The Chuckanut 50k

It's 6:30 am 12/1/17. I have a gnarly headache, but I'm still

doing my strength session. I will be hospitalized

the next morning. Little did I know in this silly selfie, it
was much more than a headache.

My initial reaction to the Chuckanut 50k was to beat myself up for missing my finish target by 40 minutes. I had forgotten that only four months ago my energy and health were so low that going for a one mile walk was a big deal for me. Below are my musings about a race and more importantly the journey just to show up for it.

On December 1st, 2017 I woke up around 4 am with a splitting headache. I frequently get tension headaches so I popped two ibuprofens and went back to bed until my alarm. My headache had dulled from the ibuprofen so I stuck with my intention of rising early enough to do my strength workout before work. During lateral hops I noticed that the back of my neck into my upper spine felt as if a tight Spider-Man-esque web was pulled across under my skin and was cinching up with each hop. I hadn't felt like that ever before, but I didn't think much of it. I was in a hurry to get my son to school and myself to the office before Chuckanut 50k registration opened at 8 am. After a few rounds of crashing Ultrasignup with 100s of my running brethren I was happy to be registered and ready to go about my work day.

By early afternoon my headache was back full force and I'd noticed the webbed tension in my neck and upper spine would pulse if I so much as walked. My eyes had started to become sensitive to the point where I turned the lights off in my office. Shortly after I told my boss I was going home sick, over a headache. It felt very foreign - I get bad tension headaches often and I don't leave work for that kind of thing. I went home to sleep and my boyfriend picked up my son for me.

By evening I had a fever and just felt more and more off. That led to consulting Dr. Google with my symptoms and then freaking out at bacterial meningitis with warnings of its ability to kill within 24 hours of onset. I texted a friend who is a nurse to ask advice about what I felt was my paranoia. By this time walk in clinics were closed and she advised monitoring myself for changes throughout the night as the ER on a Friday night would likely be a very long wait. I didn't sleep well, waking every hour or so. Saturday morning we arrived at a walk in clinic as they opened and after listing my symptoms were sent to the ER.

My son entertaining Cam, Bethany, and John with a game of

hangman on the nurse's whiteboard. They are all in masks

because we didn't yet know if I had bacterial or viral

meningitis. The former is highly contagious and scary

the latter is not contagious, it just wipes you out massively.

Once arrived I was quickly put in an isolation room. I was really cold at this point and kept getting new heated blankets from the nurse. After a few hours and a plethora of tests that eliminated all the other obvious suspects the ER doctor suggested a spinal tap for meningitis. He did not expect it to come back positive based on my overall demeanor, but it did and so began my four day hospitalization. Until the culture came back to show I had the less scary, and not contagious, viral meningitis I was very scared. I was scared of dying or losing limbs. I was scared of my son having contracted it also. Viral meningitis is a really awesome diagnosis compared to bacterial meningitis. It will wipe you out, drop your endurance to zero, render you unable to orchestrate even the basics of your life, and leave you sleeping all day dependent on your nurses and a cocktail of drugs in your IV, but it is oh so much better than bacterial meningitis.

Ali and Bethany visiting just after I'd found out I had the

far less scary and not contagious form of meningitis.

This is the most awake I felt my entire hospitalization.

My turnaround meal in the hospital. Homemade and kindly

delivered by Nichole

While my boyfriend took over my single parent duties and my friends came in and out between my numerous naps running was the last thing on my mind. Having the basic abilities to raise my son or go to work and do my job gone was very humbling. I burned through 60 hours of sick time at work and so many favors from friends. After getting released from the hospital walking outside became this big deal to me. To fit in a one mile walk around my sleeping, low energy, and light sensitivity made my day. I didn't run for most of December and when I ran again I felt like my fitness level had reverted to zero. My average HR showed my endurance was gone. I reminded myself that I'd dropped my Chuckanut 50k registration in 2017 from my tibial stress fracture and this was legit cause to drop it again in 2018.

