2012 Rainer to Ruston 50 Mile Ultramarathon

I hit a wall in January.  Fishing was slow, the weather was dreadful and my running was stagnant.  I needed a goal.  The answer came to me while surfing the web for some local races.  I came across the "2012 Rainier to Ruston Rail Trail Relay and 50 mile Ultramarathon" or "R2R".  I decided it was time for a goal - and a challenging one at that - I chose to race in the 50 mile solo ultramarathon.

Approaching Stage 2 of the R2R 50 Mile Ultramarathon

According to the website http://www.rainiertoruston.com/raceinfo_50M.html, the abandoned Northern Pacific Railroad line from Mt. Rainier to Commencement Bay (Puget Sound) now hosts the annual Rainier to Ruston Rail-Trail Relay and Ultra, challenging teams of runners, walkers, and ultras to descend the historic railroad grade in a 50-mile race to the sea. 

While the route is relatively new as a trail relay (this was the 10th year of the race), it has seen its share of history. The Northern Pacific Railroad emerged from Abraham Lincoln's 1864 passage of the Northern Railroad Charter, part of his aggressive wartime campaign to "conquer space" in the Western frontier.

As they follow the same route that once shuttled passengers between the Great Lakes and Tacoma, the Rainier to Ruston runners pass through towns that grew up alongside the railroad. Carbonado's public school dates back to 1878, a year after rails went down. Wilkeson's Old Washington Hotel began serving railroad workers in the 1880's. As part of the Buckley line, Orting hosted trainloads of timber on a daily basis.

The conversion from railroad to public trail has been a long time coming. In 1984 the railroad, by then the Burlington Northern, attracted the attention of Buckley's Dr. Douglas Tait. Tait envisioned a Rails-to-Trails project that would convert the old grade into a non-motorized thoroughfare. In 1985 the Burlington Northern took up the tracks, clearing the way for a trail.

This challenge really began for me in January when I paid the $65.00 entry fee and found this ultramarathon training plan http://www.scrunners.org/ultrasch.php?month=6&day=2&year=2012&dow=6&schedule=50m&submit=Draw+Schedule.  

The primary difference between marathon training and ultramarathon training is the addition of a second "long run" during the weekend...plus an additional two, 25-plus mile training runs.  I was able to complete every long run during the training though I missed the second long run on several weeks due to injury or the physical impact from building cinder block raised garden beds.

Cinder block raised garden bed project 2012

My R2R experience began the day before the race when my support team (J and the girls...) traveled with me to Tacoma.  We took advantage of a discount offered to runners at the Buckley, WA. Econolodge which proved to be a big mistake that I'll explain later.  Wanting to get acquainted with the race trail and stage locations, we traveled to the starting area of the race on Mount Rainier and began the drive west to Puget Sound.   

Much of the first three stages of the R2R parallels the Carbon River

The start location is near the entrance to the Mount Rainier National Forest - An incredibly beautiful location containing old growth timber and steep terrain which is separated by the  Carbon River.  The race is divided into a dozen stages where relay teams exchange runners or where ultra runners are able to replenish water bottles and food supplies.  About the first 1/3 of the race is on unpaved trails. This first section of the course is considered "technical trail" and proved to be the most challenging.

On the morning of the race we woke after only getting a few hours rest.  The motel's leaky toilet and paper-thin walls made for a frustrating evening of listening to loud voices and snoring from the room next door.  I had pre-arranged my running gear so we were out the door and headed to the start at about 5:00 a.m.  

I chose the 6:00 a.m. "early start" option for this race because I didn't know how I would finish, or honestly, if I could finish.  I didn't want to leave race officials waiting around for me to finish so the early start would benefit them as well.  

For the start, J and the girls stood by while me and twenty or so other runners headed west along the Carbon River....not knowing what the day would hold.  Had I known the outcome, I would have started with the rest of the pack at 7:00 a.m.  The weather was perfect - about 50 degrees and overcast. For most of the race, I enjoyed 60 degree weather with some drizzle and cloudy skies.  

Mentally, I broke the race into thirds.  I knew that I could run at least 34 miles without much of a break...but any mileage beyond that was uncharted territory.   I ran the first stage relatively slow, about a 10 minute pace to ensure my glycogen stores were in tact for the hard miles to follow.  After arriving at Stage 2 (technical trail), I enjoyed maneuvering down the muddy, rocky and partially obstructed (trees/limbs) trail.  I hadn't spent much time training on trails so several miles into the race I could feel some burn in my thighs.  My feet were soaked causing the start of a blister on my left foot.

At approximately mile 25 I met J and the girls at Stage 6.  There, I changed clothes, shoes and socks which helped with the blistering.  

Stage 6 - South Prairie

I knew that I was going to have a good day when, at mile 34, my legs felt moderately strong and I was (hopefully) only 2 1/2 hours to the end....then came the 5 mile stretch of sandy trail.  The earlier trails had worn on my legs, but the following miles came and went as planned.  What I hadn't planned for was running on sand.  This section of trail was bordered by a cement drainage wall to the north and heavy brush to the south...no room to escape.  

