A dream you can almost live in...

June 1st, 2019.


5 am. I wake up and slowly get out of bed in our little house only 3 blocks from a little downtown. The light is already drawing – sunrise comes early in this part of the map. I look out the window and inhale the view. I see mountains peaks covered in green trees, with a bit of snow here and there. I smile. One cup of coffee later I am all set to get out on a local trail, that will lead me to my long run’s route – the Humphreys loop, the favorite, just north of our new home, Flagstaff, AZ…

March 23rd, 2011.

5 am. It’s dark outside, on the street of Austin, but I like beginning my road runs during a week in the dark. As I am sipping my morning cup of coffee, I browse my favorite blogs, when I come to Ian's new post. It suddenly hits me. This is it.

Hi, Ian!


I gotta say, it just hit me one morning that Flagstaff might be just the place to move in a few years! Larry and I, while here in Austin due to family reasons, are really looking forward to getting out! And we looked, and planned, and talked, and picked...and then it was a light bulb: Flagstaff is a small town, yet young (not retired) community, has mountains nearby, as well as desert, easy access to any other states we love to visit, National Parks, has big trees (my demand) and lower humidity, 4 seasons with leaf changing and snow falling, and yet nice hot summer, and your photos are just awesome!


Anyhow, just like that, after reading your post and commenting, I bought tickets for Memorial Day and we are coming to explore.

We truly did lots of search and research where we would like to go for our “early retirement” plan. Not retire, really, but move into a small mountain town once kids are out of the house, and change jobs to much less demanding, more of a soul-inspiring. We wandered about Park City, Albuquerque, Bend…it was all nice, but just somehow didn’t strike a nerve. That morning changed that. It was sudden and strong. Larry woke up, and I announced – I found a place. He looked at me – How come we didn’t think of it before? – and agreed wholeheartedly right away. The tickets were booked that very day.

May 27th, 2011.

We were supposed to have an early flight, and a tight connection, but our plane got seriously delayed. We dreamt about this trip for two months, and with Memorial Day overbooked travel the fear rose. I stood in line quietly. The woman behind the counter looked at me, smiled and said: “Next flight is only an hour later. You gonna love your new seats.” We flew first class. We picked up our car – which was reserved as a smallest yet exchanged for free as a good size power-everything. We drove next 2 hrs in anticipation. We arrived into a downtown, bought a trail map and set at a neat little coffee shop. It was heaven; it was love from first sight…

Ian, just checked in to Hilton for 1 night before the mountain wandering. The downtown is the loveliest place on Earth! I don't want to leave already!!! How in the world did you keep it secret before? :)

April 1st, 2011.

Ian,


We'd like to do a 2.5 day backpacking with about 10 miles a day circle, and Larry thinks Kachina Peaks Wilderness is the way to go about it. Something like Katchina trail, Humphreys, Bear Jaw, Inner Basin and near-by peaks. In your opinion, can you tell me how is the weather in that region/altitude at that time, is there water sources, and are there maps available better than a hand-drawn one we found.

Olga,


Definite potable water sources will be at the Snow Bowl and at the Lockett Meadow Campground and a spigot at the Waterline Trail and Inner Basin Trail junction. Other than that you may find seeps and snow melt streams up there that time of year...but these are very dry mountains...no water unless some of the cattle tanks are full, like Shultz Tank and Dry Hills Tanks. Snow is melting fast here right now.


Yup, I think you'll love Flaggy!

May 28th, 2011.

It does get light damn early, and especially since we are 2 hrs behind in time zone, we are restless long before we need to leave. We picked a 20 mile loop with no specific destination at which point we’d camp out, so there is no hurry. I mean, it’s a 20 mile loop (or so), how bad can it be, even with backpacks? We finally pack, head out for a breakfast and make our way to a trailhead. We decided to start at the Schultz tank, connect to Kachina trail, get up to Snow bowl ski area, pick a trail to Humphreys peak, highest in AZ standing at 12,633. That would be about 12 miles (or about, may be a tad more). There is no camping allowed above tree line, which is designated at 11,400, so we’ll have to break the tent either before Humphreys or after. We’re figuring, so much time in our hands, definitely after. We start slow. Man, it is beautiful!

There is no hurry in our steps, and we take tons of photographs, with two cameras between us. The air is dry, the temperatures are in 60’s, the sun is bright, and it is the most wonderful place on Earth. We couldn’t be happier. With a spring in our steps, we contemplate. This is what life is about. Really, running is not what either one of us loves the most. It’s been outdoors. In the mountains. Far away from boring high-speed life. It’s when the only care is how to put the foot down. When to drink. Where to look and gasp. I don’t care where I run, walk, crawl, ski, snowshoe, hike, whatever, as long as it’s out there. Running simply gives us a tool to see more land in shorter time, and to explore more.

