Mileage
Today: 13
Present: 886
Count: 123
My recent obsession with the nexus of urban farming and Bayview industrial real estate grows, leading me deep into the heart of where I should not go. This time I ran all the way to Candlestick, the soon-to-be resting place for my childhood dreams, pigskin fantasies.
Gazing out over Hunters Point, the sheer size and scope of what it could be is nearly overwhelming. But the dream, anyone's dream, will take decades to realize.
http://app.strava.com/activities/106813556
“I try to focus on running the very best that I can, literally moment by moment. If I’m in pain or tired, I don’t have to fight it. It’s amazing what you can do running moment to moment” -- Lizzy Hawker
Showing posts with label 10-20. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 10-20. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Austin River Loop
Mileage
Today: 10
Present: 835
Count: 116
So much to say about Austin, much of it not belonging on this running blog. Suffice to say, it would shock me if I don't end up running this loop again in 2014.
Maura, Luchi and I hit the loop and after a quick misadventure under a bridge were on track and cruising around the lake with hundreds of other joggers, walkers and people out enjoying a cool but sunny Saturday morning.
My legs still felt tight after my last run at the lake so was really looking forward to the easy pace and gentle trails. Indeed, the next day my legs felt like new.
Maura drifted slowly behind us, not having running that much in the past month or two. Luchi and I chatted briefly, me giving him a couple tips on form and him complaining about shooting pains in his hands. Fair enough.
We made the turn and the trail quieted opposite downtown. It got simply empty then abruptly ended in a parking lot, signs promising the completion of the boardwalk in the not too distant future. And with the breakneck pace of Austin's development right now, I believe them.
Winding back on city streets with a mini-climb at mile eight, I resolved to hit the loop again before I left. We found the car and headed home, thoughts and smells of bacon rattling around in my mind.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102889334
Today: 10
Present: 835
Count: 116
So much to say about Austin, much of it not belonging on this running blog. Suffice to say, it would shock me if I don't end up running this loop again in 2014.
Maura, Luchi and I hit the loop and after a quick misadventure under a bridge were on track and cruising around the lake with hundreds of other joggers, walkers and people out enjoying a cool but sunny Saturday morning.
My legs still felt tight after my last run at the lake so was really looking forward to the easy pace and gentle trails. Indeed, the next day my legs felt like new.
Maura drifted slowly behind us, not having running that much in the past month or two. Luchi and I chatted briefly, me giving him a couple tips on form and him complaining about shooting pains in his hands. Fair enough.
We made the turn and the trail quieted opposite downtown. It got simply empty then abruptly ended in a parking lot, signs promising the completion of the boardwalk in the not too distant future. And with the breakneck pace of Austin's development right now, I believe them.
Winding back on city streets with a mini-climb at mile eight, I resolved to hit the loop again before I left. We found the car and headed home, thoughts and smells of bacon rattling around in my mind.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102889334
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Travis County Horseshoe
Mileage
Today: 14
Present: 825
Count: 115
Opting out of the afternoon's activities, I knew I had to make the run count. Texas is big, we were in the boonies and all the routes I found were way too long. But I managed to find one that seemed about right, 18 miles that would get me home just before dark.
Out on the highway, tiny shoulder, cars whizzing by me like I was the first runner they'd ever seen on this road (I may have been), I began to question the wisdom of the run. But I was out there and I would finish.
Rolling through the Texas hill country, my legs felt strong. I have come to the conclusion that 2014 will be there year I figure out how to run up hills. And by figure out, I mean everything from form and technique to strength and conditioning and even tactics. KJ says just lose 10 pounds. Sounds like the easy way out -- but maybe not.
I finally hit my turn and found myself off the highway but onto a road with an even tinier shoulder. No shoulder actually, and I danced along the white line keeping my fingers crossed that cars would offer me a wide berth. They did, thankfully.
Another turn and I mentally checked my map and actually checked my watch, knowing that I'd have to hustle around this loop and back up again to make it back by dark.
Now I was really in the sticks. Fancy houses by the lake are all fine and good, but get off the shoreline and you were just in rural Texas, nothing more, nothing less. I kept my eyes and ears peeled for shotgun blasts, the city slicker out of his element.
The road ended abruptly into a large gate that could have either been the entrance to a house or to a swanky neighborhood. Only at seven miles, I knew that turning around would mean not hitting my 18. But discretion turned out to be the better part of valor, and I quickly modified my expectations, decided not to test the No Tresspassing signs, flipped around and picked up the pace.
I'd get home early, relax and maybe even beat the family home. Having forgotten any gels or blocks, I snacked on Grape Nuts and honey, which turned out to be a delicious mid-run snack. Netting some down on the way home, I pushed it down the rollers and back up the other side. My legs felt tight, probably a combination of the chilly air and my lackluster stretching.
When I pulled into the house, I was wiped. Not a lot of flat so while my pace wasn't terribly impressive,but I ran hard and felt satisfied. Missing out on laser tag, rock climbing and the like turned out to be worth it, after all.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102267602
Today: 14
Present: 825
Count: 115
Opting out of the afternoon's activities, I knew I had to make the run count. Texas is big, we were in the boonies and all the routes I found were way too long. But I managed to find one that seemed about right, 18 miles that would get me home just before dark.
Out on the highway, tiny shoulder, cars whizzing by me like I was the first runner they'd ever seen on this road (I may have been), I began to question the wisdom of the run. But I was out there and I would finish.
Rolling through the Texas hill country, my legs felt strong. I have come to the conclusion that 2014 will be there year I figure out how to run up hills. And by figure out, I mean everything from form and technique to strength and conditioning and even tactics. KJ says just lose 10 pounds. Sounds like the easy way out -- but maybe not.
I finally hit my turn and found myself off the highway but onto a road with an even tinier shoulder. No shoulder actually, and I danced along the white line keeping my fingers crossed that cars would offer me a wide berth. They did, thankfully.
Another turn and I mentally checked my map and actually checked my watch, knowing that I'd have to hustle around this loop and back up again to make it back by dark.
Now I was really in the sticks. Fancy houses by the lake are all fine and good, but get off the shoreline and you were just in rural Texas, nothing more, nothing less. I kept my eyes and ears peeled for shotgun blasts, the city slicker out of his element.
The road ended abruptly into a large gate that could have either been the entrance to a house or to a swanky neighborhood. Only at seven miles, I knew that turning around would mean not hitting my 18. But discretion turned out to be the better part of valor, and I quickly modified my expectations, decided not to test the No Tresspassing signs, flipped around and picked up the pace.
I'd get home early, relax and maybe even beat the family home. Having forgotten any gels or blocks, I snacked on Grape Nuts and honey, which turned out to be a delicious mid-run snack. Netting some down on the way home, I pushed it down the rollers and back up the other side. My legs felt tight, probably a combination of the chilly air and my lackluster stretching.
When I pulled into the house, I was wiped. Not a lot of flat so while my pace wasn't terribly impressive,but I ran hard and felt satisfied. Missing out on laser tag, rock climbing and the like turned out to be worth it, after all.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102267602
Saturday, December 21, 2013
First Snow Run (Mostly Lost)
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 806
Count: 113
The snow was hard-packed, not exactly ideal running conditions but as stable as I could have expected. One could even argue that my feet jostling over the uneven ground was a good thing -- ankle training if you will. And for the the first time in my running career -- and indeed my life -- I badly wanted studded trail running shoes.
For the first mile or so, I had to contend with ice on the roads more than anything else, so was grateful for the change in terrain when I hit the trail and began tromping over the snow.
Up up up towards Page Meadows, a path I can barely cut in the summer given that I've only run it a handful of times and until you hit the Rim Trail markings are few and far between. But I found the meadows and was rewarded with bluebird, crisp morning air and wide open virgin meadows all to myself.
I picked my way along paths previously trampled down by cross country skiiers, hikers and the occasional snow-shoer, seeking out the most well-worn trails to stay on top of the snow. My feet sank in more than a few times and I kept having to stop to flick snow off my ankles to try and keep my socks dry. Gaiters, perhaps more than Spikecross, would be a worthwhile investment.
I wanted to just keep running. I had the quiet forest to myself, the early morning wife drop off at SFO four hours earlier seemed days away. I wanted to run to Alpine. To Squaw. And beyond. I knew I couldn't, that I didn't have enough water or food or even know where I was going. But damn I wanted to go.
I meandered around the meadows and popped back onto the main trail, heading generally away from home for as long as the trail held. It sloped down and ended a bit before I had hoped. I had to turn around, and after a slippery slog back up quickly found myself back in the meadows but the trail leading back down the hill provided elusive. I wasn't worried per se, but trudging back up the hill in the snow wore me out and I was starting to get ready to be back in the warm house.
Backtracking, I managed to pick out the right trail. I was found again but tremendously sad that my run would be coming to an end. Two hours of bliss, my first snow run ever. And not my last.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102267618
Today: 11
Present: 806
Count: 113
 |
| Salomon's "Spikecross" studded trail running show |
For the first mile or so, I had to contend with ice on the roads more than anything else, so was grateful for the change in terrain when I hit the trail and began tromping over the snow.
Up up up towards Page Meadows, a path I can barely cut in the summer given that I've only run it a handful of times and until you hit the Rim Trail markings are few and far between. But I found the meadows and was rewarded with bluebird, crisp morning air and wide open virgin meadows all to myself.
I picked my way along paths previously trampled down by cross country skiiers, hikers and the occasional snow-shoer, seeking out the most well-worn trails to stay on top of the snow. My feet sank in more than a few times and I kept having to stop to flick snow off my ankles to try and keep my socks dry. Gaiters, perhaps more than Spikecross, would be a worthwhile investment.
I wanted to just keep running. I had the quiet forest to myself, the early morning wife drop off at SFO four hours earlier seemed days away. I wanted to run to Alpine. To Squaw. And beyond. I knew I couldn't, that I didn't have enough water or food or even know where I was going. But damn I wanted to go.
I meandered around the meadows and popped back onto the main trail, heading generally away from home for as long as the trail held. It sloped down and ended a bit before I had hoped. I had to turn around, and after a slippery slog back up quickly found myself back in the meadows but the trail leading back down the hill provided elusive. I wasn't worried per se, but trudging back up the hill in the snow wore me out and I was starting to get ready to be back in the warm house.
Backtracking, I managed to pick out the right trail. I was found again but tremendously sad that my run would be coming to an end. Two hours of bliss, my first snow run ever. And not my last.
http://app.strava.com/activities/102267618
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Race Report: Inside Trails Mt Tam Half Marathon
Mileage
Today: 13
Present: 711
Count: 101
My last two trail races have been anything but stellar, so I wanted to go into the Mt. Tam Half with Inside Trails with a totally different mindset.
Sure I had placed OK and run reasonably fast, but one triggered a months-long injury and the other almost put me out of the marathon. In each case, I went into the run with the decidedly wrong attitude. Its not that I was trying to win per se -- there's nothing wrong with that -- but I had completely forgotten why I got into trail running in the first place: its damn fun. In both races, I set off with nothing but my place, my time and my performance in mind.
In short, I was too focused on the destination and was neglecting the journey.
So this crisp morning as we took off from Stinson, up the Dipsea and into Muir Woods, I really, truly wanted nothing more than to have fun.
Mission accomplished.
As a bonus, I also figured out the best trail running race-day strategy to finish strong and run a great race: Expect a 1,000ft climb straight up three miles before the finish that never comes.
Having failed to run the whole course last weekend, I relied on the course elevations posted on the race website to plan my strategy. Over miles 4-8, the trail plunged down into the woods then rocketed straight up for two miles back to the final aid station before you picked up the Dipsea again for the final descent back to Stinson.