This section of trail reminded me of running at the Oregon Coast and the sense of frustration grew from the slowing of my pace and the drain on my leg muscles.  As I exited the sandy trail I knew that I could finish...but also realized that my legs were starting to give-in to fatigue.  With about 9 miles to go my pace wavered from around 10-10:30 minutes per mile to likely around 13 minutes per mile.  It became ugly...a dark place mentally - Yet, I was thrilled to be meeting my goal of breaking 11 hours for the race.

Nike Pegasus Shoes 

Entering the final leg was both exciting and extremely painful.  It's an amazing feeling when mentally you think you can run, but physically, your body just wants to rest.  During this past stretch I had met a fellow first-time ultramarathoner.  We had leap-frogged each other on the previous sandy stretch and with only a mile to the finish line...he met and then passed my location.  I set a personal goal to beat this younger runner but when he passed me this last time I decided to let him bask in the victory that was now certainly his to enjoy in less than a mile. Then, it happened...he started walking.  I could see that he was struggling at about the same time I could hear the sounds of the crowd at the finish line.  I thought to myself that  this may be the last opportunity to finish strong in an ultramarathon - and it was time to settle this sidebar race and beat this younger runner.

With an eye for glory and a painful gimp, I let loose and began sprinting.  As I passed this other runner I could see that he immediately looked up at me and tried to kick-start his run once more.  After taking only a few steps I could hear him exhale with a painful moan which led to him settling into a slow walk once more - leaving me an open lane to the finish line.  

It was great to be greeted by J and the girls at the "Ruston Way" finish line.  My primary goal of the race was to show my daughters what it meant to set and reach a challenging goal (the very next day they went for a run!).  My finishing time was 9:23:46....I was amazed when the announcer called my name as the Third Place Winner in the Master's Division (time yet to be confirmed).  I walked away with a bronze colored third place rail road spike as well as a black colored rail road spike for finishing.

R2R Finisher's Medal and RR Spikes

I'm glad that, back in January, I decided to set the goal of running an ultramarathon.  After logging hundreds of miles of training runs, dialing in my nutrition and reading as much as possible about ultramarathons - I was able to reach my goal.  I surprised myself a bit with my finishing time.  When I completed two previous Portland Marathons, I told myself at the end of the race that I would never run another - and told myself the same thing at the end of the R2R.  However, it's now easy to reflect on the overall joy and satisfaction that I experienced with this race and I can't help but to think that there's another ultramarathon in my future.

Maui - 2011

Maui's "Black Rock"

I've always thought that Hawaii was a destination that would evade my travel plans.  My best friend from high school and early college years met a girl from there (Honolulu) while we were attending the University of Oregon.  They fell in love and he ended up living there - and still does as far as I know.  The allure of Hawaii has always been there.

The Summer of 2011 was supposed to be my long awaited trip to Germany to visit my Grandmother (...as was the Summer of 2012).   Those plans were derailed by various hurdles so I was left to throw a vote J and the girls - Hawaii or Alaska!  For me...Alaska was the easy choice for adventure.

True, since childhood, I aspired to be a wildlife photography in the Last Frontier - however I'm only one vote in this clan and J and the girls wanted very much to experience warm, clear water (after the awful 2010-2011 Oregon Winter and Spring....), quiet beaches and the overall Hawaiian experience.  Hawaii was the winner in 2011.  In typical fashion, we were left planning for a Maui trip in just under two weeks. I did a lot of chatting with friends who had gone there.  We decided that the northwest shore of Kaanapali Beach offered everything we wanted in this experience.

Booking this trip was easy.  I visited the Costco website where several packages were available.  A friend at work suggested the Kaanapali Beach Resort.  He had stayed there on several occasions and praised the hotel's accommodations, staff, price and especially the location.  He said that possibly the best reason to stay at this resort was the "perfect" oceanfront location and that it was near Black Rock.  Black Rock, he said, was where some of the best snorkeling in Maui was located.

Though belated, here is an account of our Maui trip in June of 2011:

2011 Hagg Lake 25k Trail Race

The west shore of Hagg Lake, Oregon

Upon crawling into bed on Saturday night, I didn't have the pre-race jitters that normally keep me from sleeping before a race.  I slept soundly.  Maybe it's because of the steady training undergone since signing-up for the 2011 Hagg Lake 25k race in early December.  Purchasing a new treadmill at about the same time as registering helped with cold weather motivation and maintaining my mileage base since running the Portland Marathon last October.  The treadmill also provided for some much needed speed work.

Upon waking up at 5:30 a.m., I showered and dressed in trail race gear to include my Brooks Cascadia IV trail runners.  Little did I know the degree to which these shoes would be needed in the hours ahead.

After a bagel and a cup of Mt. Hagen's best instant java, J, the girls and I loaded up and headed for Hagg Lake which is located some 2 hours west of Boring.  The temperature was about 28 degrees when we left the house and as we approached the lake, it hovered at about 30 degrees which, with the thick fog, created icy roads.  I hadn't been to Hagg Lake for several years and as we approached, was a bit surprised by its enormous perimeter. The thought of running completely around this lake got me thinking - no deeply questioning, if it was a good idea.  Remember?  A lake's primary purpose is to draw crowds for fishing and swimming - not running....in the winter....in the mud.