This place has everything I ever dreamt about. The fur trees and pine trees, the aspen that look almost like my home-grown birch trees, high peaks on a horizon, vast valleys, and a narrow single-track. We meet great people, and we stop and chat with all of them. They are awesome, those people who make their way to the trails. You won’t see many of those in your regular life, in the city. The smile can’t be wiped off our faces. We make it to a ski area and refill our water bottles.

The trail picks up elevation rather quickly here and gets more difficult. There are many trees blown down, and we see snow, which begins to cover more and more ground in longer stretches. But this trail is heavily traveled, and there are footsteps through and no loosing direction. We get a bit more tired, and while I keep speeding up, the wind picks up above the tree line, and we need to put some clothes on, and to take deeper breaths. Eventually, we can see the last pitch, the saddle between Humphreys and Agassiz, and we make it, fighting hard to not get blown away. I wish the pictures could relate just how windy it was – steady 50-60 mph with gusts up to 90 mph, true hurricane force. We had to spread our legs, bow low and stop dead in our tracks way too many times. After short consideration and looking at the watch (4 pm), we make a decision to not scale the Humphreys peak itself (a mile out-n-back) and continue on the other side.

Right. But where is the trail? While Larry stares at the map, I a faint rocky path around nearby mountain and, trying to balance on my feet, scout it – seems to be the right way. We get into next saddle – and there is nothing but the snow and a long steep drop down. Now what? Map shows we have to go across (thank God Larry can read maps!), and I make my way across the first short snow field. Yep, I can see the trail over there! We just need to be careful, plant our feet into the crust – and we’ll be snow free and on a downhill!

The wind picks up even more, but we make it, and start our way on long dry switchbacks, begging for a tree cover. Temperature outside is dropping down, so is my core’s, and I am getting frightened. I have a low thyroid function, and once hypothermic, I fade quickly and have a difficult time to recover – not only physically, but brain-function as well. I feel getting fuzzy. More clothes, quickly, and a doze of sugary snack! While I am trying to walk fast, our luck runs out even faster – and the dry trail ends in a snow, again. We can still see where to go and make our way, but the snow is getting deeper, wetter, and the path disappears at times.

And then it’s gone. We are in the woods, finally, for now anyway, and there is not a single trail marker or any other identification of where we have to go. A slight panic sets in. I don’t feel my feet and get a sock change. Larry looks at the map and makes a decision to cross-country down the snow between the trees across “potential” switchbacks in hopes to run into next trail intersection. We move fast. And – oh, joy! – we see a trail post. Saved?

The excitement was short lived. Wa-a-y short lived it was. From there on, we are on the open side of the mountain, wind blows like hell, snow waist deep, and not s single idea where the trail is. We can hardly make out the mountains and align them with what the map says, and have a general idea of a direction. 2 more miles. It is only 2 more miles to the saddle. The daylight is running out on us. I make the first step into the snow…

It is hard work, post-holing like that. I have to make sure the step is firm and deep, so Larry wouldn’t slide down (he is heavier, and so is his pack). We still slip often, and grab any tree we can find. Thankfully, the slope ends in a valley, and it’s nothing like an abyss, so I try not to look down and go. Occasionally, I hear Larry swearing behind in frustration. One more step. Another dry piece, and we are actually on trail? Larry celebrates…we take a turn around the bend…and there is no end of next snow – as long as you can see. It’s a sea. It’s steeper here. And it’s 7 pm. Holly shit.

No time, there is no time to gripe. There is only one way – forward. We can’t stop here, in the snow, on the slope, in the wind. We have to make to a dry place. Focus, honey. Block every other thought, every pain, and focus. See that saddle? This is where we should be at some point. We walk. We crawl. It’s cold. It’s never ending. I just hope to God we are somewhere near the right trail…

And just when the hope was about to abandon and I was to propose to break a tent right where we are – there it was, a saddle, dry, with gusty winds, but safe. With crooked fingers we set the tent on the snow, got inside – and the dark fell. Exhausted, we lay still, listening to a hauling wind. We are so tired and cold, we can’t even eat. We are seriously dehydrated, but afraid to drink so to not have to get out into that bitter windy cold night for a pee. The headache is splitting. We are both shivering. And the muscles ache as if we just ran a 100M race…

There wasn’t much sleep that night. Neither one of us could get comfortable, and the wind was so loud and so strong, I was positive we’ll be known in a history as new Dorothy. I have no clue how the tent held on, but eventually the sun rose, and while the wind never died, we crawled outside, packed our belongings and somberly took on the last part – last some 6 miles downhill back to the car.

The trip down was rather uneventful. It was a very slow and boring grade – and we were quite out of any adrenaline. There was an insane amount of blown in trees, and then trail turned into rocky a’la Zane Grey 50, and we knew we are close. When I saw a car, I thought I couldn’t make another step. Just like crossing a finish line in a long mountain race, everything just gives – and that was it.

May 29th, 2011.