It seemed simple enough: save gas for that final push and hope the people in front of me struggled up while I breezed past them to glory.
KJ and I stuck together on the first climb up Steep Ravine, content to even be chicked in the pursuit of running smart. We hit the top and flew down. Literally flew.
The descent down Ben Johnson Trail into Muir Woods was one of my top three trail running segments of all time. Lush woods, damp fresh air as the salty sea mist mixed with the towering redwood forest. Steep but runnable, soft trails that were highly technical with roots and rocks leaping out at your feet. Keeping pace required intense concentration. I followed another runner down, weaving through hikers who were surprisingly understanding and there were no near-crashes.
This was the first time I had let loose downhill in my new trail shoes and they performed admirably. I was nimble, dancing down at speed.
I had extended a lead over KJ on the flats before the aid station, but expected him to pass me at any moment on the down. He is a better technical downhill runner than me, but he didn't catch me until the bottom. When he did, he yelled out "damn AJ, you're not supposed to run downhill so fast!"
But the descent could only last for so long, and I settled into what I expected to be a series of short ups and downs, a meander back to near sea level. The plunge never happened.
The crowds of tourists thinned out as we crossed over to a narrow single track that wound back uphill. Strange, I thought, I didn't remember this long a climb on the map. But I kept the throttle light, taking it easy, preserving energy. What was more likely, the elevation chart was wrong or I didn't remember the course perfectly?
But as the miles wore on and we kept climbing, I began to doubt myself. Was I on the wrong trail? Nope, I saw other runners and never left the orange ribbons. But I stuck to my race plan and took it easy.
At one point, one the lead runners charged past me, asking what race I was running. He had gotten lost and was now trying to make up time. He blew by me, effortless. Some people can really run.
Miles ticking by, I really started to wonder where that descent was. When we crossed 1,000 feet at mile 8, I gave up trying to figure out where I was and just ran. I settled into a comfortable pace, finally passing the runner in front of me who had kept a 100 yard or so lead on me for the last half an hour.
And almost out of nowhere, we popped off the single track. I momentarily thought I recognized the trail as what I had flown down earlier, and there was the final aid station.
What the what? At that point I convinced myself I had somehow run the wrong trail and had missed that final climb. I popped a salt pill, refilled my water and raced down the Dipsea, guiltily chasing runners I was sure had run longer, and suffered more than me.
The legendary Dipsea Trail is pretty much as advertised. Steep climbs, breathtaking views, tons of stairs and really easy to crash on. But that first mile or so along the ridge is unforgettable as you look up the coast at Stinson and beyond, sun shining on the golden hills. The trail is oddly tricky to run hard, with subtly uneven ground making for tough going. Really easy to turn and ankle and I was glad KJ and I had run this section in our recon.
I passed the guy I had flown downhill with, later finding out her had been saddled with cramps. I pushed on, down the long series of steps before the junction with Steep Ravine, up the final couple insulting climbs before emerging at the top of the Dipsea's first gradual climb away from the beach. Down below, perhaps a quarter mile ahead, I spotted my next target.
He was a ways out there and moving well, but I felt strong and fresh. I knew I had plenty of time to catch him, and that the only way I wouldn't is if I crashed. So I remained reserved and gradually reeled him in.
When I got close enough for him to hear me, I knew he knew it and he picked up the pace. But I held back, not wanting to risk either of our safety passing on the spaced out wooden steps that dot this section of trail. We hit a gap in the stairs, I advised him of the pass and flew by. I never looked back.
I don't look back, ever. Or at least I try not to. Looking back shows weakness, and if I see someone ahead of me doing it, I know they're mine.
I didn't want to get repassed, so opened it up and sprinted the last section of trail, down onto the pavement, across the little bridge and to the finish line.
I ducked in just under two hours and felt like I had two more hours left in me. I chatted with some friends and others who had just run the race, discussing the course and the phantom climb. KJ came in a couple minutes later and confirmed that the elevation map had been wrong. We later figured out that it had been for last year's course, which evidently was a lot harder.
What followed was precisely why trail running is infinitely better than road running. KJ got a call from one of the race volunteers telling him that his wife Abra had accidentally run the pink not the orange course and would be completing the 30k rather than the half marathon. She had toyed with the idea of running the 10k all along, only opting for the half at the last minute so now would be running 3x her plan.
But she was in good spirits and was in plenty good shape to finish.
It turns out Maura's brother Luchi, who had joined us for the half, also got lost and ended up running 16 miles. His first trail race and the longest he had ever run. He had an amazing time. We all did.
KJ ran out to grab a case of beers and we lounged on the grass, chatting with other runners, cheering on finishers and waiting for Abra. She cruised in, a mere 4.5 hours after she started and about 3 hours longer than she had planned on running. But she was all smiles.
We crushed our last beers, wandered over to get brunch and enjoyed some well-earned greasy burgers and fries.
Quite a day. Reminders of why I run trails throughout, good times with good people in a beautiful setting. It makes getting up at 5am on a Saturday and not getting home until 4pm all worth it.
http://app.strava.com/activities/95865433
Today: 13
Present: 711
Count: 101
My last two trail races have been anything but stellar, so I wanted to go into the Mt. Tam Half with Inside Trails with a totally different mindset.
Sure I had placed OK and run reasonably fast, but one triggered a months-long injury and the other almost put me out of the marathon. In each case, I went into the run with the decidedly wrong attitude. Its not that I was trying to win per se -- there's nothing wrong with that -- but I had completely forgotten why I got into trail running in the first place: its damn fun. In both races, I set off with nothing but my place, my time and my performance in mind.
In short, I was too focused on the destination and was neglecting the journey.
So this crisp morning as we took off from Stinson, up the Dipsea and into Muir Woods, I really, truly wanted nothing more than to have fun.
Mission accomplished.
As a bonus, I also figured out the best trail running race-day strategy to finish strong and run a great race: Expect a 1,000ft climb straight up three miles before the finish that never comes.
Having failed to run the whole course last weekend, I relied on the course elevations posted on the race website to plan my strategy. Over miles 4-8, the trail plunged down into the woods then rocketed straight up for two miles back to the final aid station before you picked up the Dipsea again for the final descent back to Stinson.
It seemed simple enough: save gas for that final push and hope the people in front of me struggled up while I breezed past them to glory.
KJ and I stuck together on the first climb up Steep Ravine, content to even be chicked in the pursuit of running smart. We hit the top and flew down. Literally flew.
The descent down Ben Johnson Trail into Muir Woods was one of my top three trail running segments of all time. Lush woods, damp fresh air as the salty sea mist mixed with the towering redwood forest. Steep but runnable, soft trails that were highly technical with roots and rocks leaping out at your feet. Keeping pace required intense concentration. I followed another runner down, weaving through hikers who were surprisingly understanding and there were no near-crashes.
This was the first time I had let loose downhill in my new trail shoes and they performed admirably. I was nimble, dancing down at speed.
I had extended a lead over KJ on the flats before the aid station, but expected him to pass me at any moment on the down. He is a better technical downhill runner than me, but he didn't catch me until the bottom. When he did, he yelled out "damn AJ, you're not supposed to run downhill so fast!"
But the descent could only last for so long, and I settled into what I expected to be a series of short ups and downs, a meander back to near sea level. The plunge never happened.
The crowds of tourists thinned out as we crossed over to a narrow single track that wound back uphill. Strange, I thought, I didn't remember this long a climb on the map. But I kept the throttle light, taking it easy, preserving energy. What was more likely, the elevation chart was wrong or I didn't remember the course perfectly?
But as the miles wore on and we kept climbing, I began to doubt myself. Was I on the wrong trail? Nope, I saw other runners and never left the orange ribbons. But I stuck to my race plan and took it easy.
At one point, one the lead runners charged past me, asking what race I was running. He had gotten lost and was now trying to make up time. He blew by me, effortless. Some people can really run.
Miles ticking by, I really started to wonder where that descent was. When we crossed 1,000 feet at mile 8, I gave up trying to figure out where I was and just ran. I settled into a comfortable pace, finally passing the runner in front of me who had kept a 100 yard or so lead on me for the last half an hour.
And almost out of nowhere, we popped off the single track. I momentarily thought I recognized the trail as what I had flown down earlier, and there was the final aid station.
What the what? At that point I convinced myself I had somehow run the wrong trail and had missed that final climb. I popped a salt pill, refilled my water and raced down the Dipsea, guiltily chasing runners I was sure had run longer, and suffered more than me.
The legendary Dipsea Trail is pretty much as advertised. Steep climbs, breathtaking views, tons of stairs and really easy to crash on. But that first mile or so along the ridge is unforgettable as you look up the coast at Stinson and beyond, sun shining on the golden hills. The trail is oddly tricky to run hard, with subtly uneven ground making for tough going. Really easy to turn and ankle and I was glad KJ and I had run this section in our recon.
I passed the guy I had flown downhill with, later finding out her had been saddled with cramps. I pushed on, down the long series of steps before the junction with Steep Ravine, up the final couple insulting climbs before emerging at the top of the Dipsea's first gradual climb away from the beach. Down below, perhaps a quarter mile ahead, I spotted my next target.
He was a ways out there and moving well, but I felt strong and fresh. I knew I had plenty of time to catch him, and that the only way I wouldn't is if I crashed. So I remained reserved and gradually reeled him in.
When I got close enough for him to hear me, I knew he knew it and he picked up the pace. But I held back, not wanting to risk either of our safety passing on the spaced out wooden steps that dot this section of trail. We hit a gap in the stairs, I advised him of the pass and flew by. I never looked back.
I don't look back, ever. Or at least I try not to. Looking back shows weakness, and if I see someone ahead of me doing it, I know they're mine.
I didn't want to get repassed, so opened it up and sprinted the last section of trail, down onto the pavement, across the little bridge and to the finish line.
I ducked in just under two hours and felt like I had two more hours left in me. I chatted with some friends and others who had just run the race, discussing the course and the phantom climb. KJ came in a couple minutes later and confirmed that the elevation map had been wrong. We later figured out that it had been for last year's course, which evidently was a lot harder.
What followed was precisely why trail running is infinitely better than road running. KJ got a call from one of the race volunteers telling him that his wife Abra had accidentally run the pink not the orange course and would be completing the 30k rather than the half marathon. She had toyed with the idea of running the 10k all along, only opting for the half at the last minute so now would be running 3x her plan.
But she was in good spirits and was in plenty good shape to finish.
It turns out Maura's brother Luchi, who had joined us for the half, also got lost and ended up running 16 miles. His first trail race and the longest he had ever run. He had an amazing time. We all did.
KJ ran out to grab a case of beers and we lounged on the grass, chatting with other runners, cheering on finishers and waiting for Abra. She cruised in, a mere 4.5 hours after she started and about 3 hours longer than she had planned on running. But she was all smiles.
We crushed our last beers, wandered over to get brunch and enjoyed some well-earned greasy burgers and fries.
Quite a day. Reminders of why I run trails throughout, good times with good people in a beautiful setting. It makes getting up at 5am on a Saturday and not getting home until 4pm all worth it.
http://app.strava.com/activities/95865433
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Twin Peaks Golden Hour
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 592
Count: 87
Every time I go running before boxing, I remember midway through class that its a bad idea. Today was no different.
I ran over to Tyler's and we set off for a late afternoon ascent up Twin Peaks. Being the lousy friend that I am, I dragged him over Bernal Hill first, luring him with the concept of a more scenic run than the slog up Mission and along Arlington into Glen Park. Which is all fine and good except that the climb up Folsom isn't much better, and Crescent is a grind.