Runners gather before the big race

We arrived at the race staging area after a short walk from an adjacent parking lot.  This walk along the lake's main trail gave some cause for concern as the terrain was wet and slick - a sign of events to come.

Having picked up my race packet on Thursday, I was able to bypass the sign-in and spent the time leading to the start huddled with the girls, and a few hundred other runners, next to propane heaters placed in the staging area's large gazebo - the sight for the the start and finish lines.

At 8:55 a.m. the race announcer directed all runners to the start line.  At precisely 9:01 a.m. the race start was announced and we were off.  The race included a beginning two mile "out-and-back" which involved running up hill along an old gravel road. Once we returned to the original start line, I shed my hat and Ipod as it became clear that both would be distractions to the muddy trails that would require my full attention.

The race involved, after the "out-and-back", a counter-clockwise run around the lake and well established hiking trail.  The prior week's weather included everything from snow and rain to some windy conditions.  The first three miles of trails gave me a very good idea of what the day would involve.  Mud, clay, standing water, slope, decline, roots, rocks and fallen trees were present and obstructed my path and goal of running a 9 minute mile pace.  

Start of 2011 Hagg Lake 25k Trail Race

After the beginning three miles of challenging trail, the course followed along the paved road and across Hagg Lake's dam.  At the north end of the dam the trail picked up along the lake's north shore.  Here is where the real test began.  The trail became less trail and more of a slushy path.  Standing water was present during most flat sections and the hills were slicks of wet, slippery clay exacerbated by the previous day's 50k trail race.  

When climbing a steep section of trail with four other runners at about mile 8, I fell for the first time in a race.  This occurred as a runner was trying to pass me on my right.  I stepped quickly left to allow the pass and slid down with my left foot from the inside bank into some standing water.  Losing my balance, I slid onto my left side, scraping the area left of my knee cap on some submerged rocks.  I never felt any pain until after the race and was up running again within seconds. I would later find a resulting laceration as indicated by torn skin and blood.

Thrills and spills at mile 8

The last three miles of the race provided my body with a test of stamina and pain of which I've never experienced before.  It was where cold, wet feet and burning thighs met steep, muddy hills.  I became lost in concentration.  Every step required my attention in order to finish the race with confidence and without another spill.  I focused on both the trail in front of me and a group of 3 other runners who were about 100 yards ahead.  I challenged myself to catch and pass this group and managed to pass two of them with about one mile to the finish line.

At the finish H and E gave me high-fives and J went to work on trying to clean the cut on my leg.  I finished in 2:22:08 at a pace of 9:10 per mile which, given the conditions, was very satisfying.  I placed 55 out of 267 runners.

The 2011 Hagg Lake Trail Race was a challenging experience that I will not soon forget.  Hands down, it was more difficult than running a marathon.  It tested my stamina, will, pain threshold and brought me to that place of "play" which I experienced as a young boy running through Willamette Valley woods in search of adventure.  I want to return to that place soon.

Nearing the finish line

New Year on the River

I awoke yesterday morning struggling with the thought of floating the Sandy River for the first time in 2011.  Spending the day fishing usually doesn't cause such a mental dilemma, but being disorganized and unprepared for this year's first river adventure just didn't rest well with me.  The cataraft wasn't topped off with air, my fishing gear was partially stowed and the forecast called for a seventy percent chance of snow. 


I was on the fence.  Do I hustle and get all of the gear ready, or do I relax on this cold winter's morning and enjoy a warm fire?  The fishing reports have been poor and the flows have been on the rise a bit which further caused me hesitation.  So, I decided on plan B and relax at home.


After a couple of hours of thinking about the river, I elected to revert to Plan A, leaving me now with only about 6 hours of daylight.  Now, I really needed to get my wading boots in gear and  hustle to the river in order to land at Oxbow Park by its closing at sunset.

Launch site on the Sandy River

There is something to be said about preparedness when it comes to white water rafting.  My cataraft performs optimally with about 3000 psi for each of it's 4 chambers (2 for each tube, allowing for some on-the-water insurance should the unexpected tear occur).  In order to inflate the tubes, I use a "K-pump" device which came highly recommended when I purchased the boat.  However, my pump has a leak resulting in about an hour's worth of pumping which should have taken 15 minutes.

  

Over the years, I've developed a decent habit of making a mental checklist of items most necessary for a safe day on the river:  PFD, First-Aid kit, lighter/storm proof matches, flashlight, extra clothes, cell phones (2), and a supply of freeze dried food ready to be prepared on my small one-burner stove.  I carry a water filter pump, tube repair kit and K-pump which further helps to keep my mind, and my wife, satisfied that I'll make it home for (and hopefully with) dinner.

The drift began at about 11 a.m. with J and the girls joining me for the launch.  The site had newly placed sand to help cover some tree roots that were starting to block its entry into the water.  It's a rather steep incline to the water so the T-100 4 wheel drive came in handy to back the trailer.  The water at this launch is nothing more than a small back-eddy, just large enough to accommodate one large drift boat or cataraft.  The river mark here is located just at the beginning of a very fast flow across large and sporadically placed boulders which makes for a tricky ride, especially if the oarsmen hasn't been on the sticks for several months.