Ian,

Well, I have to say...we almost died on the backside between Humphreys peak and that saddle (Duval?) before last drop to Schultz tank on Weather-something trail. All snow. No trail markings. Took us 4 hrs to make 4 miles on waist-deep snow navigating a slight idea where to go, breaking snow, trying not to slide all the way down - and not freeze to death. What an experience...for a lifetime. I believe we were first this season the make that loop (from Schultz to ski area to Humphrey to saddle and back). The winds were steady at 50 mph with gusts up to 90. I was surprised tent held on the saddle open. My God. But was it beautiful...yes, we are in love with your little town:) Thanks for bringing us to it!

Olga,

I thought about you guys and the weather up there! And you went through with it...wow! This winter won't let go.

Doyle Saddle and the Weatherford Trail...gonna have to learn it if you're thinking of returning.

Once down and all cleaned up at a hotel, lunch and dinner later, a short couple of miles walk on in-town trail system, we are contemplating on our adventure. We would have never gone that way had we known what’s in store. That wasn’t very smart at all. We were first people this season to make this loop. But once done – it was a memory to cherish. How we worked as a team. How tough we are. How we didn’t give up. How brutal nature can be. And how amazingly beautiful it still is.

As for next trip to our dream – come back in October to read about it. I am buying tickets as we speak.

May 31st, 2011.

Eman, it is awesome, I am in love with this place!

8 more years, Olga, soon…

Time's up.

Recovery must be short, as even though last race seemed to have been a culmination of my season (I still can not believe how awesome I felt the whole way!), I got one more before I "retire" for the summer. Old Dominion 100M. The second oldest in the country. The one that almost seized, yet was held despite lack of runners for years, and now, it happened to be, I am not the only one choosing to give it attention it deserves. Neil Gorman posted a blurb about exciting (by the measures of this race) competition coming over to VA, and just like that, we all hope to spread the word: OD is alive and kicking, come and OD with us! Registrations are still accepted!

I took 2 days off, and was back on Wed, with a couple of trail runs on the weekend (one with the Sunday group, lotsa fun!). I also visited my future coaches for summer project (shhh...man, am I psyched and scared!), and they measured me up. Because the first day I am with them is June 7th, only 2 days after the 100, and all the numbers will be screwed up with my water retention and elephant apetite. So, to come clean, I am at 19.8% fat (which is exactly where I thought I'd be), and need a good 10 lbs of fat to disappear. Ha! The challenges never end!

I am thrilled to get East in a couple of weeks. While the OD100 course is everything I am NOT (unlike PCT) - dirst roads, wide hills, humidity, low-grade inclines and declines - it is new, and that means I will learn some lessons. I will also have an idea how is the training on 45 mpw affects the completion and performance at a 100:) Hey, there is no failure, only discoveries!

But before I embark on my trip to  the town of Woodstock, Larry and I will make a mad dash to Flagstaff, AZ, for a 3-day backpacking trip in the mountians with fresh crisp air and fantastic views.

I'll leave you with a full article (long, I know, I had shortened it just for the blog though) that I mentioned a month ago, which was written for the local Run Texas magazine. You don't have to read it, you know it all already:)

I’ve never officially been a runner when I was a kid, but I sure was active. Having a REAL Phys Ed class back in Soviet times was really helpful – at which I always excelled. But all good times come to an end (insert a smart remark here), and in September 1993 I moved to the U.S. to work in the bio-medical research field. It wasn’t easy to get going with no English, friends, or family, but as I said, obstacles are what make us stronger – and more successful. Two kids down the road, I managed to enter 1996 at 184 lbs, and that picture scared the hell out of me. So, I joined a gym and began a path to a transformation…

In 2001 my co-worker signed me up for a Mother’s Day 5k. At that time I was relatively slim, had 2 years of martial arts under my belt (which, actually, happened to break my back--literally) and on occasion as part of my exercise routine jogged a mile in 10 min. I figured I have nothing to lose by trying…I finished my first 5k run, the longest I’ve ever done running, in 27 minutes, and the monster was born. Living in NYC at the time meant there is a race every weekend, and this is where you could find me – and by August, 3 months later, I ran a half-marathon. Another year and some 50 races later I joined a great group of marathoners, ran a 50km, ran a 50km on a trail – and never looked back. Because out “there” I had discovered that I am really good on trails, where the path is a single-track, narrow and twisted, where the mountains are looming and you’re going either up or down, and where the vistas take your breath away. To this date (April 1st, 2011) I have run 76 ultramarathons (16 of which are 100M races), 2 trail marathons, 16 road marathons and somewhere over 150 total of shorter distance races.


