We're on a roll!

Look at these lovelies!

We had another three CE2 grads this month!

 Daniela, Calvin, and Rene - we are so proud of you!

A year of hiking: 1-10

Prompted by someone on Instagram, I decided to challenge myself to 52 hikes in 2020. (52 Hike Challenge)

1. Cascade Head, Jan. 1:

Brad and I camped at Lincoln City on New Year's, so we started the year with a hike up/run down Cascade Head just north of town.

It was warm and windy, with gusts near 40 mph at the top. It was our first time on Cascade Head, and we loved it! A great payout for the short, steep hike up. It was 5 miles total.

2. Regatta Nature Trail and Friends of Wildwood Open Space, Jan. 2:

Before heading back home, we explored these two parks in Lincoln City:

3. Tryon Creek State Park, Jan. 5:

Connie joined us for 3 muddy miles of trail running at Tryon.

4. Tryon Creek State Park, Jan. 11:

The next weekend called for another trail run at Tryon. Brad and I ran separately, and I did 6 miles on different trails than last time:

5. Oxbow Regional Park, Jan. 20:

I'd never been to this park along the Sandy River. Mom, Eryn, and I practically had the place to ourselves, aside from a couple hikers/runners and some anglers. It was gorgeous!

6. Graham Oaks Nature Park, Jan. 31:

After work, I drove to Wilsonville for a trail run/hike in the Metro park. It was warm and muggy - shorts-and-tank top weather!

7. Cooper Mountain Nature Park, Feb. 2:

Connie and I trail ran while Brad hiked the hilly Metro park. And then I forgot to snap a pic!

8. Orenco Woods Nature Park and Rock Creek Trail, Feb. 9:

First time for both of us. Learned the origin of Orenco: Oregon Nursery Company!

9. Milo McIver State Park, Feb. 12:

On the second anniversary of Dad's death, we drove out to Clackamas County and explored Milo McIver State Park. And then ate Beyond Burgers and tots!

10. Wildwood Trail, Forest Park, Feb. 16:

On tired legs, I ran 7.5 muddy, rocky, hilly miles in preparation for my April trail half. It was a great morning for a run!

Well, it's still February and I'm already up to 10 hikes/trail runs - all on different trails. I don't think I'll have any trouble meeting this goal 😀

crusty edges

You get a cut on your knuckle. Because your body's amazing, that skin goes right back together, sealing itself up in a matter of days. But then, just as it's getting better, you forget and bend your finger, and it spreads apart again.

You're not bleeding, and the healing isn't reversed, but the skin is now a little crusty on the edges where it's not quite together anymore. And then you pick at the little pieces of crusty skin. It's annoying but doesn't hurt. But now there's a bit more awareness than before you bent that finger.

Are you picturing that? (Maybe I'm the only one who does that?!) ☝

Side note: I just did a quick Google image search for finger cuts. DON'T DO THAT! Yikes. I should have know better! 😒

I think I'm healing well from my dad's death. It's now been two years, and the pain has lessened considerably. I go about my day without being consumed sadness, regret, and guilt. Those emotions do surface, but not constantly as in the beginning. Joy has returned, and I am finding pleasure and happiness where I feared it would never again be felt.

Wednesday was the anniversary: Feb. 12, 2018.

Mom, Eryn, and I spent the day exploring Milo McIver State Park on the Clackamas River, then eating Beyond Burgers and tots at nearby Carver Hangar. Then we hung out for a bit at my house, attempting to plan a baseball trip to San Diego, before going to Sonic for milkshake dinner. A perfect tribute! 🍔

It was a good day - full of fresh air, laughter, memories, togetherness. I didn't feel particularly sad - more resigned (which is a little sad). That's now the new "normal" - and my heart and mind seem to be dealing OK with that.

But Wednesday evening, I got a message from a woman in my morning running group: Our leader had just come home to find her husband collapsed. He could not be revived.

Instantly, my phone blew up with friends searching for answers and understanding and details and wondering what to do.  

The experience has been a little bit traumatizing, mostly because of the proximity and similarity to my own family's tragedy. But I'm OK. Friends who know have asked, and I appreciate that. I decided last night that it's like the aforementioned finger wound: It's all still sealed up, but now a little crusty along the edges. I have some things to process.