By late January I was running enough again to feel like I might still be up for a 50k soon. Then in late January I fell on a group night run and woke up one week later with my lower back completely thrown out. A new chiropractor and an x-ray revealed a pinched nerve between my L4 and L5 and degenerative disc disease advanced beyond what one expects in a 34-year-old spine. The pinched nerve was creating referred pain in my left quad causing the muscles to lock up and running to not work very well. Again, I went the majority of a month with not a lot of running.

To say I wasn't particularly trained for the Chuckanut 50k is perhaps an understatement. I ran it out of stubbornness. I was mad that I'd had to drop it in 2017 when my tibial stress fracture was diagnosed five weeks out and I  just didn't want to drop it again. I ran it and I finished it in 7 hrs 37 min 9 sec which happens to be exactly 20 seconds slower than the Cougar Mountain 50k I ran in October. Cougar is a harder race from a total ascent standpoint (7,200 versus 5,000 feet of vertical), but I am nothing if not consistent.

I had hoped to crack 7 hours, something I have yet to manage in any of my eight 50k finishes. The only time I cracked 7 hours was in the first split of my one and only 100k finish (Sun Mountain 2016) that was two 50k loops, but it doesn't technically count. I am honestly not sure if I will ever crack 7 hours or if it actually matters.

Cupping before and later during the race

prevented the muscle issue in my quad

caused by my pinched nerve from

stopping me.

Using an inversion table daily, including

before the race, helped me run through

my pinched nerve issue.

I signup for races for the social aspect of seeing running friends and the ease aid stations add to a desire to go for a really long run. I dilly dally, I chit chat, I hang out too long at aid stations if I know the volunteers, I take shots of Jameson (well just one) at Irish bars setup along the course, and I even hide in the bushes to change from capris to shorts and cup my quad 19 miles in to get through the rest of the race. I do all this and then get mad at my inability to crack 7 hours. My boyfriend pointed out that my prerogative appears to be having fun, not racing for time so perhaps if I'm going to get out there and prioritize the former I should let go of the latter as they are in direct conflict. Sometimes the man is right. Often even, but don't tell him that he might get a swelled head :)

Watching sub 7 slip away

once again and taking it

personally a few miles from the

finish line.

This is Heather. She is wise. I caught up to her here at the

Irish bar aid station between the Cleator climb and the Ridge

around mile 15. I didn't see her again till the finish :)

Heather is also genius in her framing of reality. She raced as well and I was being hard on my time when I saw her after. She thought it was awesome that I even got out there and finished it considering all my recent health events in the way of training. She too is right. It just took me awhile to catch up mentally to all the right people in my life.

Ready to roll with Bethany and Cam at

the starting line. My speedsters :)

As for the race itself I was excited to see Bethany, who I run more miles with than I run without her, get out there and smash her first 50k in 5 hrs 59 min 54 sec. She had never run further than 21 miles in her life nor raced further than a half marathon and the notion of 31 whole miles felt inconceivable to her at times leading up to the race, but she did it and rocked it. I knew she could and would and the best part is now she knows too and the ultra bug has bitten her :)

The best part of the course was the chinscraper climb and the worst was the flat final 6 on the interurban. I've only run once since the race because I angered my right ankle and am working through some swelling and lack of mobility with rest, ice, etc. Each and every day there are so many many things that can cease the ability to run. Each day the run overcomes these things is a sweet spot in this life.

The Chinscraper climb around mile 21.

Photo Credit: Glenn Tachiyama.

Yvonne, one of the most impressive 100

mile favoring ultra runners I know captaining

her Irish aid station serving up a little

luck of the Irish on St. Patrick's Day aka race day.

Lost Lake is so rarely sunny, but weather

luck was shining down on us.

Delicious treats including sushi (ate a ton) and

Jell-O shots (skipped those) just before the

chinscraper climb.