20 Pound Chinook Salmon

After a kiss and hug from J and the girls I loaded myself onto the cataraft.  I practiced 180 degree turns, gaining some comfort and re-gaining muscle memory required to effectively control the 16 foot tubes.  With a deep breath I entered the river's seam with confidence and looking forward to viewing the changing characteristics of landscape created from the high flows of this past fall and early winter. Last May, my Mom was with me for the last trip I made on this scenic stretch of river.  Had we a dashboard for the cataraft, she'd have certainly called it a "white-knuckle" ride though she spent most of the day smiling, especially after landing a 12 pound Chinook Salmon.

A small back-eddy provides just enough space to launch

More than any other habitat type, I believe rivers inspire thought and reflection.  After a challenging week, this day on the river brought me the opportunity to contemplate and consider what is on the horizon.  I thought a lot about a local police chief who lost his life trying to keep the peace for a small community.  His professional life, as described in the news, was dedicated to serving the public. His personal life involved his love of the outdoors to include running and fishing.  I hope that his family finds comfort in knowing that his adventures surely brought him many moments of joy and reflection of living a life filled with meaning and contribution.

I also thought about the week ahead.  The Oregon Duck college football team will be playing for the BCS National Championship Monday evening.  Having grown up near Eugene, Oregon and attending the U of O, I have been a fan since the mid-1970's. I thought about the years of hoping that the Ducks would make it to this game....I was able to attend the 1995 Rose Bowl in which the Ducks lost to Penn State.  The electric atmosphere in Pasadena will pale in comparison to what Duck fans will experience on Monday as they enter the stadium in Glendale, Arizona.  

My first day on the river in 2011 reminded me of a message in the book "Fishing Oregon" (1966, Caxton Printers) where Author Francis Ames describes his experiences in the outdoors by writing, "You will find that when you return to the daily grind and talk to your friends about your outing that you will no longer speak only of the big fish you caught but also of the more important things, the sweet scent of the forest, the song of the river, the call of the loon at night, the way the air blued with distance over the ridges of the Cascades.  This is the finest prescription for stomach ulcers and frazzled nerves in existence." 

Find Me in the River

Grandpa's Tackle Box

Grandpa Herb's arsenal of fishing gear

Without question, anyone who knew my Grandpa Herb would recall his love of the outdoors and especially for fishing.  Grandpa was raised in Chico, California where his grandfather, William B., was a pioneer resident and worked for John Bidwell - Learn more about John Bidwell HERE.  Grandpa Herb was tall, strong and, though exhibiting a stubborn temperament much of the time, was known to have a "heart of gold" to people who really knew and understood him.  He served in the US Army in World War II, stationed in the Philippines.  

Grandpa Herb (middle) ready for another fishing adventure

Grandpa Herb was the senior citizen you might occasionally see at a restaurant who has to stop and try to make every child he saw smile.  His hands wore many scars and were as hard as the wood he spent most of his life working with to build homes and casinos in Reno, Nevada.  One of his thumbs was disfigured from a table saw accident.  I rarely saw him wear anything but tan "Dickie" brand worker pants, shirt and slip-on leather boots.  His shirt always had a plastic pen holder in one pocket and his leather prescription glasses case in the other.  My Grandpa always smelled like black coffee and was never without a package of Rolaids.  He drove a blue 1970-something Chevy Truck with a 454 horsepower engine and white steel canopy.  

General store in Chico - 1930's

When not fishing, his daily routine during his retired years consisted of a morning bowl of Bran Buds, an hour of solitaire games followed by a drive to the "Gold and Silver Restaurant" for an early lunch with friends.  Until his death in 1988, he fished from a 16 foot aluminum "open" boat with an old Johnson outboard that likely dated back to the 1940's.  I recently acquired two fishing tackle boxes that Grandpa Herb hauled in this boat.  The smaller, plastic tackle box contained mostly incidental fishing gear to include swivels, leaders, spreaders, etc.  

Many fishing "treasures" found in Grandpa's tackle box

The larger tackle box is green and made of aluminum.  By today's fishing standards, the box is huge with over 50 compartments with black plastic liners.  The box has 4 fold-out trays and a large bottom space and weighed about 30 pounds before I completed an inventory.  

When I first opened Grandpa's tackle box I saw an old toothpick with dull points.  Holding it brought back memories of him always finishing dinner by grabbing a toothpick from a brass container on Grandma's dining table.  Grandpa would store toothpicks for later use in the visor of his old Chevy truck.  

Grandpa Herb was prepared for many types of fishing

Grandpa's tackle box contained an old "Garcia" fishing reel and two old sets of scissors.  When opening the trays of the box I saw a colorful display of what amounted to over 100 fishing lures, spoons, spinners, Kwik Fish and various rigs for fishing trout and salmon.  Some were new in their boxes yet most all were unusable due to weak and rusted treble hooks.  There were several rubber baits and bobber set-ups likely designed to catch the occasional warm water fish located in Pyramid Lake.   There was an old extra spark plug and screwdriver, likely stored in Grandpa's anticipation of outboard motor troubles and a couple of boxes of matches (though he quit smoking years before he passed away).  Many of the fishing rigs had cut-off-knots which made me imagine him tying and changing after unsuccessful casts to stubborn fish.