Up and over San Jose, down Arlington and up Bosworth to O'Shaughnessy. I love climbing up that canyon. The air cools and smells of eucalyptus. I breathe it in, grinding up the wind.
We crested Portola and flipped onto Twin Peaks, sun setting in the west. At the top, Tyler said he liked his way better -- up Clipper, short and sweet. I'll take the long way, ever time.
Coasting down, I felt good. A bit tight as I transitioned from up to down, but overall it felt like when I could run and run and run until my legs couldn't move. The good old days.
It was dark by the time we got to the Mission, weaving our way through the crowds and hopping frogger-style across the street.
The evening was warm, almost muggy in a San Francisco style. I dropped Tyler off at Whole Foods and climbed up Rhode Island home, a quick change and then to boxing. Which was too much.
Strong mind again today, helped by the strong body. I may not be back, but I sure feel that way.
http://www.strava.com/activities/89695195
Today: 11
Present: 592
Count: 87
Every time I go running before boxing, I remember midway through class that its a bad idea. Today was no different.
I ran over to Tyler's and we set off for a late afternoon ascent up Twin Peaks. Being the lousy friend that I am, I dragged him over Bernal Hill first, luring him with the concept of a more scenic run than the slog up Mission and along Arlington into Glen Park. Which is all fine and good except that the climb up Folsom isn't much better, and Crescent is a grind.
Up and over San Jose, down Arlington and up Bosworth to O'Shaughnessy. I love climbing up that canyon. The air cools and smells of eucalyptus. I breathe it in, grinding up the wind.
We crested Portola and flipped onto Twin Peaks, sun setting in the west. At the top, Tyler said he liked his way better -- up Clipper, short and sweet. I'll take the long way, ever time.
Coasting down, I felt good. A bit tight as I transitioned from up to down, but overall it felt like when I could run and run and run until my legs couldn't move. The good old days.
It was dark by the time we got to the Mission, weaving our way through the crowds and hopping frogger-style across the street.
The evening was warm, almost muggy in a San Francisco style. I dropped Tyler off at Whole Foods and climbed up Rhode Island home, a quick change and then to boxing. Which was too much.
Strong mind again today, helped by the strong body. I may not be back, but I sure feel that way.
http://www.strava.com/activities/89695195
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Race Report: Diablo Serves Up Humble Pie
Mileage
Today: 13
Present: 570
Count: 83
With all my Achilles issues of late, I was thankful just to be able to run. But I still had a shitty race. Weak mind, weak body. Bad all around.
It started the night before.
Maura and I offered to babysit for some friends, and while we had a great time vegging out, I didn't get to bed until after midnight and after a couple too many glasses of wine. The alarm went off with a 5-handle and it just didn't feel like race day. After so many great race mornings at our old house, it's going to take a while for race day to feel like race day at the new house.
New trails, new mountain. Pre-race was a mess, and no cash meant I had to park about a mile from the start and jog in. Fine, nice warmup. But it just didn't feel right. My Achilles felt fine, but my legs didn't. I had run Twin Peaks two days before, and while I didn't go fast, it's still a lot of up before a race which was basically nothing but up (then down).
I checked in, hit the bathroom and started stretching, but I never found those race day jitters. Even jogging up a little hill, my quads burned. I started losing confidence. Bad mindset.
All distances started together, but it was easy to pick out my half marathon competition from their similar numbers and the fact that vast majority of the strong runners were in the half. I picked out the two strongest looking runners and when the "gun" went off, they jumped out in front. I had already decided they were faster than me, so I hung back. Weak mind.
Sure enough the rest of the pack settled behind and I followed them about 50 yards back up the gentle incline. The first two miles are along a fire road up Mitchell Canyon, gradual and a great way to start a race. I knew the real hill started at mile 2, so was happy to hang back and see how the leaders fared when it got steep. They fared better than I did.
As we began to rise, I settled into a grinding pace I thought would be sustainable all the way up. I knew the race wouldn't be won in the first half of the climb, but much like Pacifica in July, as soon as I lost contact with the leaders, I lost that edge. I forgot I was racing.
After a quarter mile, I got passed. I didn't care. I rationalized: I'm saving it for later in the up, I'll wait until the front guys start to fade and then I'll catch them. They never faded. I did.
Several other runners passed me on the way up, and I felt nothing. I wasn't so much tired as I was scared of going any faster. I wanted to have something left later on.
As we rose, the valley floor dropped away. It was quiet, nothing but my plodding feet to break the silence of the wind.
The trail was relentlessly steep. And it just kept going. A winding fire trail, flat sections were few and far between. Up ahead, I saw runners starting to walk. Rather than seizing on an opportunity to pAA I told myself it was OK for me to walk as well.
Part of trail running, more mental than physical, is figuring out when to walk the ups. You can do perfectly fine in a race by hiking the steep sections, but knowing how steep is steep enough to walk and when to start running again is the art. The science is that you've been climbing for almost five miles and you're starting to really run out of gas.
And as soon as you break, as soon as you relent, you almost cease to be able to control it. The leap between tired and walking shrinks and the next thing you know you're walking again. You didn't even realize you made the decision. Body starts taking over from mind.
We crested a ridge and looped west, reeling in the breathtaking Diablo views for the first time. I didn't care. After that much climbing, the view almost didn't matter. You can't appreciate it. Or I couldn't anyway. I tried -- tried to suck in the crisp air and derive strength from the expanse. I whiffed.
I breezed through the aid station -- inconveniently placed about 20 yards off the trail, and joined several runners ahead of me lost getting onto the single track summit trail. We found the trail and for a second, I regained my strength. I felt good -- back on single track and off the fire trail, I surged. I ran strong. And then I faded.
In hindsight, I think I had it in me to make a push there, stay in what was then third of fourth place. But I just didn't have that killer instinct you need to climb the last mile after an hour and 3,400 feet up without any down -- balls out as hard as you can go.
I hit the top and caught my breath. Winding through construction and a parking lot, the summit is uninspiring -- the opposite from my experience riding up the winding road on the opposite side. As I started down, I took it easy to let my legs rest and see how my Achilles felt. I knew the down would be harder on me than the up, and the last thing I wanted to do was injure myself.
This was my first race in my new trail shoes, the Saucony Kinvara Trail. I wanted a minimalist trail shoe, and this certainly is it. Only my second time on trails, I am still getting used to them -- especially down. They are a far cry from my burly, rugged Salomons, but more inline with my current running gait. I'm excited to break them in, but for now I'm taking it easy going down. Dancing more than running.
Several more runners passed me on the single track as I picked my way down hill and around runners coming up. Hammering it here just seemed stupid, although on more than one occasion I've been that guy. These were runners who should not be in front of me -- I had lost it.
When we hit the fire trail, I was breathing hard. I was more tired than I thought I'd be, and any time the trail flattened out my legs reminded me of the climb I'd just finished. So I took it easy and mailed it in. No sense in hurting myself, coming in 6th vs. 8th vs. 10th didn't really matter.
Typical of my attitude that day. As my brother commented later, I think I've become too focused on racing, and not focused enough on running. Its a spectrum of course, but the more fun I have the better I do. The more serious I make these casual, fun trail runs, the less fun I have and by extension, the less well I'll do.
And having never really had to fight through an injury like this, I didn't appreciate the impact it would have on the mental aspect of my running. When you don't trust your legs, when you're focused on every little pang and twitch, you never really lose yourself and fine that zone.
I was really gassed as I ran the final two miles back down the gentle slope, and I could feel my Achilles tightening up. I've never checked my watch so much when it mattered so little.
I cruised into the finish line, grabbed about 15 slices of watermelon and chilled on the bench, listening to the leaders swap stories, chat about Ledville, Western States and other races that at the time, seemed very far away. I longed to be one of the guys who had earned the right to expound.
I left quietly, a mellow walk back to the car. It was a beautiful, crisp morning. Birds sang, wind rustled the trees. It was fitting that the most enjoyable part of the day was the 1-mile walk along the road back to my car.
Weak mind, weak body.
http://www.strava.com/activities/87355235
Today: 13
Present: 570
Count: 83
With all my Achilles issues of late, I was thankful just to be able to run. But I still had a shitty race. Weak mind, weak body. Bad all around.
It started the night before.
Maura and I offered to babysit for some friends, and while we had a great time vegging out, I didn't get to bed until after midnight and after a couple too many glasses of wine. The alarm went off with a 5-handle and it just didn't feel like race day. After so many great race mornings at our old house, it's going to take a while for race day to feel like race day at the new house.
New trails, new mountain. Pre-race was a mess, and no cash meant I had to park about a mile from the start and jog in. Fine, nice warmup. But it just didn't feel right. My Achilles felt fine, but my legs didn't. I had run Twin Peaks two days before, and while I didn't go fast, it's still a lot of up before a race which was basically nothing but up (then down).
I checked in, hit the bathroom and started stretching, but I never found those race day jitters. Even jogging up a little hill, my quads burned. I started losing confidence. Bad mindset.
All distances started together, but it was easy to pick out my half marathon competition from their similar numbers and the fact that vast majority of the strong runners were in the half. I picked out the two strongest looking runners and when the "gun" went off, they jumped out in front. I had already decided they were faster than me, so I hung back. Weak mind.
Sure enough the rest of the pack settled behind and I followed them about 50 yards back up the gentle incline. The first two miles are along a fire road up Mitchell Canyon, gradual and a great way to start a race. I knew the real hill started at mile 2, so was happy to hang back and see how the leaders fared when it got steep. They fared better than I did.
As we began to rise, I settled into a grinding pace I thought would be sustainable all the way up. I knew the race wouldn't be won in the first half of the climb, but much like Pacifica in July, as soon as I lost contact with the leaders, I lost that edge. I forgot I was racing.
After a quarter mile, I got passed. I didn't care. I rationalized: I'm saving it for later in the up, I'll wait until the front guys start to fade and then I'll catch them. They never faded. I did.
Several other runners passed me on the way up, and I felt nothing. I wasn't so much tired as I was scared of going any faster. I wanted to have something left later on.
As we rose, the valley floor dropped away. It was quiet, nothing but my plodding feet to break the silence of the wind.
The trail was relentlessly steep. And it just kept going. A winding fire trail, flat sections were few and far between. Up ahead, I saw runners starting to walk. Rather than seizing on an opportunity to pAA I told myself it was OK for me to walk as well.
Part of trail running, more mental than physical, is figuring out when to walk the ups. You can do perfectly fine in a race by hiking the steep sections, but knowing how steep is steep enough to walk and when to start running again is the art. The science is that you've been climbing for almost five miles and you're starting to really run out of gas.
And as soon as you break, as soon as you relent, you almost cease to be able to control it. The leap between tired and walking shrinks and the next thing you know you're walking again. You didn't even realize you made the decision. Body starts taking over from mind.
We crested a ridge and looped west, reeling in the breathtaking Diablo views for the first time. I didn't care. After that much climbing, the view almost didn't matter. You can't appreciate it. Or I couldn't anyway. I tried -- tried to suck in the crisp air and derive strength from the expanse. I whiffed.
I breezed through the aid station -- inconveniently placed about 20 yards off the trail, and joined several runners ahead of me lost getting onto the single track summit trail. We found the trail and for a second, I regained my strength. I felt good -- back on single track and off the fire trail, I surged. I ran strong. And then I faded.
In hindsight, I think I had it in me to make a push there, stay in what was then third of fourth place. But I just didn't have that killer instinct you need to climb the last mile after an hour and 3,400 feet up without any down -- balls out as hard as you can go.