A Tribute to Coach Mike

Have you ever met someone who only ever wanted to build you up? And build up everyone else in his life? And meet new people just so he could take genuine interest in building them up? A person who also found the time to lead by example? Never allowing even the greatest of obstacles to keep him from a goal? A person who made a daily choice to wake up at zero dark thirty and imbue the world with more can do than it held the day before?

Mike was loved by so many people and my tribute to him captures but a small snippet of his full and beautiful life. I met Mike not quite four years ago. We met at a post race Bellingham Trail Running Club BBQ. He was one of those rare people who felt like an old friend after an hour. He was so genuine in his desire to connect and support everyone who came through his life that it was just so easy to bond quickly with Mike. I had never run an ultra before I met him. I hadn't even been a runner of any kind for that long. He filled my head with tales that made it all sound so approachable. I loved the story of his Badwater DNF most. He never said that anything was easy, but he always believed that anything could be achieved. You know that little voice in most of our heads? Our own worst critics? The nagging feeling that we can't do something? That we aren't good enough? That we aren't worth something? That we tried and we failed and we should be ashamed? Mike did not allow that voice in his own head and he was the antithesis of that little voice for everyone he loved.

Mike volunteered at seemingly every local race. He did it selflessly. He was there volunteering at my first ultra, the Cle Elum Ridge 50k in 2014. He insisted I take the race sweatshirt he earned volunteering that day. He said the first ultra is a big deal and I should have it to commemorate it. That he would always remember his first ultra and I would feel the same about mine. He was right, of course.

After my first 50 miler went well I got excitable and decided to go for a first 100 miler that same year. Mike immediately volunteered himself to be my Crew Chief and I happily accepted. I made him a blackberry pie from scratch just to seal the deal. Mike believed in me at that race more than I believed in myself. I had some pretty bad ankle pain in both legs and had slowed down substantially by the mile 71 aid station. Two other runners in the warm tent were dropping. I'd given up on believing I could finish within the 30 hour time limit and thought maybe I should just give up and drop. Mike wouldn't let me. We had 40 some odd minutes until the cutoff at that aid station and he would not let me stay. I don't know how he did it, but he got me out of that warm cozy tent willfully choosing the frost tipped 23 degree frozen night at his urging. When I slowed down further with what would later prove to be injury and dropped at the mile 82 aid station as the last runner on the course Mike did not call it a failure. The little voice in my head certainly did. I was completely ashamed of my DNF. Mike said, "that wasn't a DNF JLow. The clock just ran out on you. You did not quit."

We connected on more than just ultra running. Mike and my son, Charlie, enjoyed each other. With his career history in a corporate oversight role Mike knew how much it meant when I finally earned my CMA. He would speak accounting nerd with me. We'd both been divorced a lot of times for our respective ages, the same ratio in fact. Our sense of humor was pretty darn congruent. Mike made my DNF just one more of the colorful things we had in common. Neither of us had managed to conquer a 100 miler and that was ok. It didn't make us any less strong.

I made a short movie montage of video clips and pictures from my 100 attempt. When he watched it Mike saw himself as an "old man with a limp" and it bothered him. He assumed we all saw him that way. I never did. He hadn't pictured himself as anything but Iron Mike and it threw him. It ended up being part of what led to him pursuing and getting a hip replacement. He then got a knee replacement and he finished a 100k race after all of that. That was Mike. A man who would never give up. A fighter not a quitter. A giver, a supporter, a doer, and a leader.