I am absolutely heartbroken for Nichole and her family. I *know* how an unexpected death hits like nothing else and shatters your world.

But one "good" thing about my own fresh experience is that I have a unique understanding of what she's going through. I pray that I can use my own experiences to help her through her grief and the tough times ahead. I pray I can be someone she can count on as she navigates her hurts and life changes. 🙏💗

Two years

On Feb. 12, 2018, my life turned upside down by the sudden, unexpected death of my dad. 

The premature death of a parent is something I never even considered. I was devastated, but there was also work to be done.

Now, two years later, much of that work has wrapped up and life is "normal" again. I feel so much relief that every moment isn't consumed by house sales and taking care of Mom and Eryn. But I also feel sadness that "normal" now means no Dad. Life is moving on without him.

I am good. But life without Dad still sucks. While the total heartache has subsided, there's still a big hole that will never be filled. I miss my dad.  

I don't have big words to share on this anniversary, which is, of course, just another day without my dad. Life goes on. I keep moving forward. I keep healing. I keep reflecting and prioritizing, knowing life is short and precious.

Today, Mom, Eryn, and I will be together, breathing fresh air and eating all the food - just like Dad would have enjoyed 😊 

I miss you, Dad! 💖

Tucson Marathon (12/7/19)

After a strong, successful half marathon in September, I toyed with the idea of running another full marathon.

I laid out a training plan and ramped up my mileage just to see what would happen. My long runs were successful, so I decided to make it official and sign up for the Dec. 7 Tucson Marathon.

My PR race is the Lost Dutchman, a winter marathon outside Phoenix. I had no reason to think running in Arizona would be a problem. Also, the race was primarily downhill, so I prepped with downhill runs and thought I had it in the bag!

Spoiler: I did not, in fact, have it in the bag.

Brad at first planned to run the half marathon, but when he saw the price was just $10 more for the full, he decided to got for it and wing it. He did very minimal training but figured his experience and fitness would see him through.

Spoiler: It worked, and he had a great race.

I took off Friday, Dec. 6, and we flew to Tucson:

We rented a car for the drive to the expo and host hotel  - El Conquistador in Oro Valley. I noted this at my last Arizona race, too - very strange to me:

The resort was beautiful!

We checked in to our room, walked around a bit, got pasta at Olive Garden, prepped our race gear, and settled down for the short night of sleep. I noted how warm it was Friday afternoon and was a bit nervous. I am NOT a hot-weather runner.

I set my alarm for very early, as we needed to board the shuttle bus about 4:40 a.m. When I planned this race, I forgot that Tucson is an hour ahead of us. So that 3:15 a.m. wake-up call was actually 2:15!

The start line for the point-to-point course was WAY up in the mountains, and it seemed like we were on that bus forever, especially since it was pitch black and we had no idea where they were taking us!

Fortunately, the high registration cost covered coaches, so we rode in style and comfort. Side note: The guy behind us sounded *exactly* like my co-worker who's from Virginia. I asked, and the guy behind us was also from Virginia! Apparently they have a very specific accent!

 

The whole race was very well organized and coordinated. BUT... once our bus arrived at the start, no one told us what to do. Usually, someone comes aboard and gives instructions. But we all just sat there - no instructions. It was still pitch black outside, and we could see nothing.

Eventually, Brad and I decided to get out, use the porta-potties, and check out the start line. The potty area and start line were close - just up the hill and around the corner. Since most people were still in the buses, the lines were still short.

The start line was just a little bit down the hill. Sunlight was starting to show:

There was music blasting as we did some warmups and took lots of pics as the sun came up.

It was truly stunning.

It was also very warm - in the 40s with no wind.

I decided to race in my shorts and lightest summer tank top. I had arm warmers and gloves for the beginning of the race. But standing at that start line in the dark in a tank top and shorts, I wasn't cold. That was a very bad sign of things to come.

After the National Anthem, we were off.

I had no illusion of PRing for this race, but I thought I could make a strong showing. I ran comfortably down the first part, enjoying the steepness. But I was also already warm, and I knew I was in trouble when I walked on the first little hill around mile 4.

Shortly after mile 6, we turned onto the highway. This was a rural area with a two-lane highway. That meant we were running on the shoulder - next to the rumble strips, where the asphalt was pocked and crumbling. If you had to pass someone (or let someone pass), you either ran on the rumbles or maybe the gravel/dirt next to the road. The scenery was sage brush and highway-shoulder trash - and some beautiful mountains in the distance.