Fishing with Grandpa Herb on the Truckee River in the mid 1970's

After my recent boat purchase, I needed a good tackle box and decided to use Grandpas.  Though it's a bit large for my boat and the contemporary fisherman's choice for high-tech equipment, just fishing along side the box makes the day feel more special.  The tackle box was definitely well used as its latches are squeaky and worn.  I spent an evening carefully removing and placing much of Grandpa's tackle into plastic freezer bags.  There are a couple of tackle items that I will use, albeit with apprehension of losing. 

As a child, I remember making many family road trips to Reno to visit Grandpa and Grandma.  Upon arriving and after a big bear hug from Grandpa, I would immediately ask to see "the fish picture".  He would immediately retrieve his wallet from his back pocket and slowly thumb through the thick assortment of receipts, notes and currency.  He would then hand me a small black and white photograph of him holding what he said was the largest Salmon he'd ever caught.  As I remember, he had caught the fish in the 1950's on the Sacramento River near Chico and he said it weighed 75 pounds!

Grandpa Herb loved to take his only grandson fishing.  He would take me to a large pond in east Reno to catch planted trout.  If I was lucky, we would head north of town to Pyramid Lake and the home of large German Brown and Lahontan trout.

John Hemingway's classic novel "The Old Man and the Sea" recounts the story of Santiago, a man who sets out to sea in order to find himself and change the bad luck that has enveloped his life.  His luck does change as he hooks into an 18 foot Marlin which subsequently tows him around the sea for a few days.

The story ends with Santiago, after experiencing more bad luck with the loss of his great fish at the jaws of a school of sharks, entering a very contented deep sleep and dreaming of his youth where he explored African beaches.  I've had similar dreams of exploration, only mine involve me and Grandpa Herb fishing and talking while searching his tackle box for that special lure to catch our next big fish.

Grandpa Herb with a Marlin caught in Baja in the early 1980's

Fall Running in the Country

Help - I need a Fall and Winter Running Goal!

Country living, and running, in the Fall.  I declare this to be the finest time of year...the finest place to run...and have come to understand and appreciate that Fall is really a season of transition for not only trees, flowers, birds and daylight hours - it represents a major change in our options for "play".  

After spending the past two summers balancing running with other priorities, I've hit a wall after the marathons.  True, my body needs some time to recuperate, but I think I'm there - almost a month now with very little running. 

Without question, I've become as restless as the dangling maple leaf, trying to delay its inevitable fall by clinging tightly to a vine who is ready to call it a year.  The vine and its tree are ready for a nap.

Me? No napping....Not this year. I am definitely goal-oriented when it comes to running.  Give me a goal - a trail race, a marathon, something organized and I'm all over it.  Leave me to just schedule weekly runs for the pure joy of running and I begin to flounder, "ho-humming" and initiate a mental adjustment to the likes of a grizzly bear preparing for the slow crawl into his cozy den for the winter.   In my den there are two warm fire places (one is natural gas...), evening Duck, Trail Blazer and Monopoly games with J and the girls.  A terrific place to be.  However, there's still time to trek many miles before the end of the year.

The past two weeks of out-of-town job training left me with very little running (only a 5 miler around Bear Creek) and a whole lot of high calorie cafeteria food which included rather delightful double chocolate chip cookies with caramel glaze (aided in digestion by a chaser glass of chocolate milk).  However, I was fortunate to have a 4 hour class on health and fitness.  The class reinforced what I already knew about running and aerobic exercise - it's really, really good for you.  You know the benefits - most all relate to increased quality of life. I'm more determined now to find a goal for the Fall and Winter season.   Last year, I tried to maintain some weekly runs - but with tomorrow night's "fall back" time adjustment, I'll be leaving and returning home from work in darkness.

When I lived in the city, running at night was something to look forward to.  Street lights, people (Journey!  Could Steve Perry have been a runner?) made evening runs through the city interesting and preoccupied my thoughts, making the runs seemingly go by quickly.  

A Harvest Moon to light Bear Creek's trails.

Nighttime running in the country is a bit scary with the only sources of light, aside from a runner or cyclist's headlamp, is from the occasionally passing car or truck's headlight high beams or those lights emitted from houses separated by many acres of now dormant raspberry, black berry and apple orchards.  Granted, as day begins to break, the fog and cool temperatures bring a renewed sense of play and running in perhaps the world's finest setting - the country.

2010 Portland Marathon

In 2009 I finished the Portland Marathon with a time of 3:54:25.  My goal during that race was to survive the experience, run without stopping and finish with a sub-4 hour mark.  Afterward, I remember feeling that I could have pushed myself a bit to reduce my time - but mostly, I was just glad for the experience and for achieving a goal that had been lingering for about 20 years.
 

My gear included Asics Gel Kayano shoes and Nike Fit shorts and dry fit shirt

Today was about running the race...not merely surviving.


My experience really began on June 19 when I began my 16 week training program.  I basically used the same training schedule as I did last year - only I followed it this time to include speed workouts and running a 10k trail race that got my mind and body more prepared for this competition.  This year, I stayed relatively steady and injury free with my running since the beginning of the year.  I logged 108 runs totaling 713 miles and now weigh a 20 year low of 177 pounds losing about 15 since beginning the training.