In the last year I didn't see Mike enough. We used to have lunch or dinner a couple times a month and I let it start to fall off. He had a new job and was training more. I was busy too. In November we had started making a plan to get together soon, but not solidified when. Then on December 2nd I was unexpectedly hospitalized with Viral Meningitis. Mike reached out to check on me. We added one more thing to our colorful things in common list when he told me, "Jenny rest is important I had VM and even I rested" with his favorite sunglasses wearing smiley face. He told me to let him know if I was still hospital bound and he'd come keep me company if I wanted. I was sleeping most of the days away and I didn't reach back to ask him to come. I am so mad at myself now that I didn't. I had no idea that a week and a half later he would check in to that very same hospital and not make it out. I am so thankful that I did get to see Mike one last time. Our friend, CamE, had a presentation and we both came out to support her. It was my first social outing after getting out of the hospital and it was two days before Mike admitted himself with trouble breathing. He was in great spirits that night. So energized and proud of himself for having run a marathon, 10 laps around Lake Padden, with Lois earlier that day. He was happy to see me recovering and out and about again and had a quick conversation with Charlie. We promised each other we were going to get together soon.

Mike left us around 6:30 pm on Christmas Day. His loss is too great for words. Mike is too good to be a guardian angel. He already was one here on this earth.

Mike was in training when he died. He called it Project 262. He was going to run 10 marathons in 10 days starting on March 30, 2018 with a goal of raising $25,000 to support a cause close to his heart, addiction awareness and making treatment available to all those who seek it. Close friends of his have vowed to carry this on in Mike's name and memory. Please consider contributing here.

Please also consider honoring Mike by emulating his kindness in the world. His light is so dearly missed.

Suunto Duel: Chest vs. Wrist Heart Rate

Word on the trail is that a GPS watch tracking heart rate with a chest strap is more accurate than one utilizing a wrist sensor. Bethany and I decided to test this. I have a Suunto Ambit3 Sport with a chest strap HR sensor and she has a Suunto Spartan Trainer with wrist HR. We also have a noticeable difference in our average heart rates when running. We had been unsure if the HR variance between us was real or if it was a chest versus wrist accuracy issue. Tonight our simple test was to switch watches and see how true to our typical heart rates we would each average wearing each other's watches.

My runs in the two weeks leading up to our switcheroo run had an average heart rate of 142 bpm while Bethany's runs in the same period averaged 166 bpm. Wearing my Ambit3 Sport Bethany averaged 165 bpm tonight and I averaged 152 bpm wearing her Spartan Trainer. While too small a sample to have statistical significance we feel it validated that Bethany's higher HR is accurate and not falsely created by a wrist versus chest reading.

Our experiment answered our initial question, but created many more questions about heart rate. Bethany is able to run faster while able to easily carry on conversation. Meanwhile I get out of breathe more easily and cannot maintain her speed, yet my heart rate stays lower throughout. We want to understand this area next. What is the interplay between heart rate, ease of breathing, and speed? Stay tuned for additional installments of the engineer and the accountant pretending to be sports scientists. We have much more to learn and self made experiments are a fun addition to internet research :)

Bethany wearing my Ambit3 Sport.

Me wearing Bethany's Spartan Trainer.

The Cougar Mountain 50k

I was forewarned that Cougar Mountain was very tough 50k. That didn't stop me from going in overly optimistic about my capabilities there. The first 9.6 miles were great. The trail was rolling with lots of little climbs and fun descents and the autumn leaves were gorgeous in the fog and sunlight rising behind the trees. This first section reminded me of Galbraith Mountain in Bellingham, just like a helpful staffer had noted at Fairhaven Runners when I stopped in to stock up on Honey Stinger gels en route to Issaquah for the race.

A few minutes before the scheduled 8 am start the race director noted that the bathroom line was really long so he had all the 50k-ers move up in line and delayed the start of the 8 and 20 mile racers by five minutes. He then suggested that they all stand around and create a tunnel for us to run through when we took off. It was a fun start to the day. The majority of the 8 and 20 mile racers caught up to me between 3.5 and 5 miles out. Unfortunately, this section was technical single track that required a lot of hopping to the side rather than getting caught up in their more fervent pace. I found myself excitedly looking forward to splitting off from their courses at mile 9.6. This was the location of aid station 2 where we would cross the road to Squak Mountain.

