This race had been haunting me all spring. I had my heart set on running the 40-miler; a re-entry into the ultra scene after my DNF in the fall and I needed a low-key, “easy” spring race. This distance, the 40 mile, is tough to come by, with only two in the relative area, but it’s a nice middle ground between a 50K and a 50M. It’d be my season opener and I wanted, er, needed, the confidence boost.
And then I got shin splints…or something like it. I was back in physical therapy, skipping long runs due to pain, avoiding trails and running almost exclusively on the soft and flat track, getting more and more worried by the day. Eventually, with some work in my weekly strength class, pumping the breaks on the distance, and regular physical therapy (and reassessment of how to work with my uneven body / muscles), I began to feel like trail runner again. Not wanting to push things given my time off, I dropped to the 20M distance to play it safe. It was just as well – Jesse and our friend John were both doing the 20M and this way they wouldn’t have to wait around for me all day.
The race was on a Sunday in Sisters, OR (~3 hours drive) and we drove down on Friday afternoon. We had rented a dog-friendly house and planned to relax and have a decent, non-rushed race weekend. We had a cruise-y morning with a small run around town, then I visited a kiddo for work purposes, and then we headed over to Bend for packet pickup and a walk by the river. Our pre-race dinner was back in Sisters at the infamous Saloon, and we spent the evening on our respective laptops…planning our next adventure. Go figure.
Race morning came early and we checked out of our AirBnB and made the 3 minute drive to the starting line, where we tucked in our elderly dogs for their rest, and went through our normal, pre-race routines – bathroom breaks, pinning on bibs, adjusting packs, double knotting shoes, etc. It was a cool morning and it was spitting snow just briefly before the race began but then was perfect running weather the rest of the day. The 20M is also dog-friendly so there were ~70 dogs at the starting line, which made the day that much better. If Riley wasn’t so old and grumpy, I’m sure he’d be a great trail partner, so I was admittedly jealous of all the happy dogs ready to race. About 1/2 mile in, it seemed as though 90% of the dogs stopped to poop, so the field thinned itself out quickly. We hit the gravel road for a few miles of even more placement-finding and eventually made our way up to the trails.
The singletrack was soft and runnable, which is both a blessing and a curse because then there are no excuses for “hill breaks” or “hiking sections”. The whole thing was runnable. And so I ran. I trudged up the ups and flew down the downs. My leg didn’t hurt for even 1 second. I breezed by the aid stations, enjoyed the elusive views of the Three Sisters, and just simply had fun.
Because it’s a spring trail race that allows a decent amount of runners (and dogs!) that’s not a crazy distance, it attracts a lot of participants. I saw 3 women from my strength class, a runner friend from Eugene, a friend and her husband from Salem, a woman I’ve run with before from Portland, and awkwardly passed on course, my podiatrist. My running coach also ran (and won) the 40M, so I saw her there as well.
The course finishes on the same gravel road we went up and my glutes and hip flexors were on fire at that point. I allowed myself to walk a flag distance, then run one, then walk one, then run one. Spilling onto the final stretch of singletrack, a woman I had been sporadically leapfrogging with transferred some of her energy to me with her kind words: “Go get ’em”. The course finishes with one lap on the track and my legs felt heavy on the soft and flat rubber. I crossed the finish line, found Jesse and the burrito bar, saw John finish, collected our finisher’s socks (so soft!) and headed toward home.
What ensued after the race was hectic. With a 3 hour drive back to Portland, we were eager for showers and a relaxing evening with chocolate milk and an episode of Saturday Night Live. We got a message from John saying his dog was lost on Mt. Hood during an afternoon hike and he was headed up there to find him. We rerouted our GPS, stopped off at Fred Meyer for rain gear and squeak toys and headlamps, and had a second adventure on the mountain.
We hiked and yelled and squeaked for a few hours until dark. It was rainy and cold, we were all quite tired and very hungry, and there was not much more to do until daylight. We had to head home, with the hopes that doggo would surface when he, too, was too tired and hungry to keep roaming around on Mt. Hood. And indeed, mid-morning the next day, he was found at the trailhead, enjoying the breakfast that was left for him.
Half Is My Lucky Number 