Why? It’s the feeling. The emotions that trails produce. The lightness of the feet slightly touching the ground. The twisting turns. The red-lining of breathing trying to make it up a steep hill or a mountain. The absolutely freeing feeling as you blast down, float over the earth, reckless with abandonment, eyes glued to the ground under your feet, hair standing up. And the feeling of being strong, able, capable of anything in this world. Of making it close to the “real life”, how our ancestors were. Because when you are out there, nothing else matters – worries, work, traffic, problems…it’s only you and the trail. One foot-fall after another. One breath. One sip of water. One thought. No thoughts at all. Primal, pure, simple. Best ever…And then there are views. You run through the forest surrounded by trees and suddenly you pop out into the open – and here is your vista, your church, your religion. There is nothing better a human made than what is given to us by Nature – and being able to run long distances is the best gift I gave myself to allow to see all of it.


There are few races I think of if you ask me which ones are best. Zane Grey 50M circa 2006 was one of the prime examples, as well as Miwok 100km in 2005 (I ran both of these races 3 times each, so yes, you can say they fall into the “favorite” category). But I also have stories that combine good runs with funny memories. Like at Western States 100M in 2005, which I started 2 weeks after racing in a 58M run. Making it to 30M on the 30-hr finish cut off time, I just kept picking up speed – and time. By mile 68 I was close to touch a 25hr time frame, and reaching the American River at 78M on a 24hr pace – and then my intestines decided to disagree. I don’t think anyone likes to read words “explosive diarrhea”, especially picturing a runner at mile 80, with 20 to go, in the mountains, on steep slopes, poison ivy instead of a toilet paper, and fighting for a top 10 position. Yes, I got that all, but the bond I share with my pacer from that run is very special.


There are couple of things I am known for: I get lost very easily when I run on trails (simply because I “check out” and fully submerge into my experience) and that I am a “second half runner”, which means at any distance of the race I am perfectly fine letting folks go ahead, and I just run joyfully, chat with everyone willing to listen, enjoy views and surroundings and care less about the world (or race) out there. Once the half-way point comes, and the miles “roll backwards” (my own definition), there is no stopping me. It’s not that I speed up; I just don’t fade as much as many others do. I call it “one gear”. And that gear is “tough”.


On the training front, there is no magic. Hard work is the only thing that ever allowed real people to reach real goals. At some time a few years back, I was able to train by combining all the best methods together – high volume and high quality. Then for various reasons one year, “quality” had to go, but volume stayed (and was saving me from the possibility of a depression). Then it was time to bring some serious work back – but I met time constraints, and at this time it’s all about quality, not quantity. And you know, coming from a regular 100 mile a week runner, getting back to 40 works just as well – as long as you’re willing to put an effort into those miles!


Thankfully, my body handles all of it just fine – although I have to add that I have had every running injury in the book, but that is simply due to unwillingness to ever back off the intensity of my training. I have run through numerous stress fractures (including hip), torn ligaments and tendons, blown muscles and with my ankle in a cast. Why? Because I LOVE IT SO MUCH!


I don’t use any mantras when I run, I just tell myself to “suck it up and move it…there are no excuses in life”. I am pretty brutal when it comes to judging myself, and I don’t sugar-coat anything. It’s just the way it is.


I want to leave you with couple of personal stories that actually lead to an answer about how I ended up in Austin.


In the spring of 2008 I signed up for a Jemez 50M race in New Mexico, and happened to bump into Larry King, whom I had “met” through the power of the internet and blogging. At the time we both just recently got divorced, I lived in Portland, OR, and he – in Austin, TX. We shook hands and left for the night. Race morning came, and as usual, half the field was ahead of me. Shortly past mile 30 (also, as usual), I was working my way through the field, and as I turn the corner, I see Larry. Now, we already had the same thing happen to us at Zane Grey 50M a year before, and I beat him by 2 hrs. So, without a single thought, I yelled out “Don’t let it happen again!” and together we went. We spent the next 10 miles navigating the course, getting lost 4 times, taking tons of pictures, sharing insights on life and marriage and kids, laughing about running stories – and childhood stories. Well, he did ditch me for the last 10, looking scared (I guess he didn’t want the repeat of a previous year), but the spark we had in our glycogen-depleted brains under the pure bliss of endorphins on that run led to our 2,000-mile-away dating year ending with a proposal – and him pacing me at Hardrock 100M. Now, if there is anything you need to know about Hardrock, it is the most grueling race in the San Juan mountains in CO with 33,000 feet of climb (and same amount of descent) and at an average of 11,000 feet altitude, going over 13,000 feet 13 times. Due to that “dating” schedule and demands of the life of a single mother, I wasn’t training to the extreme, but big problems avoided I knew I could finish. Larry was to start pacing me at mile 54. We met the second sunrise, got over lots more peaks, enjoyed the views, battled the downtimes and pains, laughed, cried, cursed…Bear in mind, at that time Larry has never done anything that lasted over 19 hours, the time he ran his first 100M in, and we were way past that, at high altitude, second night on no sleep. We got hit by a huge thunder and lightning at mile 94 on a 13,000 ridge, where we got on our hands and knees and prayed to be alive, and then the freezing rain and hail started pounding. Wearing shorts and a light windbreaker on top of a sleeveless shirt is not something you meet 30F in the mountains, and I was quickly descending into hypothermia. We managed to not get killed, run into the last AS on the other side of the ridge and spend 30 minutes (I know, who does that? But with my hypothyroid low body temps could send me to sub-coma easily) by the fire, and then took off for the last 6 miles. Downhill. On rocks. On the edge of the mountain. In the dark. With 44 hours on our feet…I smelled the barn, I could basically see the finish line, but Larry was falling asleep, weaving and slow. I had a decision to make: do I push on, leave him behind and make some certain arbitrary time goal, or do I stick with the man I love and whom I plan to spend the rest of my life with? It was clear to me, despite the state I was in, which one to pick. We crossed the finish line in 46 hrs 9 min, and 3 weeks later I was driving my Honda Civic packed with my younger son, our cat and our belongings…The moral of the story? Always know what’s important to you. Goals have to align with your soul. Once they do – go for it!