I didn't realize that in the remaining 21.4 miles of the race I'd only pass by three other runners, none of them of them in the 11 miles spent on Squak. If I had to sum up Squak Mountain in a nutshell I'd say that someone took all the hardest parts of the Chuckanut Mountains and squished them into 11 miles of highly scenic hardness. It was mostly ascent. A lot of technical climbing through thick ferns that would flop across my legs as my only company in the heavily fogged forest where big yellow gold leaves would float down to see me, like ballerinas of the forest.

Climbing Squak Mountain

Fresh ferns on Squak, Chuckanut reminiscent

There was one 2ish mile downhill to fly down that was a very close imitator to Cleator Road and thus pretty hard on the body. It ended at the third aid station where some friendly volunteers, including a woman dressed up as a shark, cheered me in. I grabbed some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and requested a photo op with the shark. I didn't notice my wardrobe malfunction until after leaving. Lululemon used to make a sports bra titled "Stuff Your Bra." I have a few and wish they still made them. It features three pockets on the front of the bra and the intent is as it sounds - stuff everything you can in there. It's awesome when I run long with a handheld only and no pack. I can fit my iPhone, three gels, and a few other essentials. It just creates a boobs gone wrong look is the only drawback. In the shark picture my empty honey stinger wrappers had managed to start falling out and created a pretty great hot mess look, ha.

Holy wardrobe malfunction, Batman, err Shark

After leaving aid station 3 there were 13 more big hills to climb on Squak, ok I'm exaggerating, but aside from the final descent back to the road crossing there was what felt like nothing but climbing, climbing, and more climbing. I was pretty excited to get back to Cougar Mountain. I spent the last 5 miles on Squak fantasizing about it, really. I crossed the road to see more friendly aid station volunteers. Aid 4 was also aid 2 and the drop bag location. A man came over and insisted I not try to bend down anymore and he'd hold my drop bag. Clearly, he knows about mid race stiff legs and lower back from personal experience :) I pulled out the bag of herb marinated green olives Bethany gave me on my birthday and started just eating them straight out of the package. I'd been eating miniature Vlasic dill pickles that were traveling in a ziploc in my handheld's zipper compartment throughout the day, but only had one left and was craving salt. The volunteer pulled out my pecan pie Larabar to ask if I wanted to take that. I said yes, but then he pulled out my package of strawberry Pop Tarts, laughed and aid "no judgement I like them too." I decided to throw back my healthier Larabar and devour a fistful of strawberry Pop Tarts on the climb out of the aid station. They were delicious. Strawberry Pop Tarts and herb marinated green olives. Yeah, I like to think I'm getting some sort of honorable mention for weirdest self supplied fuel combo in the memories of those nice volunteers.

Beauty in the last 10 miles

The last 10 miles on Cougar Mountain weren't a repeat of the first 9.6 which is great for variety, but I found myself wishing for a repeat of that easy flowing section. There was a lot of climbing, followed by runnable sections, followed by the kind of climbing that should have been runnable climbing except that I was fried. I encountered my first runner in ages, a fellow from Ohio who said he was feeling hellish and that the elevation change had gotten to him. I commiserated briefly and moved forward. Around mile 23 I managed to get a bloody nose. It's not anything to be concerned about as I've gotten them easily my whole life this time of year when the air is drier. However, I was mad because it happened on a runnable section slowing me down where I could have made up time. I quickly realized I had nothing on me that would pass for tissue so I just clamped it with my left hand and transferred my water bottle to the right while continuing forward. It's counterintuitive, but each time I've gotten one on trail I find they go away faster if I keep moving. I had plenty of water so I used a bit to wash the blood off my hand and that was the end of that.