I hit the top and caught my breath. Winding through construction and a parking lot, the summit is uninspiring -- the opposite from my experience riding up the winding road on the opposite side. As I started down, I took it easy to let my legs rest and see how my Achilles felt. I knew the down would be harder on me than the up, and the last thing I wanted to do was injure myself.
This was my first race in my new trail shoes, the Saucony Kinvara Trail. I wanted a minimalist trail shoe, and this certainly is it. Only my second time on trails, I am still getting used to them -- especially down. They are a far cry from my burly, rugged Salomons, but more inline with my current running gait. I'm excited to break them in, but for now I'm taking it easy going down. Dancing more than running.
Several more runners passed me on the single track as I picked my way down hill and around runners coming up. Hammering it here just seemed stupid, although on more than one occasion I've been that guy. These were runners who should not be in front of me -- I had lost it.
When we hit the fire trail, I was breathing hard. I was more tired than I thought I'd be, and any time the trail flattened out my legs reminded me of the climb I'd just finished. So I took it easy and mailed it in. No sense in hurting myself, coming in 6th vs. 8th vs. 10th didn't really matter.
Typical of my attitude that day. As my brother commented later, I think I've become too focused on racing, and not focused enough on running. Its a spectrum of course, but the more fun I have the better I do. The more serious I make these casual, fun trail runs, the less fun I have and by extension, the less well I'll do.
And having never really had to fight through an injury like this, I didn't appreciate the impact it would have on the mental aspect of my running. When you don't trust your legs, when you're focused on every little pang and twitch, you never really lose yourself and fine that zone.
I was really gassed as I ran the final two miles back down the gentle slope, and I could feel my Achilles tightening up. I've never checked my watch so much when it mattered so little.
I cruised into the finish line, grabbed about 15 slices of watermelon and chilled on the bench, listening to the leaders swap stories, chat about Ledville, Western States and other races that at the time, seemed very far away. I longed to be one of the guys who had earned the right to expound.
I left quietly, a mellow walk back to the car. It was a beautiful, crisp morning. Birds sang, wind rustled the trees. It was fitting that the most enjoyable part of the day was the 1-mile walk along the road back to my car.
Weak mind, weak body.
http://www.strava.com/activities/87355235
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Dragging Luchi Up Twin Peaks
Mileage
Today: 10
Present: 555
Count: 81
The weather has been absurdly perfect for the past week, and I've been doing my best to work in afternoon runs. Today was no different. Tyler was going to join but couldn't get away from work, so it was just Luchi and me to take on Twin Peaks.
I prefer to start the loop out Bernal and over the hill, but for Luchi's sake I decided against it. Running is supposed to be fun, right? So we skirted the hill and ended up on Mission, a gradual up through traffic and people, an overall lousy start to what ends up being a beautiful course.
But once you hit Glen Park and start climbing, the city crowds drift away. Winding up O'Shaughnessy, Glen Canyon to the east, your mind starts to clear. You catch a glimpse of the peak. You grind up in its shadow.
A few months ago I tried to take the Strava KOM on the O'Shaughnessy climb. I missed it by two minutes -- a big gap on a 10-minute run. I've got a lot of work to do on my climbing strength.
Luchi was hanging well so I kept it at a brisk pace. We hit Portola and made the turn for the top. I've come to really enjoy this run. There's just enough elevation to keep it interesting and a gradual enough climb that you can go just about as hard as you want. And when you get halfway up, the hills start to slip away and the city spreads out. The views are out of this world.
Winding up Twin Peaks Blvd, I noticed that there's a trail along the side of the road that joins up with those that wrap around the Peaks. I made a mental note to drive up here some time and hit the trails. I am slowly resolving to spend more time on the trails, where I feel at home, and get away from the roads. Which in San Francisco is easier than most cities, but still takes some effort.
I'm not sure I've ever seen it clearer. Diablo was right there -- ominous for my race this weekend. I could see all the way up the headlands, Mt. Tam looming behind my headland hills, looking puny by comparison. Downtown and the rest of the city down in front, not a cloud in the sky.
We barreled back down through Corona Heights and the Castro, up half the Dolores hills and back through the Mission. I felt strong the entire way, no Achilles pain to speak of. Quite the afternoon.
http://app.strava.com/activities/86921321
Today: 10
Present: 555
Count: 81
The weather has been absurdly perfect for the past week, and I've been doing my best to work in afternoon runs. Today was no different. Tyler was going to join but couldn't get away from work, so it was just Luchi and me to take on Twin Peaks.
I prefer to start the loop out Bernal and over the hill, but for Luchi's sake I decided against it. Running is supposed to be fun, right? So we skirted the hill and ended up on Mission, a gradual up through traffic and people, an overall lousy start to what ends up being a beautiful course.
But once you hit Glen Park and start climbing, the city crowds drift away. Winding up O'Shaughnessy, Glen Canyon to the east, your mind starts to clear. You catch a glimpse of the peak. You grind up in its shadow.
A few months ago I tried to take the Strava KOM on the O'Shaughnessy climb. I missed it by two minutes -- a big gap on a 10-minute run. I've got a lot of work to do on my climbing strength.
Luchi was hanging well so I kept it at a brisk pace. We hit Portola and made the turn for the top. I've come to really enjoy this run. There's just enough elevation to keep it interesting and a gradual enough climb that you can go just about as hard as you want. And when you get halfway up, the hills start to slip away and the city spreads out. The views are out of this world.
Winding up Twin Peaks Blvd, I noticed that there's a trail along the side of the road that joins up with those that wrap around the Peaks. I made a mental note to drive up here some time and hit the trails. I am slowly resolving to spend more time on the trails, where I feel at home, and get away from the roads. Which in San Francisco is easier than most cities, but still takes some effort.
I'm not sure I've ever seen it clearer. Diablo was right there -- ominous for my race this weekend. I could see all the way up the headlands, Mt. Tam looming behind my headland hills, looking puny by comparison. Downtown and the rest of the city down in front, not a cloud in the sky.
We barreled back down through Corona Heights and the Castro, up half the Dolores hills and back through the Mission. I felt strong the entire way, no Achilles pain to speak of. Quite the afternoon.
http://app.strava.com/activities/86921321
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Chasing Down the Wife
Mileage
Today: 17
Present: 534
Count: 78
Its a funny thing to look at running 17 miles as a privilege. But at this point that's exactly how it feels.
After a Saturday morning work appointment, I hurried home to lace up and follow Maura out the door and around the horn. She had left about an hour earlier for a 20-miler, out to Hopper's Hands and back. I wanted to catch her and run with her back home, knowing that her long runs have been a struggle of late. Misery loves company.
Up over Vermont, through Mission Creek and out to the ballpark. Crossing the railroad tracks, I started to run. I haven't been able to spend much time at pace in the past few months, and with only a month before New York, I know I need to get back into my race day rhythm. 6:45 has been my race pace for a while now, and I struggled to stay at pace for any real amount of time. It still feels comfortable, but I am out of practice at maintaining it.
I'd look down at my watch to find myself dipping below 6:30 or above 7:00. Not the end of the world, but I should be able to cruise at that pace and hold it steady.
Clicking miles off along the Embarcadero, I turned up into the wind and pushed forward, winding through tourists and joggers alike. It feels great to blow past other runners, even though no one else is racing.
Out along the Marina Green I saw Maura up ahead, orange shirt and knee-high pink socks. She remembered her hat today, sun shining bright. I had wanted to hit 16 miles today, so seeing her at 7.25 I told her I'd go a bit further than come back. She yelled something about going around Fisherman's Wharf, so I turned back early to make sure I didn't miss her.
Doing some mental gymnastics around when and where I'd catch her, I doubled back around Ghirardelli Square and hit the Embarcadero again. No Maura, so I pushed forward, fast. I had no problem overshooting, knowing I could wait for her, but if I didn't catch her then turned back, I wouldn't see her until home.
I turned around just before the Ferry Building and found her a couple hundred yards further on, stretching along the side the road. Now 15 miles into her run, I could tell she wasn't feeling great.
We chatted a bit back to the ballpark, stopped for water and another stretch and turned for home. The last couple miles were tough for both of us, and I started to realize that I am perhaps more behind on my training than I thought. Towards the end my Achilles did start to feel a bit tight, so I didn't mind taking it easy on those last miles.
But all those crowds, all the interruption, all the starting and stopping made me appreciate my recent trail runs all the more. And I'll be back at it again tomorrow, a morning run with Tyler at Huddart.
http://app.strava.com/activities/85998203
Today: 17
Present: 534
Count: 78
Its a funny thing to look at running 17 miles as a privilege. But at this point that's exactly how it feels.
After a Saturday morning work appointment, I hurried home to lace up and follow Maura out the door and around the horn. She had left about an hour earlier for a 20-miler, out to Hopper's Hands and back. I wanted to catch her and run with her back home, knowing that her long runs have been a struggle of late. Misery loves company.
Up over Vermont, through Mission Creek and out to the ballpark. Crossing the railroad tracks, I started to run. I haven't been able to spend much time at pace in the past few months, and with only a month before New York, I know I need to get back into my race day rhythm. 6:45 has been my race pace for a while now, and I struggled to stay at pace for any real amount of time. It still feels comfortable, but I am out of practice at maintaining it.
I'd look down at my watch to find myself dipping below 6:30 or above 7:00. Not the end of the world, but I should be able to cruise at that pace and hold it steady.
Clicking miles off along the Embarcadero, I turned up into the wind and pushed forward, winding through tourists and joggers alike. It feels great to blow past other runners, even though no one else is racing.
Out along the Marina Green I saw Maura up ahead, orange shirt and knee-high pink socks. She remembered her hat today, sun shining bright. I had wanted to hit 16 miles today, so seeing her at 7.25 I told her I'd go a bit further than come back. She yelled something about going around Fisherman's Wharf, so I turned back early to make sure I didn't miss her.
Doing some mental gymnastics around when and where I'd catch her, I doubled back around Ghirardelli Square and hit the Embarcadero again. No Maura, so I pushed forward, fast. I had no problem overshooting, knowing I could wait for her, but if I didn't catch her then turned back, I wouldn't see her until home.
I turned around just before the Ferry Building and found her a couple hundred yards further on, stretching along the side the road. Now 15 miles into her run, I could tell she wasn't feeling great.
We chatted a bit back to the ballpark, stopped for water and another stretch and turned for home. The last couple miles were tough for both of us, and I started to realize that I am perhaps more behind on my training than I thought. Towards the end my Achilles did start to feel a bit tight, so I didn't mind taking it easy on those last miles.
But all those crowds, all the interruption, all the starting and stopping made me appreciate my recent trail runs all the more. And I'll be back at it again tomorrow, a morning run with Tyler at Huddart.
http://app.strava.com/activities/85998203
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Wet Wet Sawyer Camp
Mileage
Today: 13
Present: 491
Count: 73
Its pretty embarrassing that I've never actually run at Sawyer Camp before. I've ridden my bike here once, but its only 20 minutes away, beautiful and a great track for a weekend run. Or weekday for that matter.
Maura, Luchi and I woke up early looking for a change of scenery. Luchi has been getting back in shape, Maura's training schedule said 13 and I have been feeling better of late and wanted to get in some mellow mileage.
The sky was ominous as we left home, but its mid-September in San Francisco so the chance of actual rain is nill. Until its not. It was raining, hard, and cold when we left the car and headed out onto the winding path. Maura had forgotten her hat -- something I doubt she'll do again any time soon. I mean, I'm a great husband and all, but I wasn't about to lend her mine.