San Diego running presents...

PCT 50M race. 100% single track. Mountains. Long climbs and long descents, 7500 feet of each of those. Wild flowers. Thin dry air. Back flashes down memory line. Larry with me whole weekend. Lots of sun. Great people...It was a weekend to stand out for sure...The truth is, this was the most perfect weekend in every and any way you could possibly imagine, and I don't even know where to begin. Pardon my random rambling...

As I was hugging the RD John "El Cubano" Martinez at the finish line, grinning ear to ear, I kept repeating "South California always treats me nice". And it does. In 2005 I won and set a CR at SD100. In 2007 I came back to crew and pace my friend Adrien to a heck of a 100M finish. In 2008, while I DNF'ed at Angeles Crest 100 due to a hip stress fracture, I made a clear mind decision to move to TX to be with Larry. Then last year I had a perfect race at Leona Divie 50M. Later same year I was back to have a great time at SD100, and even though that particular race wasn't all that great, the day worth running at these mountains was awesome nevertheless.

I was rocking it. I was rocking this weekend from the moment the plan of it had started to emerge. Some time few months ago Larry and I figured it would be nice to pick a race out of TX we can go together to. I scouted, and pointed at SD 50. Don't ask me how, I just did. My nicest friend Eman agreed to watch after Stephen. I booked pretty cheap tickets and we got a motel practically next to the start, which was also next to a family diner (a-la 50's style) we had late lunch/dinner at and to the grocery store where we bought a pint of ice cream, which we ate the night before. We arrived early, we picked the car, we drove fast, we had crap load of time to go on the course and check it out - oh, my, it was beautiful!!!

A couple of weeks before Larry created a race profile. I taught him to have a race profile and a pace chart taped to his water bottles, ever since he first met me back at Jemez 50 - exactly 3 years ago...yes, lots of anniversaries on this weekend too, besides this, 1 year since our last trip for a race together (MMT100) and 10 years since my very first 5k race, which got me so hooked...but I digress. PCT50 didn't have a profile on the website, so Larry compiled his knowledge of maps and made one himself. And then figured his paces. The night before he asked me if I want to look and adjust mine - I was busy cooking dinner. So, I looked over the shoulder and threw some times to AS, fairly approximately. "How about on the way back?" he asked. "Whatever, same would work, add a couple of 5 minutes extra". As I told at the Hill Country runner's meeting that Tuesday, my plan was simple: 4:45 out, 5 hrs back. The family wage was on too! I was to finish no more than 45 minutes behind Larry. I actually had no clue what his time goal was:)

It is nice to fly West for a race. We gain 2 hrs of sleep, so by the time alarm went off at 4 am, we basically felt like we overslept. 1 drop bag at mile 22.5 (same as 27.5), the rest of the gels stuffed into skirt pockets and bottle pockets (24 total), 2 water bottles, 10 S! caps, 3 NUUN tablets, 6 Ibuprofen. What else does a woman need when running 50 miles? We went off exactly at 6 am and for the first time in a long time, my watch actually showed 6:00. That's weird:)

We climbed from the start. I jogged a mile, then went into powerwalking mode. Methodically, with short shuffles, letting people pass, rocking my music softly on a background. I don't listen to music very loud. They sing in English, I have also some Danish hits, and a few Russian songs. I've had same music for years, only this past week adding 2 more songs, and I hardly understand words of 80% of the songs (in any language), so it's a background, that's why it's never loud. Just tunes, whatever they sing:) It is already light out, but as we ascend, higher and higher with every step, we pop above the morning fog and the clouds - and it is WOW, really. We are running on a narrow single track carved on a side of a mountain, above the clouds, surrounded by smells and views of wild flowers blooming and by peaks of other mountains beyond the clouds. I let out a yelp. I laugh. I don't think I had been that high emotionally in a long time. Total complete utter happiness. Soon the sun rises and blinds me as we run East, and I have to drop my eyes down to be able to see at least a foot ahead. WOW. This is so worth the trip already...