Expiration of a goal

Shortly before the last aid station, with 5 or so miles left it became firm that there was no way I'd meet my goal of a sub 7 hour 50k. I had 43 minutes left and the remaining terrain would not allow the required pace. I beat myself up some more about that and stayed faintly hopeful that I could at least beat my fastest 50k (Rattlesnake Ridge 50k 2015 7:26:48.) Up until this spring I have never used a coach. I just ran anytime someone else had my son and I wasn't at work. I ran often, but it wasn't organized with purpose or rounded out with speed, hill, and strength work. Now that I've been working with a coach since March and running again since May when I was allowed back post tibial stress fracture I have seen some really positive gains in my capabilities. So somehow I translated that into thinking I could get a great new 50k PR on a really tough course despite 7,200 feet of elevation gain. Maybe, on a flatter course. I passed one more runner just after the last aid station and a third quite shortly before the finish line, coming in at 7:36:49.

Finished

Climbing, climbing, and more climbing

My sub 7 hours goal is arbitrary, I suppose. After I DNF-ed the Mountain Lakes 100 miler in 2015, 82 miles in, I told myself I was not qualified to try 100 miles again until I could crack a 7 hour 50k. The logic was faintly based on my splits from that course. It's also that I know so many super human ultra runners who run sub 6 hour 50ks or sub 10 hour 50 milers all the time like its nothing. These friends and acquaintances inspire me and I do often wish I could be like them. This strong base many of my friends have insulates them to run 100 milers without concern for the cutoffs. That freedom in running is a dream of mine. I am planning my second go at 100 miles late next September and I have a lot to achieve before then. For now, I'm looking forward to just running for fun and taking time off to focus on my busy season at work and do more with my son. I'll be antsy and ready to train hard by February and maybe, just maybe, 2018 will be the year I overcome my limits.

The Oregon Coast 30k

I registered for this race back in April on my son's birthday while still on the bench with my tibial stress fracture. I was hopeful I could run a 30k in six months. A 50k seemed like a dream too intangible to hope for then so I was conservative and chose the short race. As luck would have it I was able to come back pretty quickly once allowed to run so this ended up being my third race back after the Bigfoot 40 miler and the Cutthroat Classic in July and August.

Photo Credit: Glenn Tachiyama.

We started the race on the lawn in front of the Adobe Resort in Yachats, Oregon. The first 2.5 miles or so were on the road or urban trail along the road, but overlooked the coastline with big gulps of delicious fresh sea air gazing out over the beach. I took it easy here averaging 9:20 or so a mile not wanting to go out too fast before hitting the single track. Shortly after we jumped on the Oregon Coast Trail we started to climb rolling single track hills. We were bunched up in a pack and most of the group began walking which I was not ready to do yet. This was new to me - wanting to pass on an uphill in a race - but there was no sense in throwing off my rhythm so I repeated "on your left when there's a good spot please" 20 some odd times. After we were on the historic and solemn Amanda Trail the climbing got steep enough to justify power hiking longer intervals so I settled into that as the crowd finally began to sparse out.

Six or so miles into the race we came upon Glenn capturing our photos at the viewpoint with the coastline dancing below. A few switchbacks later the first aid station appeared. It was run by the Wy'East Wolfpack and they were doing a stellar job. Rainshadow Running has upgraded from paper and pen clipboard check-ins to tablets that enable the volunteer to know your name and greet you by it as soon as they plug your race bib number in. Something so little adds a really nice touch. Especially when it's delivered by a tall man with curly red hair and a big grin wearing a Viking helmet. I spied a bottle of fireball tucked behind the Clorox wipes and was curious if it was for the volunteers, the racers, or both. I grabbed a gel for in between aid stations and had a tortilla trail butter and jam rollup and a pickle before leaving.

From the first aid station we headed out on a loop passing through the Cape Perpetua visitor's center which was the one tiny section clearly marked as a walk only zone. We would come under a deck which spectators were cheering from and it was a humorous feeling to be cheered for while walking. After passing through the walk zone the course alternated between fun, fast, and at times technical ,descents and rolling gentle climbs.