You know your wife is a keeper when a mile into a wet, cold run that's going to last for two hours, she says, "hey, this is kind of fun." The rain let up as we went, down down into the valley along the reservoir. The first rain of the season and only the real runners were out. You have to be pretty committed to this masochistic act to drag yourself out into that weather when waiting until the afternoon would reward you with blue skies and a dry head.
My leg felt great. No pain, minimal tightness, and charging up the hill at the end I felt strong. Spry even, which I feel like I can call myself now approaching my mid-30s.
The run reminded me of those epic winter days at Mt. Montara, sheets of rain steamrolling in from the Pacific, like runaway trucks careening into the hillside. You can't help but feel alive.
http://app.strava.com/activities/85326653
Today: 13
Present: 491
Count: 73
Its pretty embarrassing that I've never actually run at Sawyer Camp before. I've ridden my bike here once, but its only 20 minutes away, beautiful and a great track for a weekend run. Or weekday for that matter.
Maura, Luchi and I woke up early looking for a change of scenery. Luchi has been getting back in shape, Maura's training schedule said 13 and I have been feeling better of late and wanted to get in some mellow mileage.
The sky was ominous as we left home, but its mid-September in San Francisco so the chance of actual rain is nill. Until its not. It was raining, hard, and cold when we left the car and headed out onto the winding path. Maura had forgotten her hat -- something I doubt she'll do again any time soon. I mean, I'm a great husband and all, but I wasn't about to lend her mine.
You know your wife is a keeper when a mile into a wet, cold run that's going to last for two hours, she says, "hey, this is kind of fun." The rain let up as we went, down down into the valley along the reservoir. The first rain of the season and only the real runners were out. You have to be pretty committed to this masochistic act to drag yourself out into that weather when waiting until the afternoon would reward you with blue skies and a dry head.
My leg felt great. No pain, minimal tightness, and charging up the hill at the end I felt strong. Spry even, which I feel like I can call myself now approaching my mid-30s.
The run reminded me of those epic winter days at Mt. Montara, sheets of rain steamrolling in from the Pacific, like runaway trucks careening into the hillside. You can't help but feel alive.
http://app.strava.com/activities/85326653
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Twin Peak Loop From New House
Mileage
Today: 10
Present: 468
Count: 69
Diablo will have to wait. Today, I tackle Twin Peaks.
What a phenomenal approach from the south, my old familiar route with an extra mile of warm-up to start. I tickled Bernal on the way, taking care to take it light. The goal of this run was easy: break a sweat, finish strong with no limp. I want to be able to run tomorrow, even if I don't.
Mission accomplished.
It was touch and go when I caught some guy right at the base of the mountain on Portola. He started strong, and the smarter part of me said just let him go. It's OK, you don't have to pass him. Today is about running long and smart -- don't be a hero. But I don't have that gear in me, so I pushed it into a smooth rhythm, rocking my hips back and forth letting my core do the work. I felt strong, despite (or thanks to?) a truly brutal leg workout at boxing on Thursday.
Midway up, I caught him and never looked back. Why do I feel compelled to race every other casual jogger I find out in the world?
As crisper day you won't find in this city. Views forever, Diablo shrouded in haze. I stopped momentarily to marvel at Potrero, and new of an accepted offer on a truly unique piece of real estate right in its heart. Downtown to the north, just past blooming Mission Bay. DogPatch to the east, Bayview and eventually Hunters Point to the south. The Mission to the West, SoMa to the northwest. Bernal to the southwest. A better bet on the new Pacific Heights you won't find.
I looped past buses and tourists, soaking in the windy vistas. I've been up here on days when you can barely stand up straight from the wind, the skyline buried in fog. But this morning a gentle breeze whispered my good fortunate as I gently descended, the only slight pain of the day. Back to the flats and a Mission stoplight run back home.
Flat. It kills me not to end the loop on Dolores, or charge Kansas or De Haro to finish off the run. But I remind myself of Todd's wisdom, that in order to get through it, you have to get through it.
http://app.strava.com/activities/82898691
Today: 10
Present: 468
Count: 69
Diablo will have to wait. Today, I tackle Twin Peaks.
What a phenomenal approach from the south, my old familiar route with an extra mile of warm-up to start. I tickled Bernal on the way, taking care to take it light. The goal of this run was easy: break a sweat, finish strong with no limp. I want to be able to run tomorrow, even if I don't.
Mission accomplished.
It was touch and go when I caught some guy right at the base of the mountain on Portola. He started strong, and the smarter part of me said just let him go. It's OK, you don't have to pass him. Today is about running long and smart -- don't be a hero. But I don't have that gear in me, so I pushed it into a smooth rhythm, rocking my hips back and forth letting my core do the work. I felt strong, despite (or thanks to?) a truly brutal leg workout at boxing on Thursday.
Midway up, I caught him and never looked back. Why do I feel compelled to race every other casual jogger I find out in the world?
As crisper day you won't find in this city. Views forever, Diablo shrouded in haze. I stopped momentarily to marvel at Potrero, and new of an accepted offer on a truly unique piece of real estate right in its heart. Downtown to the north, just past blooming Mission Bay. DogPatch to the east, Bayview and eventually Hunters Point to the south. The Mission to the West, SoMa to the northwest. Bernal to the southwest. A better bet on the new Pacific Heights you won't find.
I looped past buses and tourists, soaking in the windy vistas. I've been up here on days when you can barely stand up straight from the wind, the skyline buried in fog. But this morning a gentle breeze whispered my good fortunate as I gently descended, the only slight pain of the day. Back to the flats and a Mission stoplight run back home.
Flat. It kills me not to end the loop on Dolores, or charge Kansas or De Haro to finish off the run. But I remind myself of Todd's wisdom, that in order to get through it, you have to get through it.
http://app.strava.com/activities/82898691
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Sunday Tour de SF
Mileage
Today: 17
Present: 434
Count: 62
I don't understand people who can't run alone, or who have to run with music. To each his own and all that, but I still don't get it. How better to bounce around your mind, explore the depths of your own soul, to truly get to know yourself than venturing off with nothing else but your own two feet and the will to keep them moving.
And no better way to get to know a city than to run around it. Through its quiet avenues, over its lonesome hills. Take in its vistas, see its people, feel its buzz. San Francisco lends itself to endurance running better than most cities, but that's the beauty of running: You cannot shape the trail, you have to run it.
The warmth of Potrero yielded to clouds as I crested Bernal Hill and descended into that no mans land between Bernal and Glen Park. Up and over San Jose on a pedestrian bridge I had only ever seen from below. A new route, blocks from one I'd run maybe a hundred times.
I crested Mount Davidson, slid down through St. Francis Woods, mansions of decades past when money connected these estates to downtown through a subway now long since gone. Down Sloat, my familiar path to the beach. Running along The Great Highway, you could barely make out the oil slick ankle biters through Ocean Beach mist, a perfect day for gentle long boarding at one of the world's most treacherous breaks.
Another right and I was into the Park, winding up past the buffaloes and hundreds of runners out for their morning jogs. Pass everyone, get passed by no one. This is my training mantra, hard to follow on these easy long runs -- especially when I'm supposed to be rehabbing.
My legs felt miserable, no spring, no juice. To be expected, given my erratic training of late, getting used to Potrero's steep climbs and a general lack of anything resembling consistency for the past couple months. Another running wonder, how you feel on any given day doesn't matter. You weave it into the run -- feeling lousy is just another chance to train your mind to run when you don't feel like it.
I started to tire towards the end of the Park, but found a pony tail to chase down through the panhandle. She ran well, and we coasted at six-minute pace along the gentle slope.
I curtailed my run for the sake of expediency, catching up with Luchi and Jess at IndyMart, a local craft fair in the Potrero Flats where Jess was setting up to sell clothes. I grabbed the keys, bolt cutters from the office to use on the front fence which would come out later in the day, and drove home.
Not my fastest 17 miles but my Achilles survived, sore but not hurting. The only problem with the run is that it reminded me how much I love being out there for hours on end, getting to know myself. And how when I can't do that, the rest of my life suffers.
http://app.strava.com/activities/77689583
Today: 17
Present: 434
Count: 62
I don't understand people who can't run alone, or who have to run with music. To each his own and all that, but I still don't get it. How better to bounce around your mind, explore the depths of your own soul, to truly get to know yourself than venturing off with nothing else but your own two feet and the will to keep them moving.
And no better way to get to know a city than to run around it. Through its quiet avenues, over its lonesome hills. Take in its vistas, see its people, feel its buzz. San Francisco lends itself to endurance running better than most cities, but that's the beauty of running: You cannot shape the trail, you have to run it.
The warmth of Potrero yielded to clouds as I crested Bernal Hill and descended into that no mans land between Bernal and Glen Park. Up and over San Jose on a pedestrian bridge I had only ever seen from below. A new route, blocks from one I'd run maybe a hundred times.
I crested Mount Davidson, slid down through St. Francis Woods, mansions of decades past when money connected these estates to downtown through a subway now long since gone. Down Sloat, my familiar path to the beach. Running along The Great Highway, you could barely make out the oil slick ankle biters through Ocean Beach mist, a perfect day for gentle long boarding at one of the world's most treacherous breaks.
Another right and I was into the Park, winding up past the buffaloes and hundreds of runners out for their morning jogs. Pass everyone, get passed by no one. This is my training mantra, hard to follow on these easy long runs -- especially when I'm supposed to be rehabbing.
My legs felt miserable, no spring, no juice. To be expected, given my erratic training of late, getting used to Potrero's steep climbs and a general lack of anything resembling consistency for the past couple months. Another running wonder, how you feel on any given day doesn't matter. You weave it into the run -- feeling lousy is just another chance to train your mind to run when you don't feel like it.
I started to tire towards the end of the Park, but found a pony tail to chase down through the panhandle. She ran well, and we coasted at six-minute pace along the gentle slope.
I curtailed my run for the sake of expediency, catching up with Luchi and Jess at IndyMart, a local craft fair in the Potrero Flats where Jess was setting up to sell clothes. I grabbed the keys, bolt cutters from the office to use on the front fence which would come out later in the day, and drove home.
Not my fastest 17 miles but my Achilles survived, sore but not hurting. The only problem with the run is that it reminded me how much I love being out there for hours on end, getting to know myself. And how when I can't do that, the rest of my life suffers.
http://app.strava.com/activities/77689583
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Pier Buzzing
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 412
Count: 60
From my (thankfully) limited experience, the hardest thing about coming back from an injury is not trying to come back too early. You go out and feel OK, which compared to limping feels amazing and you think you haven't lost a step.
So you buzz piers on a Tuesday morning thinking six minute miles and lactate threshold are one in the same. And you wake up the next morning with sore calves. Go figure.
But man was it worth it.
Every once in a while you have an epiphany on a run. It could be about running, or maybe something entirely different. Maybe you solve a riddle at work or realize something that makes you love your wife even more than you already do.
I learned this year what a lactate threshold is. Since I don't understand science, I most easily understand it as the point at which you start breathing hard. More technically, its the maximum pace at which you can run aerobically and thus sustain for a long(ish) period of time. More specifically, its your marathon pace.
And if San Francisco is to be the judge, my marathon pace is around 6:50. But running along those piers, dodging tourists in the morning and for the first time in weeks feeling like I was out on a real run, I started to wonder if that really was my lactate threshold. Or if I was just being a pussy.
So I started pushing it. And what do you know -- I clicked off four or five miles sub 6:30 and at one point found myself cruising comfortably at just above 6:00. I've run that fast for an extended period before, during a 10k and half marathon. But not during a training run. Not for that long.