I don't know anyone, and as I run, I don't care of my location in the field, but then again, I hardly ever do. Not in the first half anyway. I am having flashbacks into 2005 and SD100, which I did with my ever-best running partner and friend Gail and one crazy guy who agreed to help, David, and this 50 miler is run on the same course (the other two 100M races I had been to were on other variations of the trails). Funny, it's like body memory. Almost down to the step. We reach first AS, I look at my watch, and I am, like, to the second. 1:14, fill bottles, out to climb more, on the rockiest part of the trail.

I remember these rocks, I even remember how I described them to Ronda (who in a year of 2006 broke my CR at SD100, ha!), and I remember this relentless climb. I become a metronome. I powerhike. "I was born to powerhike" - is my mantra. Utilize, capitalize. These two weird words follow me through the whole race. I am capitalizing on my ability to hike without been winded or tired, never even take an extra breath. A handful of guys jog pass me, but at the same time I had out-walked a handful of others. May be some of them are early starters. I am happy, singing along with my tunes and rocking my surroundings. I am spot on a gel per 25 minutes, an S! cap an hour, and drinking. The only thing that remotely bothers me is my heel spur, which I never resolved after I treated the PF back in January, so I get "snarly" and wonder if this is a good time to learn how to run "forefoot striking". Kidding. I am in a camp which says whatever running gait you are born with - stay with it, don't change. The pain is rather bad, but I promise myself Ibuprofen 3 hrs in and put it out of my mind.

We get to the next AS, and I hit my 1:30 split like I was born to do so. I laugh.Next section is short, and it goes in a cover of trees. How did this knowledge suddenly popped into my mind? I don't know, but this is exactly how it is. A nice smooth single track under tall trees the whole time, gently rolling up and down. I stop to pee, spook a girl behind (I don't move far away for such a small task) and pick up the pace again ever so slightly. Is this happy feeling planning to end any time soon?

Dale's kitchen has a small spur down to AS, and I reach it in 45 min. I don't know what time it is, when I race I only look at the "minute" part of the watch, so I can be gel-ready and on a lookout for an AS. A volunteer asks me if I want ice in my bottles, and I say "only if fast". Seems that there was a line for ice, so I grab my stuff and get out. I am like that, if it takes more than a minute - it is not needed. A few guys yell out my name as they leave, and I "pick them up" on a next downhill. I apologize as I move by, and make sure to ask how we know each other. Steve readily recites: LD50 last 2 sections, SD100 first 2 sections, I was the guy taking care of my feet at an AS...I remember! Have fun! I was born to run downhill! Thus I have a new mantra. I can't help it. I am a downhiller. I don't speed up, and I don't put any effort. I glide over the trail. I leap. I let it flow. I am super-naturally happy.

We cross a small wooden bridge, and I remember how in 2005 I had stomach issues here, Gail met me just off the highway, I whined, and she told me to switch to ice and water only. The trick I use ever since - and tell everyone. It works. It is not an AS yet, it's about a mile and half of practically flat terrain, which I dislike strongly, but I run. I was not born to run, that's for sure, but it's a running race, so nobody gives me an excuse for that:) Graham Cooper runs towards me. Yowser! Is he that fast or am I that slow? Apparently, I had no clue which mile I am at. Really. Honest to God. I also realize I am out of gels and am very surprised. I had calculated meticulously - every 25 min on the way out, every 20 min on the way back, 2 gels from an AS table for a short out-n-back section to the turn-around. When I arrive at AS, fill my bottles and grab gels from them, and leave, they shove me a card (playing card). That was to be what each runner has to drop inside a box at the turn-around 2.5M down the trail, in the middle of nowhere. I am at Penny Pines? You mean I am at mile 22.5?? You just made my day! If you thought I was crazy happy before, realizing I am about 5 miles further than where I thought I was just sent me sky-rocketing. I am rocking it!

Someone says I am 2nd gal, someone else says I am 4th. I don't care but do look who comes back from the trail as I am heading out. After a few I lost count. The race had an early start. Everybody looks strong. How do I know? Why would I care? I only know I am running behind a girl wearing a scarf Russian style, and I am liking her, this tiny little woman. I see Larry coming back and scream "Hey, baby!" and stop for a kiss. He didn't look that good here, and I worry, but don't let it bother me. He is running his race, I am running mine. And I am rocking it.

As we approach turn-around, (just a chalk arrow and a box), exactly at 4:47 into the run, the "Russian scarf girl" stops and asks "Are you Olga?". While we chat I almost forget to drop my card - but I don't. She is Iris from Calgary, and is a friend of Leslie from Banff whom I know (virtually), so we are thrilled about this! As we talk, I slowly pull away without noticing, because I am so damn happy. I am dancing (imagine how it looks when you don't hear the music I have in my headphones), I am yelling insanities and as I pass guys on the hills ("Com'n, folks, stay with me!"), I can't wipe smile off my face. As I enter back Penny Pines, one of my newest additions, J Lo's "On the floor", came up on tunes - and I turned the volume all the way up. I had never done it so loud! But I was rocking this song, my mood, the mountains, and the people. I got my drop bag, and as I drink my V8 juice, I keep dancing, then tell the girl getting my bottles filled (yelling over the loud music in my ears) "Isn't J Lo hot?". Hopefully the runner's crew friends didn't call mental institution. 2 minutes here, my longest stop for the day. I stuffed the gels into pockets (which was a few too many, and my skirt kept riding down on me) and jumped out of the gates.