The loop on Cape Perpetua allowed for a single aid station to be used twice. Coming back through I noticed that the fireball had made its merry way to the front of the table next to the chips and pickles so I opted to use the community Viking horn hanging up next to it for a shot. I wrapped up with another pickle, trail butter and jam tortilla, banana slice, and a coke chaser before heading for the finish line six or so miles away. I had been pushing myself up until that point with an average mile pace goal in mind for the race. I knew the fireball might slow me down a tad and honestly I'm not sure if I took it to create an excuse to slowdown or not. Racing to push myself versus racing to have fun on some pretty trails is still very new to me. It is not my natural inclination, but I've started to develop a thirst to be faster and desire to choose discomfort over taking it easy.

Between that last aid station and the finish I leap frogged back and forth repeatedly with a small group. One of whom I came up on stopped looking out of sorts on a section of the Amanda Trail. I asked if everything was ok and she explained that she had been stung by a bee, was allergic to bees, and had her epi-pen on her, but nothing else and was unsure what to do. A friend of mine who'd run the 50k the day prior had been stung and forewarned me about the angry bees on the course so I'd brought a Benadryl with me as a just in case. I unzipped my pocket right away and gave it to her to which she asked if I was sure so I explained that I had brought it for myself or whoever might need it and to please go right ahead. I noted the mileage so I could let them know to expect her at the finish if extra help were to be needed.

There were some steep descents heading down the last sections of trail that slowed up some runners and proved to be a good place for me to gain ground. Shortly after I hit the road my bee stung friend appeared looking strong. She caught me by surprise from behind and I was just happy to see she was fine. She had more kick in her than I did for the road section and took off at a good pace after a brief chat. I had hit my lap button on the way out when the road section ended and this was handy to know the mileage on the way back in. I averaged a lackadaisical 10:30 or so pace coming in on the road, but once I rounded the corner on the grass coming in beachfront at the Adobe I spied Charlie and John waiting and Charlie started running in with me so I kicked it up a notch and we both hit the finish for a high five with James.

A happy finish and back to beach play :)

I finished 89th out of 230 finishers overall and 17th out of 49 finishers in my gender/age group (F 30-39). For me, this is great. I have historically regularly finished back of the pack so moving up into the front of the mid-pack is a good feeling of achievement from working hard under the direction of my coach, Alison of Cascade Endurance. The wood fired pizza, beer, and bluegrass were a perfect unwind at the finish line with my guys. It was really hard to hit the road all the way home after. We could have happily stayed another week playing by the sea. Do this race or its sister 50k if you have the chance. It's beautiful and the trails are really fun. There is nothing not to love about this one :)

Wanderlust

Home is where the heart is.

This phrase does not ring true for me.

I feel grateful to love most facets of the life I live, but I am one with an unsettled heart and a constant search for the unnamed intangible thing that I know to be missing.

From this stems my wanderlust.

Home is a place for sleep, dinner, and breakfast during the work/school week and a base camp for the one weekend a month my son averages not at his dad's house or on a grandma curated adventure.

This weekend's wandering brought me to Winthrop and the North Cascades Mountain Hostel, my favorite home away from home. It is rare to meet someone at the hostel who is not immersed in their own wanderlust. Coming in late Friday night I was welcomed by a big group, each on their own path.

A woman in her 20's had ridden her bike here. All the way from Boston, MA. I asked her what inspired it and she simply said she thought it would be the best way to see the country. Saturday morning she set out again, heading through Washington Pass to Marblemount. So many of us let fear get in the way of such a long solo journey. Her confidence in a limitless life inspired me.

A man in his 20's with the brightest of ice blue eyes, an accountant as it turned out, was staying a night on his way to complete the last section of the PCT. He had left his job in Wisconsin and started on the Mexican border earlier this year. His employer had given him great freedom in that he can return if he likes, but he understandably said that after life on the trail the last thing he wants to do is log back into SAP.

A woman around my age, was having the best of times reading tidbits from the guestbook to all of us and drawing in her sketchbook. Next on her path is volunteering for a month on Whidbey Island and as of yet unplanned adventure after.