And I felt great. I felt smooth. I focused on my form, on running without effort. Sure, I was pretty tired when I mounted 20th Street on the way back home, but I could have kept going. And if I could keep my mind on track, who knows how much further I could have gone.
http://www.strava.com/activities/76223112
Today: 11
Present: 412
Count: 60
From my (thankfully) limited experience, the hardest thing about coming back from an injury is not trying to come back too early. You go out and feel OK, which compared to limping feels amazing and you think you haven't lost a step.
So you buzz piers on a Tuesday morning thinking six minute miles and lactate threshold are one in the same. And you wake up the next morning with sore calves. Go figure.
But man was it worth it.
Every once in a while you have an epiphany on a run. It could be about running, or maybe something entirely different. Maybe you solve a riddle at work or realize something that makes you love your wife even more than you already do.
I learned this year what a lactate threshold is. Since I don't understand science, I most easily understand it as the point at which you start breathing hard. More technically, its the maximum pace at which you can run aerobically and thus sustain for a long(ish) period of time. More specifically, its your marathon pace.
And if San Francisco is to be the judge, my marathon pace is around 6:50. But running along those piers, dodging tourists in the morning and for the first time in weeks feeling like I was out on a real run, I started to wonder if that really was my lactate threshold. Or if I was just being a pussy.
So I started pushing it. And what do you know -- I clicked off four or five miles sub 6:30 and at one point found myself cruising comfortably at just above 6:00. I've run that fast for an extended period before, during a 10k and half marathon. But not during a training run. Not for that long.
And I felt great. I felt smooth. I focused on my form, on running without effort. Sure, I was pretty tired when I mounted 20th Street on the way back home, but I could have kept going. And if I could keep my mind on track, who knows how much further I could have gone.
http://www.strava.com/activities/76223112
Saturday, August 17, 2013
To The Park
Mileage
Today: 14
Present: 397
Count: 58
With a few good, painless runs under my belt, an easy jog out to Golden Gate Park and back with Maura sounded like the perfect way to test my legs. My dad and I had talked about doing a trail run at Diablo in mid-September, but I had held off on signing up until I knew I could do it.
I don't exactly have a 9-minute pace gear, but it still felt great to just go out and run for a couple hours. We wove our way through the Mission, up the Wiggle through the Haight and into the Park.
Living in the southern part of the city, running in the Park is a rare event. Too rare. Wide streets, trees and quiet winds, Golden Gate Park is a road runners paradise. We hit the Bison and headed for home. Downhill, all the way.
Its on these runs I get to practice my form, visualizing the cotton ball on the needle, hips drifting back and forth, engaging the core as the engine. Relax the legs, let your chi do the work.
I felt the run for the next day and into the following, but without pain and without undue soreness, I signed up for the half marathon up and down Diablo.
http://app.strava.com/activities/75942590
Today: 14
Present: 397
Count: 58
With a few good, painless runs under my belt, an easy jog out to Golden Gate Park and back with Maura sounded like the perfect way to test my legs. My dad and I had talked about doing a trail run at Diablo in mid-September, but I had held off on signing up until I knew I could do it.
I don't exactly have a 9-minute pace gear, but it still felt great to just go out and run for a couple hours. We wove our way through the Mission, up the Wiggle through the Haight and into the Park.
Living in the southern part of the city, running in the Park is a rare event. Too rare. Wide streets, trees and quiet winds, Golden Gate Park is a road runners paradise. We hit the Bison and headed for home. Downhill, all the way.
Its on these runs I get to practice my form, visualizing the cotton ball on the needle, hips drifting back and forth, engaging the core as the engine. Relax the legs, let your chi do the work.
I felt the run for the next day and into the following, but without pain and without undue soreness, I signed up for the half marathon up and down Diablo.
http://app.strava.com/activities/75942590
Monday, July 15, 2013
Race Report: PCTR Pacifica 21k - 7/14/2013
Mileage
Today: 13
Present: 340
Count: 47
Based my pre-race, the day could have gone a lot worse.
Maura and I have been packing, painting and moving all week. I've barely run, barely slept and eaten like crap. I skimped on pre-race eating and visited the bathroom more often than usual.
It wasn't looking good - and for the first time in my running career, I stuffed some TP into my pocket, hoping it wouldn't prove to be a prescient decision. And to top it all off, I had tweaked my back earlier in the week and this was the first morning I could stand up straight.
Which all could have been quite disappointing, since I had pegged this race as a possible winner. I know these trails, love these trails, and can grind up Mt. Montara in my sleep. But life is good -- my wife and I just bought a house, ducks are settling into a row at work and I really have nothing to complain about.
So despite all possible negatives going into the race, I had a great attitude and no expectations. And to top it all off, not only was Maura running with me, but so was my dad. His first trail race in recent memory, 64-years old and ready to tackle the hills. I was a proud son.
As we crowded around the starting line, I glanced around and picked out the competition. At a small race like this, it's not hard. Only seeing a couple strong looking runners, my confidence grew.
When the pack set off, a few over-eager runners hopped out into the front and set an unsustainable pace. I settled back in the middle of the pack, waiting for them to drop off. And they did.
For most of the single track section of the climb, a young guy set a brisk pace and I followed at his heels (although not too close, having learned my lesson last year in Woodside). I liked the pace, so decided to keep up. About a half mile in, a tall guy blew past us all and disappeared up the mountain. Really strong, impressive climber, but we caught him on the downs.
The Mt. Montara climb is runnable almost the entire way. Invariably, about a half mile in my legs begin to burn and my breathing labors. I wonder how I'll make it all the way up. But there is a flattish section about a mile in where your legs get to rest a bit, and for whatever reason from there on my legs stop complaining.
When we hit the fire road, there were three of us in the pack. I was in the middle and feeling good, so I backed way off the pace to catch my breath and see how the guy behind me reacted. He immediately jumped in front of me. After 30 yards or so of jogging, I picked it up again and settled in behind him.
Shortly into the fire road, you hit the steepest part of the course. In a longer run, I'd certainly walk this. But I know its runnable despite the pitch, and when the guy in front of me began to labor, I made my move. In hindsight this was perhaps a stupid place to pass, on the steepest part of the course. But I wanted to set the tone -- I had sized this guy up and knew I was a stronger runner, and wanted to make sure he knew as well.
Trail racing is in some ways more mental than road racing. There is so much pace variability, speeding up and slowing down, jockeying for position along the single track, passing and getting passed, and as you tire its easy to convince yourself that you're not as fast as the guy in front of you, so you can ease off your pace without feeling guilty. So I figure why not use it to my advantage. As KJ would say, crush his spirit.
I also passed the guy leading our pack on this steep section, wanting to test him a bit. My legs felt strong and I knew I could run well to the peak. While he seemed strong, I wanted to know. He kept with me stride for stride all the way to the top.
We hit the turnaround and I flew downhill. I opened up a lead as I leaped down the fire road I knew so well. It's craggy, steep and slippery -- not an easy descent. But I knew I had a technical advantage and wanted to give myself some breathing room. The single track is a great grade for descending fast, but with the rocks and switchbacks, its not rest. Even if he caught me on the way down, I wanted to be fresh for the next two climbs.
And catch me he did, almost immediately onto the single track. Which was OK. He was a polite runner, passing with respect, encouraging other runners. And while we didn't exactly chat, it felt like a hard training run with a solid running partner. Midway through we caught first place and opened up a gap. Another friendly guy, an excellent little lead crew. Overall, a really enjoyable 3.5 mile descent.
We hit the parking lot, almost took a wrong turn and pulled into the aid station. With my lack of pre-race eating, I wanted to make sure I took in enough food to push me through the climbs ahead. In hindsight, I took too long here. I should have been carrying more food if I had wanted the calories, but more importantly first place spent almost no time in the aid station. By the time I left, he was a good 50 yards ahead of me.
In a road race this is no big deal, it's easy to keep contact. But 50 yards may as well be 50 miles in a trail run. I lost contact, and when my legs screamed out at the incline, I couldn't use him as motivation to push harder. Every time I didn't seem him on a switchback ahead I kept convincing myself that I could let him go, he was a strong runner and I'd be happy with second place. Definitely a loser's mindset.
I really labored up Valley View Trail. It ground on longer than I had expected and my legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. I glanced back and could see third place, the strong climber, gaining on me. It spurred me on, but my legs didn't respond.
I hit the top and tried to push it downhill, but even that was a struggle. I landed at the bottom and turned left up the fire road to Horseshoe Trail. I tried to push it up the gradual incline, but wasn't moving fast. A few minutes after turning right onto Horseshoe Trail, the climber passed me. "Don't worry, you'll pass me on the way down." He said. "We'll see," I replied.
The rest of that climb is a blur. It's a narrow, overgrown single track with no vistas. It's repetitive and long, but not that steep. It's totally runnable, and on a good day I could run it quite fast. But today was not that day. I struggled up each switchback, continually hearing someone on the trail behind me. I try to never look back (shows weakness), but on this climb I must have looked back 20 times. I literally kept hearing footsteps. But there was no one there.
I finally hit the top and as the slope turned, gravity took over and my leaden legs were dragged downhill. I tried to turn it on, but had nothing. Midway down I was able to pick up the pace, but my stabilizers were shot. I kept overshooting turns and dancing along the shrubs. Lets' not get hurt.
Around every turn I hoped to see the climber, but unsurprisingly I never did. I just didn't have enough to catch him.
I hit the bottom and turned for home. Results aren't posted yet, but I think I missed the top spot by a few minutes and second by one or two. But I felt good about the run. I lost to a guy who was stronger than me on the ups, and just as strong on the downs. The guy in second crushed me on the climbs and I didn't have enough to catch him on the last down.
So it goes. I finished third in 1:52, a positively respectable time.
I grabbed some water and a beer and waited for Maura, my dad and Maura's friend Nicole to finish. I chatted to a few runners, including the two guys who beat me. We all complained about different parts of the course -- especially the endless switchbacks up Horseshoe.
Maura and my dad came in almost together at 2:40. My dad looked like he had barely broken a sweat. Not bad for the oldest guy in the race and winner of the 60+ division.
Maura had a good race too, and also came in third for the women! Two white ribbons and a blue -- not a bad day for the Jeffery family.
Lessons learned: Keep contact -- mind is more important than body. There is no training for hills other than running hills (or leg strengthening exercises). Even on a short race, have an eating plan.
Today: 13
Present: 340
Count: 47
Based my pre-race, the day could have gone a lot worse.
Maura and I have been packing, painting and moving all week. I've barely run, barely slept and eaten like crap. I skimped on pre-race eating and visited the bathroom more often than usual.
It wasn't looking good - and for the first time in my running career, I stuffed some TP into my pocket, hoping it wouldn't prove to be a prescient decision. And to top it all off, I had tweaked my back earlier in the week and this was the first morning I could stand up straight.
Which all could have been quite disappointing, since I had pegged this race as a possible winner. I know these trails, love these trails, and can grind up Mt. Montara in my sleep. But life is good -- my wife and I just bought a house, ducks are settling into a row at work and I really have nothing to complain about.
So despite all possible negatives going into the race, I had a great attitude and no expectations. And to top it all off, not only was Maura running with me, but so was my dad. His first trail race in recent memory, 64-years old and ready to tackle the hills. I was a proud son.
As we crowded around the starting line, I glanced around and picked out the competition. At a small race like this, it's not hard. Only seeing a couple strong looking runners, my confidence grew.
When the pack set off, a few over-eager runners hopped out into the front and set an unsustainable pace. I settled back in the middle of the pack, waiting for them to drop off. And they did.
