I see a large group of girls, dressed the same, holding encouraging signs all with different slogans, but on the same paper.  I read "This is not your practice life".  And it hits an emotional nerve.  I had hoped this would be my race, but events and situations would prevent me from racing.  Rather than be upset, I took my Mom's mantra of 'It is what it is' and I decide to make the best of every situation.  Although my anemia would keep me from racing this race, it could not keep me from enjoying every single step.  And I was.

I am at the half way mark and knowing the elite athletes are already finished, I wonder who won the race.  Someone comes up next to me and yells in my ear, "Hey Maniac!"  I am in my Marathon Maniac shirt and as I turn I expect to see a fellow Maniac next to me.  I am right.  He tries to talk to me and I to him, but the crowd noise is so loud we can not understand what the other is saying.  He bids me well, and gently pushes me forward.

Aid stations are roughly a mile apart, making it easy to push yourself forward.  "Just get to the next aid station, just get to the next aid station" helped each mile click by.  I would walk the distance of the water tables which was perfect for bringing my heart rate down and keeping my anemia in check.  I was feeling strong.

Compete strangers would bring me bits of inspiration from home.  A song my husband loved while we were dating blared from speakers as I ran through a neighborhood.  Soldiers lined another section handing out high fives remind me of my oldest and his love of everything military.  I spot a woman holding a sign; she has used a four letter word in her effort to tell cancer what she thinks of it.  I think of my mom, and understand that woman's sentiment exactly.

It is somewhere around mile 23 when I hear someone scream my name.  I am completely confused.  I remember I have written my name on my bib, and conclude they are cheering me on.  Then, I hear it again but coming from behind me.  I turn to find Kathy and Karen running to catch up to me.  How did I get ahead of them?  One of the many mysteries of the marathon.  Karen's legs are angry with her and won't let her do what she wants to do.

We try to run together; yet with my mom firmly planted in my mind, I push ahead.  The miles click off and I realize I am in my final miles of the Chicago Marathon.  The crowds are still thick along the course cheering us on.  It is as if the people of Chicago came out in pure defiance against the bombings in Boston.  Nothing was going to stop this town from supporting us.  The thought brings me tears.

The final turn lies ahead.  It is a hill and it is difficult to run against after 26 miles of running.  I push forward knowing how difficult chemo treatments have been for my mom yet you'd never know as she has never once complained.  I am in the chute and the finish line lies ahead.  My mom is in her final battle against the cancer that holds her.  The irony is not lost on me.  I cross the finish line at 4:29:37 with my head held high and my hands raised in victory just as mom has taught us in the way she lives her life.  This is not my practice life.

A volunteer drapes a medal around my neck.  Tears sting my eyes.  I give high fives to every volunteer lining the chute.  I celebrate the finish,  I celebrate every bit of inspiration that got me there, I celebrate the life God gave me that is worth living.  No matter what I am faced with, life is still worth celebrating even while standing at the finish line.  My mom taught me that.