Two Canadian ladies around my mom's age were down from Vancouver at the start of a two week road trip. They were old high school friends and proud to still know one another, full of spunk and fervor for their travels ahead. One slept on the bunk below me and offered me to share in their stash of wine stored there.

Saturday night a fresh group of travelers came in. I had just gotten back from my Patterson Mountain 6-peat and pizza with a local hiker I'd met doing his own 5-peat. After a much needed peppermint soap shower I was putting things away and noted a fresh hiker pack and poles on a nearby bunk. Their owner walked in and I asked where he had come from. He had just finished the PCT! First he told me his trail name and then realizing he was no longer out there introduced himself again by his first name, unsure which identity to grab. I climbed down and gave him a high five. The fires had changed up the last bit of his trip and he'd been given a ride down from Rainy Pass by a ranger. He's been decompressing, in his own words, unsure what to do with himself in such a big transition. Sleeping in a bed, taking a shower, all those little things we take for granted that become a novelty after a long period without.

Someday I would like for my wanderlust to take me away from the world for 4-6 months on the PCT or Appalachian Trail. First, my son must grow into a man and I must garner the finesse and influence to talk the employer I'd like to stay with for decades into such a leave of absence. For now, weekends are my wanderlust.

For the Love of a Mountain

Do you have a favorite place? Can you explain why it is special? Or is it just a feeling without words?

I am lucky that I have been to so many different beautiful mountains flung across Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. I am spoiled by all these trails. It is amazing such ethereal beauty is so readily available to us. Heaven on earth beckons from the forest lands.

There is but one though, one little mountain top boasting a loop trail to a summit out and back, that is so much more than all the others to me. It is Patterson Mountain, just outside of Winthrop in the magical Methow Valley of Eastern Washington. It is my place above all others. If anything is wrong in life it is better there and if everything is right in life it is that much more golden there.

Early April 2017. A slow thaw under the shimmering sunshine.

One must travel through the picturesque American Alps in awe of the steep mountain majesty of Washington Pass to get to Patterson. Once arrived it is but a little 3,500 foot tall hill nestled by a lake where it rests dwarfed by the alpine mountains more than twice its height on the horizon.

Why Patterson? My first experience of this little hill was the final climb before finishing my first 50 miler, the Sun Mountain 50 Miler in 2015. I remember there being thunder and in the distance some lightning. Nearing 12 hours on my feet I was a tad loopy and I remember taking off a metal barrette, feeling paranoid that the lightning would be drawn to my scalp by it. I remember stressing about the finish line cutoff, wondering if I'd make it once I hit the turnaround sign on the top of Patterson. That little hill made an impression on me that day.

Nearly done with the 2015 Sun Mountain 50 Miler, on the summit of Patterson.

In 2016, I came out almost every weekend between the pass opening and the Sun Mountain 100k. This was a double loop course so knowing I'd climb Patterson twice I invented Patterson-peats and did a 5-peat that weekend. Last weekend I did a 3-peat under cloud cover with a wonderful just warm enough wind on Saturday evening. It was magical and hatched my 28-peat 100.8 mile fun run idea. It's just a dream right now, but maybe it will become a reality in 2018. I think I will love my little mountain just as much afterwards, if it comes to fruition.

The last descent of the 2016 Sun Mountain 100k, sunset falling.

Springtime perfection

This year, I came to see Patterson in early April, before the pass had opened and while my little hill was still flanked with snow. I was benched from running at the time for a tibial stress fracture and had my son with me, but little keeps me from Patterson. The two of us went post holing up to the summit, chilling our legs with each break through the icy snow. It shimmered like a gem in the sunshine that day.

I find myself drawn to Patterson as many weekends as possible before the pass closes and winter's freeze falls over her till the spring thaw.

September 2017, fall colors pending.

 What is it about a place that calls the heart so strongly? What place calls to you?