The 2010 Portland Marathon was run in Oregon's "liquid sunshine"

My training included running progressively more miles as the training schedule moved closer toward the marathon.  I ran most of my training runs around Bear Creek but this year also included some track work at Mt. Hood Community College.  I completed most of my long runs on the Springwater Trail which is an old railroad track-turned recreation trail that begins in Boring and finishes near downtown Portland.  My longest "long" run was 22 miles which I completed three weeks ago.  Last week, I got distracted with the purchase of the boat for my 43rd birthday (thanks to J and the girls) - I lost the battle of eagerness to welcome the Alumaweld Intruder during a maiden voyage along with a rare weekend alone with J and the prospect of catching Chinook Salmon on the Columbia River.

My last week of training was diverted with fishing in the Columbia River Gorge

The Portland Marathon event began this past Friday when I attended the marathon expo at the downtown Portland Hilton.  Similar to last year's event, the expo provided some good opportunities to sample a lot of great food and clothing products.  I received a goody-bag with a neat commemorative coin, pendant and training dry fit shirt along with my bib number 4799.  Yesterday, rather than run the few miles that was in my schedule, I opted for a couple of hours trying to land a Coho Salmon on the banks of the Sandy River.  I managed to have a fish on for a few seconds using a Blue Fox number 4 green spinner, but with a wiggle and determined push up-stream, the fish returned to his pursuit of reaching Cedar Creek spawning beds.


I woke up this morning at 4:30 AM to the sounds of thundering rain of which I haven't heard since last Winter.  Since the first Portland Marathon race in 1970, it's only rained on three occasions.  J and the girls woke up at about 5 AM.  I had all of my gear ready and had a bowl of cereal, cup of Hagan's instant coffee and finished my pre-race meal with a couple of glasses of water.  Like last year's meal, I also cooked up an egg to add some protein to the carbo-focused diet that I've eaten this week and downed a couple of Aleve caplets.

We arrived in downtown Portland at about 6:00 AM and stopped at a Starbucks where a dozen of Portland Police's finest were preparing for their traffic control duties. We then headed to the starting area at 4th and Salmon Street where J and the girls gave me hugs and kisses for good luck.  The rain was insistent and steady while I made my way to a long waiting line at a port-a-potty.

Supporters cheer during the Portland Marathon

About 5 minutes before the 7:00 AM start I huddled with a few thousand runners under some limited cover provided by eaves from a large building near the starting line.  I decided during the past few months to set a goal of running the race in under 3 hours and 40 minutes.  While at the expo, I grabbed a pace bracelet for a 3:35 finish time so this morning I decided to start with the 3:30 group.

The race began with Portland's Mayor giving us a 5 second countdown.  I knew that in order for me to break the 3:40 time I would have to run nearly a perfect race in terms of pace, hill strategy and fluid replenishment.  I knew that most of my pace times hovered around the 8:10 mark.  Similar to last year, I started a bit too fast with a couple of sub-8 minute mile times.  At the 5 mile mark I was a couple of minutes ahead of pace but felt comfortable so decided to keep the 8 minute pace in mind as the industrial area "out and back" miles approached.

The "out and back" miles came and went as I maintained about an 8 minute per mile pace.  It was great to complete this flat section and then head to the St. Helens Highway stretch of the course which passed by Montgomery Park, near the site of where I ran the 10k trail race in August.  My halfway mark time was about 1:45 which got me thinking that I had a chance at not only breaking the 3:40 mark, but also a slim opportunity to run  a sub 3:30.  I maintained that thought until I came upon the infamous St. John's Bridge at mile 17.  From last year's recollection, this bridge, that sits atop a steep grade of asphalt and connects North Portland to the West Hills via crossing the Willamette River, comes at a time in the race where a nice downhill descent would be most appreciative.  This hill really made the earlier faster miles bring me back to reality in terms of running a sub-3:30.

After tackling the St. John's Bridge I made some catch-up time in the several downhill miles that followed.  J and the girls found their way along Willamette Boulevard to greet me at about mile 18.  It was a special moment to high-five them as I prepared for the most difficult part of the race.  At mile 22 it became evident that I was in for a glycogen battle of great magnitude!  My legs were losing strength so I focused on shortening my stride and proper form.  This helped as I reached a moderate downhill near the Rose Quarter and then over the Broadway Bridge. 

I experienced pain like no other during the final two miles of the race.  My pace waned to, though I haven't verified, around an 8:30 pace and this was achieved with every last vapor of energy I could squeeze out of my legs.  I was thankful to round the final corner to see the finish line and to hear the screams of encouragement from thousands of gatherers.  

I finished the 2010 Portland Marathon with a time of 3:33:28 for which I am both grateful and humbled by what is required to run 26.2 miles.

2010 Portland Marathon Finisher's Medal

A question that has lingered since this morning's race is 'where do I go from here?'  In order for me to qualify for the famous Boston Marathon, I need to run a 3:20 marathon - 13 minutes and 28 seconds faster than this morning's time. 