I need to ride this happiness, I decided. Not push up, not speed up, just cherish this feeling. I hit a small pocket of a "low", one and only in the whole day, and I shook it off. It was hot, low 70's, high and dry, completely open to the burning sun, I was drinking every drop, and I was running. Unbelievable. Back to Todd's cabin on the spur, I see a girl coming out of AS. I get down, wait for my bottles, and a runner say "Hey, Olga, I don't know if you are racing, but there was a girl just leaving...". I exclaim "I am now!" and everyone laughs. I get out, but pull a notch back in my effort and settle in. It is 18 miles to the end, too early to race somebody's race, and I bet the girl is going to make a mistake (she had that look) - she will decide to put a distance on me and will exert herself. If I do my own thing, I will be where I have to be...

I run and hike next section very mellow, just riding what the course dictates. I see the girl as we enter the AS. Another volunteer asks me questions if I am coming back to SD100, I am telling him about my plans for OD100 - and take off, passing the gal (and a handfull of guys) behind at the AS. Only one man gets by and dissapears. A few hikers come towards (there are lots of them all day long, every one of them nice and chatty and polite), and they are showing me 2 fingers and saying "go get it". Am I second? 2 more ahead? It sounded like there was a female close, and I strain my eyes to look on the hillside ahead - and don't see anyone. I tell myself to calm down one more time. Run your own race, honey.

There is a pretty substential climb here, and I suddenly feel at first a cramp coming, and then my right calf tightens and cramps, sending wave to my hamstring and to my butt. Left side joins. Ouch! It somehow doesn't scare me. More like - really, both sides, full leg cramp? For the most part it becomes dull, and only siezes when I eaither jump over a rock, or step off a ledge sharply, and I, for some reason, play my medical profession and picture muscles and tendons and "yo, here is the origin of a lateral head of bicep femoris, ai, here is soleus...". I drop my emergency NUUN tablet into one of the bottles and sip on both water and NUUN (latest studies proved that cramps develop more of dehydration than of salt depletion). Despite that whacko developing, I am still happy - and still running. My legs, muscles in them anyway, feel great. I surprise myself how much of that flat ridge is runnable - to me! - that late in a race! May be I was born to run after all? Then, a heaven, a downhill, long strong downhill. I was born to run down - I enter last AS, Fred Canyon.

A woman runs to me and asks "Are you Olga?" Well, yes, I am. "Your husband said you'd want ice and water and you'd want it fast and furious!". Well, yes, indeed, thank you. I laugh. This is so awesome. Can you freakin' believe it? They fill my bottles "per request" as I swallow my gel - I also caught another handfull of guys here, and I get out before they blink. And catch that man who passed me at the last AS. Aha, here is a lesson, buddy. Nobody passes me in the last thrid of the race without consequences:)

I am still cramping wildly the whole backs of my legs, and still running, not crazy fast, but steady. I make a (second for the race) pit stop, and hug the steep slope of a mountain, on a narrow trail, with a steep drop on my left, eyes glued to the single track. Suddenly a voice says something, and I flip - look ahead (nothing), look behind (nothing), the voice says something again, I make a head turn up over the shoulder - there is a dude hanging on a tree above the trail taking photos. Really? I almost fell off the cliff for you? I laugh and go on. I remember this section so well, from 2005, before the asphalt road, how I screamed in desperation here in the middle of the night, and there are only 4 miles left after that today...

There are not all down, those last 4, and I allow myself to walk some inclines, and even some parts of flats. I do simple math and think: 9:35, and I will be at even split. This is awesome! Can I smile even more? Here is a rock 1.5M from the finish line, Larry and I hiked up here yesterday, I am 9:15 in. Here I can see the highway I need to cross under. I push the button and find "Eye of the tiger" song. I never skip my music. I feel the need now. Can I beat 9:30? Under the highway. It's 9:27. May be not...Skip button. Find Eminem's "Not afraid" now, quickly! My other newest addition! I am rocking it, I see the finish line, I see Larry running frantically to take a picture of me, and I am running right past the dudes with the clock with my Longhorn fists up! And I keep dancing, music blaring. I am not afraid! I don't want it to stop, none of it! I bet folks thought I was obnoxious. I was simply thrilled. 9:29. 5 minutes negative splits. And I am still rocking it!

But wait! A man turns to me and says I am first woman. Really? You are joking, right? He shakes head. I turn to Larry - is he serious? Yes, indeed. I am in utter disbelief. Really? Can this day get any better?