For most of the single track section of the climb, a young guy set a brisk pace and I followed at his heels (although not too close, having learned my lesson last year in Woodside). I liked the pace, so decided to keep up. About a half mile in, a tall guy blew past us all and disappeared up the mountain. Really strong, impressive climber, but we caught him on the downs.
The Mt. Montara climb is runnable almost the entire way. Invariably, about a half mile in my legs begin to burn and my breathing labors. I wonder how I'll make it all the way up. But there is a flattish section about a mile in where your legs get to rest a bit, and for whatever reason from there on my legs stop complaining.
When we hit the fire road, there were three of us in the pack. I was in the middle and feeling good, so I backed way off the pace to catch my breath and see how the guy behind me reacted. He immediately jumped in front of me. After 30 yards or so of jogging, I picked it up again and settled in behind him.
Shortly into the fire road, you hit the steepest part of the course. In a longer run, I'd certainly walk this. But I know its runnable despite the pitch, and when the guy in front of me began to labor, I made my move. In hindsight this was perhaps a stupid place to pass, on the steepest part of the course. But I wanted to set the tone -- I had sized this guy up and knew I was a stronger runner, and wanted to make sure he knew as well.
Trail racing is in some ways more mental than road racing. There is so much pace variability, speeding up and slowing down, jockeying for position along the single track, passing and getting passed, and as you tire its easy to convince yourself that you're not as fast as the guy in front of you, so you can ease off your pace without feeling guilty. So I figure why not use it to my advantage. As KJ would say, crush his spirit.
I also passed the guy leading our pack on this steep section, wanting to test him a bit. My legs felt strong and I knew I could run well to the peak. While he seemed strong, I wanted to know. He kept with me stride for stride all the way to the top.
We hit the turnaround and I flew downhill. I opened up a lead as I leaped down the fire road I knew so well. It's craggy, steep and slippery -- not an easy descent. But I knew I had a technical advantage and wanted to give myself some breathing room. The single track is a great grade for descending fast, but with the rocks and switchbacks, its not rest. Even if he caught me on the way down, I wanted to be fresh for the next two climbs.
And catch me he did, almost immediately onto the single track. Which was OK. He was a polite runner, passing with respect, encouraging other runners. And while we didn't exactly chat, it felt like a hard training run with a solid running partner. Midway through we caught first place and opened up a gap. Another friendly guy, an excellent little lead crew. Overall, a really enjoyable 3.5 mile descent.
We hit the parking lot, almost took a wrong turn and pulled into the aid station. With my lack of pre-race eating, I wanted to make sure I took in enough food to push me through the climbs ahead. In hindsight, I took too long here. I should have been carrying more food if I had wanted the calories, but more importantly first place spent almost no time in the aid station. By the time I left, he was a good 50 yards ahead of me.
In a road race this is no big deal, it's easy to keep contact. But 50 yards may as well be 50 miles in a trail run. I lost contact, and when my legs screamed out at the incline, I couldn't use him as motivation to push harder. Every time I didn't seem him on a switchback ahead I kept convincing myself that I could let him go, he was a strong runner and I'd be happy with second place. Definitely a loser's mindset.
I really labored up Valley View Trail. It ground on longer than I had expected and my legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. I glanced back and could see third place, the strong climber, gaining on me. It spurred me on, but my legs didn't respond.
I hit the top and tried to push it downhill, but even that was a struggle. I landed at the bottom and turned left up the fire road to Horseshoe Trail. I tried to push it up the gradual incline, but wasn't moving fast. A few minutes after turning right onto Horseshoe Trail, the climber passed me. "Don't worry, you'll pass me on the way down." He said. "We'll see," I replied.
The rest of that climb is a blur. It's a narrow, overgrown single track with no vistas. It's repetitive and long, but not that steep. It's totally runnable, and on a good day I could run it quite fast. But today was not that day. I struggled up each switchback, continually hearing someone on the trail behind me. I try to never look back (shows weakness), but on this climb I must have looked back 20 times. I literally kept hearing footsteps. But there was no one there.
I finally hit the top and as the slope turned, gravity took over and my leaden legs were dragged downhill. I tried to turn it on, but had nothing. Midway down I was able to pick up the pace, but my stabilizers were shot. I kept overshooting turns and dancing along the shrubs. Lets' not get hurt.
Around every turn I hoped to see the climber, but unsurprisingly I never did. I just didn't have enough to catch him.
I hit the bottom and turned for home. Results aren't posted yet, but I think I missed the top spot by a few minutes and second by one or two. But I felt good about the run. I lost to a guy who was stronger than me on the ups, and just as strong on the downs. The guy in second crushed me on the climbs and I didn't have enough to catch him on the last down.
So it goes. I finished third in 1:52, a positively respectable time.
I grabbed some water and a beer and waited for Maura, my dad and Maura's friend Nicole to finish. I chatted to a few runners, including the two guys who beat me. We all complained about different parts of the course -- especially the endless switchbacks up Horseshoe.
Maura and my dad came in almost together at 2:40. My dad looked like he had barely broken a sweat. Not bad for the oldest guy in the race and winner of the 60+ division.
Maura had a good race too, and also came in third for the women! Two white ribbons and a blue -- not a bad day for the Jeffery family.
Lessons learned: Keep contact -- mind is more important than body. There is no training for hills other than running hills (or leg strengthening exercises). Even on a short race, have an eating plan.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Fourth Figure Eighteen (Nineteen)
Mileage
Today: 19
Present: 309
Count: 42
My first run at the Headlands in months as expected: long, steep and fantastic. I just love these trails, and know them better than anywhere else. Its as close to a home course as I have, but each time I find a new adventure waiting for me in the craggy hills and rocky slopes. It is indeed, as good as trail running gets.
But it ain't easy: 19.5 miles, 4,000 feet of vertical climbing and little support.
I used my new Ultimate Direction hydration vest for the first time, filling up both water bottles and stuffing food into the rear pouch (an orange, half a sweet potato and gels). When I set off up the first climb from Rodeo Beach to the gun turret, the bottles bounced around on my chest and I chuckled that I was about to find out how women feel running with breasts.
Halfway up the climb I knew my legs didn't have it, but I resolved to finish the 30k course that I planned on running since apparently training is all about learning to run on tired legs. I was expecting sun and relative heat, but Mother Nature provided fog instead. All the better, I'll take running in cool humidity over heat any day.
When I realized my legs were pretty shot, I resigned myself to just go out and enjoy the day. I wasn't setting any course records, I was out by myself and I loved these trails. It was like coming home. I would focus on technique, nutrition and disappearing into the hills. Running in the moment.
I hit the Tennessee Valley trail head still without much spring in my legs, and I knew I had a hard climb ahead to Coyote Ridge. That is one steep, grinding climb, but I ran the whole thing. About halfway up my legs loosened up and I actually started to feel better. Sometimes it takes an hour for your body to wake up.
Down to Muir Beach then back up, where I passed a few other walkers and runners. But despite it being Fourth of July, the trails were quiet. I basically had them to myself.
The short stretch down from Muir Beach along the Pacific Coast Trail is one of the most fun segments to run in the entire Bay Area. Sharp turns, quick ups and downs and when the sun is out, you feel like you're levitating above the crashing waves. But even in the fog the trail is amazing, and I lost myself in a mellow pace, barely realizing I had been running when I hit the railroad tie stairs and trudged back out. It's a steep, but short climb and one I always think is going to be over sooner than it actually is.
I rolled back down to Tennessee Valley where I took my time to walk and eat. I knew Bonk Hill was coming and I wanted to be fresh. No matter how many times I run here, I always manage to forget that once you crest Bonk Hill it's still a long way home.
I put my head down and started the long, winding climb 1.4 miles to the top. Which of course isn't really the top, but its the top of Bonk Hill. I managed to keep a good pace, doing my best not to look at the trail ahead. It's a sweeping, gradual turn where you can never see more than a quarter mile ahead. And you always think you're closer to the end than you actually are.
This hill has crushed me more than once, but I'm slowly gaining mastery of it. The trick is to just get it over with. Settle into a quick turnover grind and move. It's not so steep you can't run, but just steep enough to be a tough climb. You have to meet it in the middle.
The trail breached the clouds and I popped into sunlight for the first time, a mist-shrouded view of Sausalito below. I hit the top and almost laughed. Bonk Hill. Whatever. That arrogance would turn out to be misplaced.
In hindsight, as soon as I finished Bonk Hill I should have put some food in me. 1.4 miles is a lot to climb, especially when its two hours into your run. You don't have a ton of energy reserves left at that point. But I reveled in my dominance and didn't eat. As I started the final mini-climb to the actual top, I realized my mistake as I started to feel a bit bonky. But I pushed on and when I hit the top stopped walk and refill my water bottle from my auxiliaries.
When I crossed the road and started along the most breathtaking part of the run (without the clouds that is), I really started to feel bad. Ironically, when Bonk Hill won its name when KJ and I ran the 30k here back before we knew what we were doing, it was on this stretch that I actually bonked. So I was in familiar territory.
But I'm smarter now, and was prepared. I dug into my bag and pulled out the rest of the potato. Hitting the spot is an understatement. It was exactly what I needed and almost immediately kicked that bonky feeling. So mental note, sweet potatoes defeat the bonk.
At this point I just wanted to be done. I still had more than four miles left, one final tiny climb left and from there it was all down hill. I descended Slacker Ridge at a good clip and promptly got lost looking for the Rodeo Valley Trail back home. I was gassed, about out of water and generally over the run, but I remembered back to something Leigh says about getting lost: bonus miles. Some attitude.
I sauntered into the parking lot at just under 3:30. Not fast by any stretch, but a really solid training run and a reminder why I love running these trails.
http://app.strava.com/activities/64921061
Epilogue: I left my sandals in the Rodeo Beach parking lot on my way to meet some friends in Marin for a BBQ. Five hours later, I convinced Maura to go back to the beach on the off chance my sandals, which I've had for over a decade, were still around. And, they were. Karma!
Today: 19
Present: 309
Count: 42
My first run at the Headlands in months as expected: long, steep and fantastic. I just love these trails, and know them better than anywhere else. Its as close to a home course as I have, but each time I find a new adventure waiting for me in the craggy hills and rocky slopes. It is indeed, as good as trail running gets.
But it ain't easy: 19.5 miles, 4,000 feet of vertical climbing and little support.
I used my new Ultimate Direction hydration vest for the first time, filling up both water bottles and stuffing food into the rear pouch (an orange, half a sweet potato and gels). When I set off up the first climb from Rodeo Beach to the gun turret, the bottles bounced around on my chest and I chuckled that I was about to find out how women feel running with breasts.
Halfway up the climb I knew my legs didn't have it, but I resolved to finish the 30k course that I planned on running since apparently training is all about learning to run on tired legs. I was expecting sun and relative heat, but Mother Nature provided fog instead. All the better, I'll take running in cool humidity over heat any day.
When I realized my legs were pretty shot, I resigned myself to just go out and enjoy the day. I wasn't setting any course records, I was out by myself and I loved these trails. It was like coming home. I would focus on technique, nutrition and disappearing into the hills. Running in the moment.
I hit the Tennessee Valley trail head still without much spring in my legs, and I knew I had a hard climb ahead to Coyote Ridge. That is one steep, grinding climb, but I ran the whole thing. About halfway up my legs loosened up and I actually started to feel better. Sometimes it takes an hour for your body to wake up.
Down to Muir Beach then back up, where I passed a few other walkers and runners. But despite it being Fourth of July, the trails were quiet. I basically had them to myself.