Also - because it was on a major highway, there was almost no spectator support aside from the aid stations.

Mentally and physically, I started shutting down. I was already tired of running on the highway and having nothing to look at. I was already slowing. We turned off the highway about mile 10 for the promised hilly out-and-back section. That hill looked enormous to me, and I walked most of it.

I saw Brad after he made the turnaround. I told him this was the ugliest course I'd ever run. He replied that he loved it. Ugh. Not the commiseration I was hoping for.

After *I* made the turnaround, I even had trouble running the downhill.

About mile 14, we returned to the highway. It was now later in the day, and traffic was picking up. So add cars and trucks to the scenic sage brush and trash. I saw a dirty diaper at one point.

The highway portion continued for another 10 miles. TEN MILES. It was the most boring run of my life. And my body just wasn't having any of it. I absolutely could not make myself run. I would force myself to run a portion of a mile, then walk to the next mile-marker sign. Repeat... repeat... repeat. Really, the only reason I could make myself run those short sections was knowing walking the whole thing would take me forever.

As we neared town, the highway widened, and we were given our own lane in which to run. It was really nice to be off the crumbly shoulder and rumble strips.

It's a small race, and by that time there weren't many people left around me. There was an older guy I leap-frogged with for many miles, both of us admitting it wasn't our day.

Eventually, with about 2 miles to go, we turned off the highway to circle a strip mall. I tried so hard to dig deep and finish the last bit strong. But my legs would not go, and I had to walk a bunch more times.

In the last mile or so, I came upon a first-time marathoner who was struggling to finish. We chatted a bit, and he said he had missed the last on-course gels. He was out of energy and needed fuel. I offered him one of my gels, and but he got all snooty and asked if it was organic. It was not organic, so he turned it down.😕

As I turned off the road and into the fire station, I kicked with as much energy as I had left (which wasn't much!) I ran across the finish line and was never so happy to be done.

Of course, Brad was waiting for me to cheer me on!

I finished in 5:33:45, a 12:40 average on my Garmin (it measured at 26.34 miles). My official time was 5:33:42, a 12:44 average (based on 26.2 miles).

I took some time to rest after 5.5 hours on my feet. The bag check might have been the best part of the day (beside the sunrise). They saw me walking toward them, noted my bib number, and brought my bag to me so I didn't have to walk any extra steps!

Then it was time to get on the shuttle bus for the ride back to the hotel. That ended up being a bit of an adventure because the driver kept asking all of us where to go. But we were all tourists and had no idea where we were (remember - it was pitch black when we arrived in the morning) She seemed really confused.

Eventually, we made it back to the hotel, and I had to get a cactus selfie by our casita 😂

I typically finish races in the middle or upper middle. But this time, my 5:33:42 earned me 474/524 overall, 181/208 for females, 32/34 in my age group, and 93/110 for female masters. Bottom of the pile feels a lot different!

So what went wrong?

Looking back at my schedule, I did almost 450 miles in training! I nailed most of my workouts and was ready for this race - physically and mentally.

Anyone who races knows that all the preparation in the world doesn't matter if you have a bad day. Some days, your body just doesn't cooperate. Some days, your mind just doesn't cooperate. Some times there are reasons - some times it's just not your day.

There were a couple things I can point to, like the heat. My last few runs at home had been in the 30s.  It was in the 70s when I finished my marathon. That is a HUGE difference. My body does best in the 40s.

Also, this race started at nearly 5,000 feet elevation and ended at 2,500 feet. I live - and train - at near sea level (my house is at 80 feet!) I think this affected me more than I realized it would.

The course really killed me mentally. There was no shade, nothing to look at, no turns - just a straight, boring highway.

But here's the thing: I'm disappointed that I did so poorly - but I'm not disappointed in myself. I know that I put in the work for this race. And I know that I did the best I could that day. It was just a bad race day.

I still finished and gave it my all. To me, that's a win.💪🏻

Here are my sad splits:

This is my cadence chart. The higher the dot, the faster I was moving. The red dots (below the line) mean walking. This is the best visual representation of my race 🙄😂

But... it still counts! Marathon #6 in the books! 😁