I'm not sure if I'm ready to pursue a Boston Marathon qualifying time.  Mostly, I'm just thankful today for the opportunity to run, to play and to call myself a marathoner. 

Why I run

"Fishing the Oregon Country"

I'll bet most of you have books collecting dust in the attic, on old bookshelves or even stashed away in the garage not seen for many years.  During a recent shop clean-out, I came across a book that I wish would have been on my short list of reads many years ago.  The title is Fishing the Oregon Country by Francis H. Ames.  It was published in 1966 (Caxton Printers, Caldwell, Idaho) and was purchased at a garage sale.  After discovering the book again, I decided to at least place the book in a noticeable location - the living room coffee table.  It sat until this evening...

Tonight, after a 5 mile run around Bear Creek, I picked up this book and then, believing that it contained only "dated" information practical to successful fishing techniques in my neighborhood, spontaneously turned to page 317 and read chapter 20 titled "How to Enjoy the Outdoors" which I will transcribe here.  Ames' description of his thoughts and observations struck a chord with me to a degree that I'd like to share with you.  They came after spending a rare and precious day fishing for Coho Salmon with my Mom on the Sandy River near where I live.  Though we were were fishless, we made many eager casts, saw many fish rolling and were entertained by a family of resident river otters playing mid-river - reflective of the words shared here by Ames.

From the book Fishing the Oregon Country, Chapter 20, "How to Enjoy the Outdoors", 1966, Caxton Printers:

The Title to this chapter may take too much for granted, for I may not be able to select the proper words to clarify what I have in mind.  It is a fact that some fisherfolk get a great deal more of enjoyment, of peace and health, out of an outdoor trip than do others.  The mountains, the lakes and streams, places of solitude, have a great deal to offer the human race in these days when modern civilization jangles the nerves.  To achieve the greatest benefits out of a trip afield, I would say, to put what I mean into the simplest formula, and this is not a simple subject, one must for the time being forget civilization and put oneself into tune with nature.  Only the Indian of pioneer times, and a few most fortunate white folks who were born with the knack, have the native ability to shut out everything else and let nature come into the restless soul.  If this be trite, make the most of it.

Definitions such as the above do not penetrate the subject in any great measure, but merely serve, perhaps, to present a hint of what I am trying to explain.  There is more to be gained here than mere escape from the heat of a particular day, the drudgery of the job.  Nor are the fish we seek particularly important.  There is more to escape on a trip afield than in the daily newspaper:  the nerve-wracking news of civilization; the doings of Russia; the dangers inherent in the atom bomb; the sins and transgressions of the race to which we belong.  When in the field we must try to put ourselves in tune with the squirrel in the trees and the deer in the covert, with the son of the river.  To do this we must let nature in, not keep her out.

Keeping nature out is brought about by dragging along with you into the field the things you came here to escape, whether you realize that you came here to escape them or not.  Perhaps realizing this is what causes some folks to be able to get the most out of an outing, while others do not.  Some of the things that are taken into the outdoors are actual, and some are merely mental.  I can tell within a matter of minutes after I meet a fellow human being streamside if he is able to enjoy nature to the fullest or if he is not able.  I can tell by the way he acts.  Again, trying to tack down the subject through definition, I would say that you simply do not act the same in church as you would at a shivaree.  This definition I like, for it begins to get very close to the subject.

Defining further, some folks I meet about my camps have come here to listen to the river; to the whisper of the breeze in the pines; to admire the sunsets and sunrises; to thrill sleepily to the rise of a fish as it feeds at night; to listen when there are no sounds to the silence itself.  Others, in contrast, do not listen.  Some speak with low voices in certain places and under certain conditions, where low voices might seem to be fitting, while others shout.  To me there seems to be a distinct cleavage between these two sets of persons, one coming into the outdoors to get away from home, and the other coming to be with the mountains and the forest.  More power to both, but I do feel that some are missing something of great value of which they are not even aware.


To illustrate further:  I have a friend with whom I frequently undertake trips into the back country to fish.  One evening we were driving down the North -Santiam highway toward Marion Forks as dusk came down.  The highway was a straight ribbon before us, ruled into distance by twin columns of magnificent fir trees, and beyond towered a snow-capped peak.  The motor ran soundlessly.  The whole world seemed hushed with awaiting the falling of darkness.  The evening gripped me.  I sat there entranced with it.  My companion leaned over to turn on the radio full blast.  He thought nothing of this, yet it shocked me as much as it would have if he had suddenly begun to curse in a church.  Who do you think was enjoying the evening the most?  If you feel that I was, I will begin to feel that perhaps I am finding some of the right words.

I have never had any trouble in letting nature in, and not because I was wiser than most, but because I was placed in a position in youth where I could not keep her out.  In the early days in Montana when my father moved onto a homestead there, when the rails first came west from Mobridge, we were unable to fence our land at once.  We didn't have a horse to spare from harness for me to ride.  So I became, when nine years of age, the only cowboy in Montana without a horse.  Every morning I went out on the open range with our cattle to see that they didn't stray, and stayed with them until I brought them in at night.  Out there on the prairie I was really alone, in a way that one cannot be alone except on a prairie.  There was nothing for me to do during the long days, weeks, and months, but look and listen.  This was a sort of enforced communing with nature that I resented then, but have been thankful for ever since.  I became accustomed to letting nature knock on the door of my subconscious.