The short stretch down from Muir Beach along the Pacific Coast Trail is one of the most fun segments to run in the entire Bay Area. Sharp turns, quick ups and downs and when the sun is out, you feel like you're levitating above the crashing waves. But even in the fog the trail is amazing, and I lost myself in a mellow pace, barely realizing I had been running when I hit the railroad tie stairs and trudged back out. It's a steep, but short climb and one I always think is going to be over sooner than it actually is.
I rolled back down to Tennessee Valley where I took my time to walk and eat. I knew Bonk Hill was coming and I wanted to be fresh. No matter how many times I run here, I always manage to forget that once you crest Bonk Hill it's still a long way home.
I put my head down and started the long, winding climb 1.4 miles to the top. Which of course isn't really the top, but its the top of Bonk Hill. I managed to keep a good pace, doing my best not to look at the trail ahead. It's a sweeping, gradual turn where you can never see more than a quarter mile ahead. And you always think you're closer to the end than you actually are.
This hill has crushed me more than once, but I'm slowly gaining mastery of it. The trick is to just get it over with. Settle into a quick turnover grind and move. It's not so steep you can't run, but just steep enough to be a tough climb. You have to meet it in the middle.
The trail breached the clouds and I popped into sunlight for the first time, a mist-shrouded view of Sausalito below. I hit the top and almost laughed. Bonk Hill. Whatever. That arrogance would turn out to be misplaced.
In hindsight, as soon as I finished Bonk Hill I should have put some food in me. 1.4 miles is a lot to climb, especially when its two hours into your run. You don't have a ton of energy reserves left at that point. But I reveled in my dominance and didn't eat. As I started the final mini-climb to the actual top, I realized my mistake as I started to feel a bit bonky. But I pushed on and when I hit the top stopped walk and refill my water bottle from my auxiliaries.
When I crossed the road and started along the most breathtaking part of the run (without the clouds that is), I really started to feel bad. Ironically, when Bonk Hill won its name when KJ and I ran the 30k here back before we knew what we were doing, it was on this stretch that I actually bonked. So I was in familiar territory.
But I'm smarter now, and was prepared. I dug into my bag and pulled out the rest of the potato. Hitting the spot is an understatement. It was exactly what I needed and almost immediately kicked that bonky feeling. So mental note, sweet potatoes defeat the bonk.
At this point I just wanted to be done. I still had more than four miles left, one final tiny climb left and from there it was all down hill. I descended Slacker Ridge at a good clip and promptly got lost looking for the Rodeo Valley Trail back home. I was gassed, about out of water and generally over the run, but I remembered back to something Leigh says about getting lost: bonus miles. Some attitude.
I sauntered into the parking lot at just under 3:30. Not fast by any stretch, but a really solid training run and a reminder why I love running these trails.
http://app.strava.com/activities/64921061
Epilogue: I left my sandals in the Rodeo Beach parking lot on my way to meet some friends in Marin for a BBQ. Five hours later, I convinced Maura to go back to the beach on the off chance my sandals, which I've had for over a decade, were still around. And, they were. Karma!
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Tagging Along in Woodsie
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 129
Count: 18
I run almost exclusively alone. Aside from training runs with my wife or my brother, I don't run with friends. It just never occurs to me, and not many of my friends share my love of suffering, so end up out there mostly by myself.
It's not that I run to get away from people per se, but as any good introvert will tell you, we get our energy from being alone. I think better alone. I reason through problems better alone. And while there is no substitute for a good training partner to push you, carry you and bring out more than you thought you had inside, for me there is no substitute for these therapeutic hours by myself.
This morning, I met two friends down in Woodside to join their weekly run. One is out there for 5-6 hours, the other acting as the "first shift" to join her for the first couple hours before she picks up the second shift. Non-runners may find it weird, but chatting on the trails is surprisingly easy. Labored breathing mid-story is totally accepted, and we patiently wait as a 5-minute story stretches into 10 during a climb. There's plenty of time.
These two have been running this 10-mile loop for more than a decade, every weekend. The consistency is remarkable, as is the depth of their friendship. Which now extends far beyond running.
And that ultimately is the beauty of this sport. Specifically, running for a very long time. It is both solitary and communal, intensely individual yet collective. Because two hours on the trail is about as good way to start as Sunday as there is, whether lost in your own mind or sharing the triumphs of your friends.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777754
Today: 11
Present: 129
Count: 18
I run almost exclusively alone. Aside from training runs with my wife or my brother, I don't run with friends. It just never occurs to me, and not many of my friends share my love of suffering, so end up out there mostly by myself.
It's not that I run to get away from people per se, but as any good introvert will tell you, we get our energy from being alone. I think better alone. I reason through problems better alone. And while there is no substitute for a good training partner to push you, carry you and bring out more than you thought you had inside, for me there is no substitute for these therapeutic hours by myself.
This morning, I met two friends down in Woodside to join their weekly run. One is out there for 5-6 hours, the other acting as the "first shift" to join her for the first couple hours before she picks up the second shift. Non-runners may find it weird, but chatting on the trails is surprisingly easy. Labored breathing mid-story is totally accepted, and we patiently wait as a 5-minute story stretches into 10 during a climb. There's plenty of time.
These two have been running this 10-mile loop for more than a decade, every weekend. The consistency is remarkable, as is the depth of their friendship. Which now extends far beyond running.
And that ultimately is the beauty of this sport. Specifically, running for a very long time. It is both solitary and communal, intensely individual yet collective. Because two hours on the trail is about as good way to start as Sunday as there is, whether lost in your own mind or sharing the triumphs of your friends.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777754
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Abundant Nature, Abundant Epiphanies
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 117
Count: 17
Sometimes, you end up places. And you're supposed to be there.
I slept in my car last night, curled up under a sport coat, no blanket to speak of. It was cold, in the 40s, making a low quality sleeping experience that much lower. But I can't complain, since I was fully conscious of my decision to pull off a perfectly good highway that was leading me to a perfectly go town with perfectly good hotels.
Because sometimes, sleeping in your car on pulled off a dirt road at the base of some full-moon-lit foothills is just the right thing to do.
And so is taking it easy sometimes. Just going out for a jog, easing up and down the trails, soaking it in. You have to pay attention trail running, lest you clip a rock or root and end up smearing your face in the dirt (or worse). Its easy to forget to take in the scenery.
I kept it mellow today, let my mind wander. Epiphanies rolled in.
I must have spooked 30 deer on a 2-hour run. Amazing amount of wildlife. Lake San Antonio should have been packed on the first day of Memorial Day Weekend, but it wasn't. There were some boats out, but the trails were empty. I saw a grand total of zero other runners, and zero hikers.
It's a shame, people spend more time complaining about the wilderness we're losing than they do enjoying what we have.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777744
Today: 11
Present: 117
Count: 17
Sometimes, you end up places. And you're supposed to be there.
I slept in my car last night, curled up under a sport coat, no blanket to speak of. It was cold, in the 40s, making a low quality sleeping experience that much lower. But I can't complain, since I was fully conscious of my decision to pull off a perfectly good highway that was leading me to a perfectly go town with perfectly good hotels.
Because sometimes, sleeping in your car on pulled off a dirt road at the base of some full-moon-lit foothills is just the right thing to do.
And so is taking it easy sometimes. Just going out for a jog, easing up and down the trails, soaking it in. You have to pay attention trail running, lest you clip a rock or root and end up smearing your face in the dirt (or worse). Its easy to forget to take in the scenery.
I kept it mellow today, let my mind wander. Epiphanies rolled in.
I must have spooked 30 deer on a 2-hour run. Amazing amount of wildlife. Lake San Antonio should have been packed on the first day of Memorial Day Weekend, but it wasn't. There were some boats out, but the trails were empty. I saw a grand total of zero other runners, and zero hikers.
It's a shame, people spend more time complaining about the wilderness we're losing than they do enjoying what we have.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777744
Monday, May 20, 2013
Desert Teen Surprise
Mileage
Today: 16
Present: 91
Count: 13
Its the little things that make your timeshare vacation special. Like the watered down dish soap and sign the bathroom telling you exactly how much you'll be charged if you lift the towels ($10 each). And the elderly couple sauntering by outside, he spedo-clad, she OK with it.
The flip side is that you get all the comforts of home without the burden of being there. It's usually warmer, too. In this case, perhaps too warm.
I set off this morning, earlier to miss the heat. I figured a 7am departure should do it. But I didn't expect to run 16 miles, a sweltering meander along the Palm Springs bike path system. I just kept going. Long blocks blew by, the oasis waking to a warm May morning.
90 minutes always clicks. Sometimes, eerily so. I hit it with five miles left, already over the heat and the thermometer rising.I told myself that these five are all that matter. That the first 11 were easy, that I came to the desert to train, not jog.
I ran through sprinklers, refilled at fountains serving water up lukewarm. It tasted amazing. I really faded in the last mile. In my mind I was already done. I had already sunk into the pool, enveloped in cool. I was on my second glass of ice cold lemonade. Those images kill. The closest you can get while you're out there is to stop. And stopping is the only thing that will ensure they never come true.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777760
Today: 16
Present: 91
Count: 13
Its the little things that make your timeshare vacation special. Like the watered down dish soap and sign the bathroom telling you exactly how much you'll be charged if you lift the towels ($10 each). And the elderly couple sauntering by outside, he spedo-clad, she OK with it.
The flip side is that you get all the comforts of home without the burden of being there. It's usually warmer, too. In this case, perhaps too warm.
I set off this morning, earlier to miss the heat. I figured a 7am departure should do it. But I didn't expect to run 16 miles, a sweltering meander along the Palm Springs bike path system. I just kept going. Long blocks blew by, the oasis waking to a warm May morning.
90 minutes always clicks. Sometimes, eerily so. I hit it with five miles left, already over the heat and the thermometer rising.I told myself that these five are all that matter. That the first 11 were easy, that I came to the desert to train, not jog.
I ran through sprinklers, refilled at fountains serving water up lukewarm. It tasted amazing. I really faded in the last mile. In my mind I was already done. I had already sunk into the pool, enveloped in cool. I was on my second glass of ice cold lemonade. Those images kill. The closest you can get while you're out there is to stop. And stopping is the only thing that will ensure they never come true.
http://app.strava.com/activities/56777760
Monday, May 6, 2013
How Good Does Your Water Taste?
Mileage
Today: 11
Present: 41
Count: 4
When you're running long distances, self check-ins help you keep it together. I usually start from my feet and move up. In addition to passing the time, monitoring the parts of your body that are liable to fall apart makes you better equipped to self-medicate and make good decisions at upcoming aid stations.
Today: 11
Present: 41
Count: 4
When you're running long distances, self check-ins help you keep it together. I usually start from my feet and move up. In addition to passing the time, monitoring the parts of your body that are liable to fall apart makes you better equipped to self-medicate and make good decisions at upcoming aid stations.
But on a metaphysical level, these check-ins deepen the connection between body and mind. Of the many aspects of trail running I enjoy, it is the deep bond within the body that brings me closer to myself.
One of my check-in mantras is "How good does my water taste?" The better my water tastes, the more dehydrated I probably am. I'll check to see how much water I have left, when the next aid station is, and adjust my rationing strategy accordingly.
Sweeping the trails at Armstrong Redwoods, I was on my own in the sweltering heat. Arriving back at the bottom of the hill, aid station cleaned and gone, concerned the next one would be too, water rationing took on a new meaning. Ascending that hill, again, my water tasted really, really good.
http://app.strava.com/activities/52744178
http://app.strava.com/activities/52744178
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