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?

The Bigfoot 40 Miler ~ My 1st Race Post Tibial Stress Fracture

Preface

The Bigfoot 40 course is magical - a full circumnavigation of Mt. St. Helen's, primarily on the Loowit Trail. The race is the brainchild of Candice Burt of Destination Trail. It's also the short option on her menu. A 100k is also available and in August the Bigfoot 200 envelops Mt. St. Helen's and much more in a point to point life altering adventure. While I love many races this is the first one that inspired me to write. I have not raced since the Bellingham Trail Marathon last fall. I spent my spring on the bench with a tibial stress fracture and hired my first ever coach, Alison Naney of Cascade Endurance, to keep me sane with targeted strength workouts and cross-training. I have been in fear. Fear while benched. Fear when told by the doctor I could run again, but to keep it under 20 miles a week. Fear that I would never run an ultra again. My good friend, Ken, lives his life fearlessly and with a similar love for the trails to my own. We decided to run Bigfoot together. My drive to do it was against all injury recovery logic and following my gut instinct was a big risk. If not for Ken's companionship I might have chickened out on driving down late the night before plotting day of race registration. Thank you Ken, so much. 

Race Day

Ken and I started off at an easy run and then slowed to a walk quickly. We pulled over a few times in the first mile, promptly setting ourselves as the official back of the pack. Ever since finishing Tahoe 200 in 2015 Ken jokes that he only goes 200 mile pace anymore, but his breathing was labored and he couldn't shake that. This was not normal for him. As we continued on he needed to take breaks and I started worrying about my friend so at mile 4 we made the decision that he'd head back to the start slowly and I'd continue solo. I questioned this at different points in the race hoping it was the right choice and that he was feeling better.

A sad goodbye selfie when Ken turned back.

Once I left Ken I picked up pace and started a steep shale climb on switchbacks in the full gaze of the sun. I surprised myself feeling very strong and powered up the hill. The intense inner drive pushing me to finish the race, a need even, that had come up when Ken and I talked, was now in full control. Within a mile of leaving Ken I caught up to the back of the pack and started passing. I am still in shock that in the 10 miles between leaving Ken and the Oasis aid station I caught and passed 21 runners. I assure you, this is not my norm, but if felt oh so good. I'm the chipper friendly type and would say hi and comment how gorgeous it was. Many were struggling with the heat and feeling slightly less upbeat. I think I was completely high, for lack of a better term, on the fact that I was out there, returned to the experience I thrive so deeply on.

At Oasis aid, where the volunteers had hiked in 8 miles carrying all supplies, they had run out of water treatment tablets so they only had untreated water to offer. I'd drunk my entire 60 oz. reservoir and needed a refill with an estimated 5+ hours until Blue Lake aid station so I loaded up and am still hoping there's no funky parasite coming my way :)  Due to the remoteness of the course being largely self supported is necessary. A water filter is the only thing I failed to pack to achieve that. Live and learn. I was in and out of the aid pretty quick, departing alone and leaving a crowd behind me. Aside from a fellow in blue who would appear 1-2 gullies or stream crossings behind me in the distance I didn't see anyone for the next few hours. At one point I saw a helicopter pass overhead and being a tad loopy in the sun I worried briefly that something had happened to Ken and they were flying him out and I was a terrible friend to have let him go back alone. As it later turned out he spent the day taking three naps, drinking beer, and socializing so my worry was for naught.

Typically in a longer race I hit a low point where I cannot force myself into a run and get caught in a walk I can't mentally get out of. Not this time. If it was steep I just power hiked, but any other terrain I walked quickly and then every two minutes or so I picked a spot up ahead to run to. Sometimes I felt good energy wise and continued running on past and other times I was relieved to get to my target and walk again. It achieved my goal of never losing mental touch with the instinct to run.

Descending into Sheep's Canyon running down the soft deep sand switchbacks on the cliff felt heavenly as if I was in a dream. I was nearby three other runners here and enjoyed that security. After we descended via rope tied to a tree into yet another stream crossing I passed seven more runners. They were taking their time resting and treating water and I was eager to climb up the cliff with the rope and power on. This left me in the welcome shade of forested switchbacks climbing at a moderate grade. The biting flies here (and in other forested areas on the course) were pretty vicious and the only aspect of the race I swore about :)

This was actually really fun. 

This is what push-ups and dips train you for!

On these switchbacks I encountered another runner, Rob. He had been throwing up prior to my finding him, but stoically putting one foot after the other forward. He was completely out of water and we had another seven or so miles till aid so I gave him as much of my water as I could. My 17 oz. bottle was good water from home so I gave him most of it thinking if my untreated water was bad that would only make him worse .I stayed with him a bit trying to see if I could offer anymore help. He said he couldn't keep anything down, but appreciated the offer so I told him about the group from the stream crossing who should be along within 20 minutes and could provide more water. I told him I'd let the aid station know how he was. I continued on feeling grateful my day felt so easy while other runners I'd never normally expect to keep up with were struggling so much. I was concerned about his well being, but encouraged that he was continuing to walk and did not know what more I could do to help.

Peaceful tree cover - home of biting flies.

After finishing that climb I felt great heading into Blue Lake aid and ran much of the gradual downhill and flat sandy trails in. I let them know how far back I'd left Rob and his race number and then settled in to two cups of chicken noodle soup, a quesadilla, three cups of ginger ale, and a ton of watermelon. I also had a hole in the big toe of my right sock that had been allowing sand and gravel to grate up my toe. I had regular socks in my drop bag, but felt strongly that ditching calf compression for the final 13 miles would be unwise. I felt like a genius for borrowing scissors that allowed me to cut off the feet of my compression socks and put them back on as compression sleeves with plush fresh socks on my feet. I also cleaned and dried my feet with baby wipes. After all the silt and sand they'd collected getting soaked then dusty in between stream crossings this felt amazing.