Subconscious is the correct word, and the key to the subject, for it is only by taking the conscious mind out of gear and letting subconscious mind take over that you are able to be as one with nature.  My premise is easily proven.  Go out alone where there are no sounds of civilization to distract you.  Sit silent and motionless as you force your conscious mind into a state of complete blankness.  It will try to trick you, but be severe with it.  As time goes on you will begin to sense everything going on about you , and in a way you have never sensed them before.  You will become aware of things that you have not noticed before, the whisper of the forest, the thrush balanced delicately on the bush, the murmur of the river, the way the air blues with distance.  You will be letting nature come into you, rather than moving about in nature in a blind sort of way, still more conscious of the things you left at home than you are of the environment about you.  After a time you will mentally shake yourself awake, feelings as though you had enjoyed a restful sleep.  But you will not have been asleep.  You will have been more alert than you have ever been before.  Had a deer flapped an ear in the covert or a mouse rustled a leaf, you would have been aware of it.  Perhaps I'm wrong.  But it is worth a try.

If this works out for you it is but the first lesson.  Since the experience was pleasurable you will want to try it again.  If you persist you may discover that nature will becoming in to you, not only when you sit quietly and force conscious thoughts and worries from your mind, but also during your active moments.  She will be reaching out to you as you fish, and simply because you have learned to blank your conscious mind to all the worries and problems you came here to escape.  You won't actually think about the sights, sounds, and scents about you when you are engrossed in fishing or some other outdoor activity (running....), but you will be keenly aware of them and they will form a pleasing background for your pleasure.  You will find that when you return to the daily grind and talk to your friends about your outing that you will no longer speak only of the big fish you caught but also of the more important things, the sweet scent of the forest, the song of the river, the call of the loon at night, the way the air blued with distance over the ridges of the Cascades.  This is the finest prescription for stomach ulcers and frazzled nerves in existence.

Now, if you wish to reach the ultimate in outdoor pleasure, try to build up over the years a careful selection of outdoor-minded friends who also have learned to enjoy nature as you do.  A fishing friend who reacts to the outdoors as you do is a most valuable asset.  A fish hog, the litterbug, the fence cutter, the highway sign shooter, the blazing campfire leaver, the blasting radio player in the sacred silence of majestic, God-given places, is not the person you seek to take into the outdoors with you.   Nothing brings as much pleasure to the outdoor trip as do sociable friends who obey the rules of good sportsmanship, who can sit around the campfire with you as dusk comes down and hear and see the scent the same things that you do, and with a like keening of appreciation.

I trust that I have been in some measure able to make myself clear, and that whether I have or not the readers of this volume will be more able to enjoy fishing the Oregon country than they might have been had they not read it.   -  Francis H. Ames

Sunn Nee Boy and Tallulah

Sunn Nee Boy and Tallulah enjoying their first day on the farm.

The arrival of Sunn Nee Boy and Tallulah this week was exciting.  As posted earlier, the girls have taken riding lessons now for several months and J and I waited for the right horses for the family.  J did a lot of research, spoke with many owners and trainers before finding these two from an owner in Beaverton.

We wanted older horses as they are considered better for inexperienced riders.  Sunn Nee Boy is 23 years old.  For horses (and I suppose with humans) with age comes a calmer demeanor and better "manners".  I was a bit cautious about Sun Nee because of his 16 hands size and being described as full of energy.  J also found out that his age would be considered old for most breeds but that Arabians are known to live up to about 10 years longer.  Years ago, Sunn Nee was a race horse and has been involved in competitive show. 

Tallulah is beautiful and has also been a show horse.   She's 16 and has a calm demeanor.  She will be the one that the girls ride mostly until they are ready for Sunn Nee.  

Sunn Nee Boy and Emma

We spent the previous week cleaning and upgrading the barn.  We moved rabbits, tractors, implements and various items to make the barn feels more like a home for the horses.  I hung dry erase boards, pressure washed the concrete floors, horse stalls, and installed hay feeders and salt block holders.  I made a cedar "Tallulah" sign by burning-in the letters which the girls placed on her stall.

I've spoken to many about the pros and cons of owning horses.  Those that have had poor experiences usually point to the cost of maintaining the animal.  We calculated the cost to be around $200.00 per animal per month (hay, shots, hooves, teeth, bedding) but this amount would be much more had we not 5 acres of pasture and a good facility.   One memorable quote from a friend who had a poor experience  - "The two best days of owning horses are the first day you bring them home and then the day you get rid of them".

Those horse owners that I've spoken with that have had good experiences say that horses add much joy and fulfillment to their lives.   They are companions and teach children responsibility and confidence (as I write, the girls are up at 5 a.m. to feed and "muck" stalls...).

As the girls enter the challenging years of middle and high school, I am hopeful that their relationship with Sunn Nee Boy and Tallulah will help them to cope better and enjoy the relationship with the animals and those they meet who share in this interest.  But mostly, I hope for them to have fun and look back one day and cherish this memory as part of their childhood experiences.

"Two horses enter a feed store and the clerk says, 'so, why the long face?'"