Larry ran an amazingly smart race. He took it easy first half, never played testosteron games, ate and hydrated, and chased a bunch of guys down in second half. Only in the last 15 miles did he face the demons with stomach distress, which prevented him to "capitalize" on the downhills, yet he never gave up and placed 9th overall. He finished in 9:05 - which means the family wage win is still mine! Just kidding. The sweetest thing was that his stop for a bit at the last AS when he told volunteers I will need help very fast ("unlike me" were his words) and he also told them I will most likely be the first female. I guess my husband has more faight in me than I do:)

The great times didn't end, and the luck never stopped. We drove back to San Diego and got a room in downtomw Hilton - for $94, while still wearing race clothes, having salt all over my face, pigtails in my hair and dirty legs. A great treat! I promised to clean up nicely. We ate at Pei Wei and my fortune cookie read "This week your lucky day is Saturday. Enjoy the fun" No kidding, heh? We slept in - and had a huge breakfast at a diner at 6am. We slept some more. We ate more - like 20 lbs of food. We flew back with no hussle. Stephen was great. Life was beautiful. I am going to miss this weekend:)

About the course: it was marked immaculately, and hard to get lost when running PCT all the way. It suits all my strengths. I haven't been to the mountains since last Tahoe race in July, and I missed it so dearly. I love mountains. The attitude and mood I had was a clear indication of where I belong. I didn't need to force anything onto myself. Everything was clicking. The whole time I couldn't believe how far I was, it felt I just set out for a morning jog. By the time I was leaving last AS it was still not any close to what I experience when I run here, in TX. My legs are not sore, and while I am going to loose a few toenails (I always do, having to do with my "special" downhill running, and I don't care), and my foot has a pretty big bruise due to the heel spur, there are no blisters (thanks, Drymax!) and no foot issues (thanks, Crosslites!). I need to email Powergel company to get them sponsor me - love this gel, never an issue with a stomach! I wore Tejas Trail shirt - it was light, cute, had a pocket on the back for empty garbage, and I felt an urge to represent my home state. I may complain about living here, but I am Texan, damn it, for now anyway, and we can still run! I sure hope I did:)

Last training week for the season?

I am torn between being excited I am practically done with structured training for races - and sad at the same time. It is always a weird feeling. Structure defines me in my daily life. I need a goal, a plan, an attitude that I can do it, and I am good to go. It is safe for me, to have a routine. I turn to it (routine and structure) when things go sideways and I am facing difficulties in any way, shape or form. That's why taking time off after a season had always been a problem for me. Heck, taking time off and laying on the beach for a day is a problem for me! But after a break-down last year, I decided I'll build in a break before it catches up to me. Interestingly, I feel it was a perfect timing, as it IS catching up. I can blame the general business, but I am never NOT busy - this is just a lifestyle I long for, operate best in, ever since I was a teenager (simply don't remember much from before in terms of routine). If I don't wake up in the morning and instead of heading out the door get (much needed) extra hour of sleep - my whole day feels like it's going to garbage. So I wake up. And within first 5 minutes of activity I am happy I did...

RRCA was awesome. A weekend of 8 hrs a day to be with like-minded individuals and talk running is almost as heavenly wonderful as running 8 hrs a day itself:) 99% of information was known - and 80% of information was already used by me, but it is always, always good to have reminders, and the woman who lead a seminar was delightful in her speaking ability. I do have to say that by Sunday now I was pretty exhausted and collapsed once home (which lasted for all of 10 minutes before I had to get back into chores of life). There is so much to do, so so many opportunities and possibilities!

Speaking of built-in break and the safety of routines, I visited Coach Mo and his partner Coach Drew. You know what happened within 2 minutes of conversation? Mo worked with Joe Prusaitis and his groups a few years back! You'd think our small pond of ultrarunners and their small pond of body builders have nothing in common - but here you go, crossing paths, sharing love for fitness and for helping others figure it out. Both Joe and Mo spoke highly of each other and Mo got a boost in my eyes as a coach. Connections are like that:) I am scared of what lies ahead and excited to test my own limits in such a new way.

In a meantime, it's still training. Checked off mile repeats last week, 1200's this week, Larry and I put a long run in on Friday at 3:30am - yes, you read it right, with a weekend overbooked, you do what you've got to do. While I ran covering ground in a neighborhood, he ventured to State Capitol, leaving me salivating over a picture he texted. Next time, I am in to see this beauty in a nightlight! It's been a cold front here, in Austin, and I enjoyed (LOVED!) some 50's for the day - and 40's for the eerie morning hours. A couple of workouts, a couple of easy runs - and off to San Diego, on a single track of PCT, to be free for some 10 hrs of running through wonderful views with awesome people...Short recovery, backpacking trip to AZ - and taper for OD100. Told ya, my training is nearing its end...my life, though, never stops.

A teaser of what Texas is...at times and in places:)