Sock surgery complete.

Leaving Blue Lake aid was the one spot on the course when running was not forthcoming for me. My body had gone into digestion after dinner nap needed mode from all my gorging, but after a mile or so a guy caught up and passed me running. I chided myself that I recently ran downhill in the Chuckanuts on a lark stuffed with ribs, garlic fries, and beer (full tummy training?? Ha!) so I perked up purposefully and did my run intervals until a climb began. On this climb I encountered and chatted with a couple working for Mountain Rescue. They were on their way to carry out a dehydrated runner by the boulder field who was in a bad way with heat stroke. I feel so lucky we have people like them to protect us from ourselves when things go wrong.

Leaving Blue Lake aid.

I was alone again and catching a gorgeous sunset as I emerged towards the boulder field. As darkness fell I put on my headlamp and felt pretty adept at the careful game of stability and hopping rock to rock. I heard an unusual noise from the forest I was heading into off and on and my tired paranoid self was convinced it would eat me, whatever it was, and I'd not make it back to my son, Charlie. I am known for getting loopy and emotional like this late in races. A couple caught up to me and I was grateful for their company. The woman was having stomach problems from too much gel and psyched out completely from the boulders to the point of half whimpering half crying as we progressed. Her boyfriend was very stable and soothing trying to build her up and get her through that section. In the end they finished about a minute before me because once on downhill trail she was rejuvenated and took off. Shortly after they left me I passed by where the mountain rescuers and about five racers were attending to the unconscious heat stroke victim. I paused briefly before realizing there was no more I could contribute than they already were. My heart plummeted as I continued on worrying for this man and feeling chided that his fate in the race could be any of us. I later heard that he was in the lead pack and running with only one 500 ml water bottle. The majority of runners were packing at least a 60 oz.reservoir. I again felt so grateful for my luck and fortitude that day and took none of it for granted. 

Sunset falling as the boulder field approached.

There were more gullies and streams to climb down and out of and snow patches in the trees. This section felt drawn out and tedious and as my watch began to die I felt ready to be done. My headlamp also began to dim despite a full battery charge and I began to fear losing my light altogether , but quickly made a plan to glob into runners near behind or in front of me or worst case scenario use the flashlight app on my iPhone that was fully charged thanks to my mophie juice pack and having kept the phone in airplane mode. I was so relieved to get back to the two mile trail to the sno-park and leave the Loowit trail at that point. I roughly 70% ran and 30% power walked here and continually believed I was closer to the finish than I was. The Strava app on my iPhone had taken over for my dead watch by now and I was continually disappointed when I'd peek at the mileage. I was also elated because it was only 11:22 pm and I had not expected to finish before midnight, but now knew I would. Heck, Ken and I's original plan allowed us to bump up right against the 3:00 am cutoff, but here I was almost four hours faster! This was when my headlamp died completely and instantly I was shrouded in full darkness. I was so grateful that if it had to happen it happened less than a mile from the finish line giving me the security of knowing my iPhone flashlight app could get me in without its battery also dying. I ran in this way and arrived at 11:39 pm for a 14 hour 39 minute 31 second finish, happily below the 18 hr cutoff and in 84th place. In the end there were 114 finishers and 13 DNFs. Not too shabby a placing for not having run longer than 11 miles since January and that distance having only ocurred the Sunday prior :) Nevermind that I'm always back of the midpack - no speed in my legs, just joy in my heart. 

Happy to be done and get my friend back.

Ken was right there waiting for me and in so much better shape than I'd left him. We had a big hug and I excitedly rambled on to him and Casey. Ken had gotten the info from the ham radio operators that I'd departed Blue Lake aid at 7:15 pm and the two of them had guessed I'd arrive 10:30-11 pm. I got settled in a comfy chair by the fire with beer and chicken noodle soup and Ken was awesome getting things for me, my new hopefully temporary nickname is princess, ha. I put my feet up on firewood and bs-ed with friends till 1 am and change. Shortly before I went to bed, Ali came running in so strong and on top of the world excitedly wanting to answer if it was true what all the 100k aid stations had been telling her – that she was first woman overall. I'm so proud of her for her first podium finish J

Still wanting to share the race with Ken, and having a tendency to ramble and say silly things alone on a trail to begin with, I took a series of 30 second clips capturing the landscape and my musings. The red bubbling stream might be my favorite part of the video montage. That or the sunset falling or perhaps Ken's delicious Tanka Buffalo Cranberry Jerky Bites that he kindly left with me. 

Heaven on earth.

Postscript

During the latter half of the race I knew my right Achilles was overly tight and I had minor pain. At one point I stuck snow in my sock before promptly realizing I should not ice it while still moving so I fished most snow back out. Thankfully the shin of my former stress fracture remained pain free and I did not feel aches. I did take two Advil around 2 or 3 pm, but for a headache I think the sun and my 75 oz. of water hauling heavy pack brought on. Three days post race I am not concerned about my Achilles. Gentle care and eccentrics this week and I think I will be as good as I was before the race. Above all else I feel immensely restored in my identity and passion and so grateful to my buddy Ken because if he had not suggested the joint adventure I don't think I'd have followed my heart down to Mt. St. Helen's solo, I'd have let reason and playing it safe get in the way of my gut instinct and drive to do this race. I've heard through the grape vine that the heat stroke / dehydration victim is going to be alright and that Rob got care at Blue Lake aid.  This sport, this lifestyle that we love so much is not one without risk.