Today is Your Day

The Girlfriends Half Marathon and I had some unfinished business.....

Pretty t-shirt and necklace

When I ran this race two years ago, an unplanned potty stop at mile 6 cost me a new personal record (PR).  Ever since then, I've wondered what could've been.  The proximity of this race to the Portland Marathon date prevented a 2012 comeback.  But this year, I had no such restrictions.  Time for a rematch!

Colorful crowd at the starting line

My previous half marathon PR was 1:56:10, set at a race over two years ago.  Although older, heavier, and not in the shape I was in then (I was training for a marathon at the time) I still wanted to try and beat my old mark.  The Girlfriends course, flat and fast, offered the best chance.

Start line selfie

Last Sunday found me and 1,300 other women shivering in the cold morning fog of downtown Vancouver, WA at the starting line of the Girlfriends Half Marathon.

This race is billed as a women's only event with the beneficiary being the Susan G. Komen Foundation.  The first time I ran Girlfriends, I came away mightily impressed.  It was such a well-organized, positive event with great entertainment, food, and swag - all for a good cause.  There was a wonderful positive vibe amongst the participants.  Ladies dressed up in various pink outfits, placed signs on their backs honoring a loved one fighting breast cancer, or wore t-shirts with awesome motivational slogans.  I knew right away I'd be back.

Love, love, loved this lady's shirt!

Before a race, I'm usually out mingling with the crowd.  But today was different.  A huge goal loomed before me.  I sat in my car, trying to keep warm, getting pumped up with some loud rock music.  I emerged exactly twice - to use the potty (didn't want a repeat of last time!) and do a quick scan of the vendor booths.  About five minutes before showtime, I emerged from my cocoon and jetted to the starting line.

A crowd of women take over the street of Vancouver

There was a countdown - and bam!  The multicolored crowd of women took to the streets of downtown Vancouver.  I didn't have a specific race strategy, except to start fast and try to hold a quick pace as long as possible.  After a half mile of dodging slower runners, I settled in behind two ladies in purple who were streaking along at an 8 1/2 minute mile pace.  Although I was puffing and struggling a bit (which is common for me in the early stages of a race) I kept up.  The first mile passed, with me hot on my companion's heels.  Although winded, I thought to myself: "just hang on for one more mile, and then you can go slower."

Approaching the Interstate Bridge

Mile two came and went.  I was running so well, I talked myself into one more fast mile.  Mile three passed and I was still tailing my racing buddies.  The pace alternated between an 8:20 and 8:45 minute mile.  By now my body was warmed up, and I was running comfortably.  Amazed to be still running so fast, I told myself to hang on just a little bit longer.  And then, a small voice popped into my subconscious.

Today is your day.

Super fall colors!

The planets appeared to be aligning.  I was maintaining a pace way faster than I usually run.  The weather, although a bit on the cool side, was perfect for running.  The course followed a beautiful path along the Columbia River, popped onto an industrial street, and then back through a lovely city park.  Since the course is a winding out-and-back, I began to see the leaders heading in the opposite direction.  I followed my pacers in purple through the park, and circled the turnaround at mile 5, amazed to be still on their heels.  And again the voice sounded:

Today is your day.

The course featured fine views of the mighty Columbia

Back down the industrial road.  Past an aid station, past intermittent crowds of mostly dads and small kids, holding signs and ringing cowbells.  Past intersections where local police and sheriffs directed traffic, keeping us runners safe.  At mile 6, the time on my watch flashed 50 minutes.  Whoa - way faster than expected!  Very close to a PR for the 10K.  I was running out of my head!  And still my watch continued to show a 8:30 pace.  Again, the same thought flashed in my mind.  It was becoming a mantra.

Today is your day.

Sticking with the faster women

Halfway to mile 7, I passed the gas station, site of my ill-fated potty stop two years ago.  With a satisfied smile I realized today no break was needed.  As I sped by, a 8:45-ish pace still showed on my watch's display.

However, soon after the effects of my fast pace started to take their toll.  My energy began to wane.  Was it payback for such a fast start?  But I couldn't slow down now.  All my hard work and great fast times would go to waste.  And besides, the voice came back again, this time much louder:

Today is your day.

Lots of great scenery to distract me

Through a parking lot, and back onto the riverfront path I ran, trying my best to hold on.  I lost both my purple pacing buddies at an aid station and with them my tempo.  Using my watch as a guide, I tried in vain to rev up the engines.  But as I left the path and veered back onto a street, my legs slowed down.  A bunch of ladies began to pass me.  No!  I was running so good - I couldn't throw it away now.  Forcing my body to move faster, I repeated the words that were was fast becoming my motivation:

Today is your day.

Back along the riverfront

Across a street, under a railroad underpass, the crowd of runners came upon a short, steep uphill section of path that led people into Fort Vancouver.  The hill was brutal on my tired body.  I felt as if I'd hit a wall.  Gritting teeth and swinging arms, I forced my legs to propel me up.  Many ladies stopped and walked, but I wasn't about to.  I had a PR to earn.

Today is your day.

Under a railroad bridge to Fort Vancouver

Past Fort Vancouver, skirting Pearson Airpark, mile 10 came into view.  My body, fast becoming exhausted, was starting to stage a full revolt.  Legs felt like rubber, body and mind were numb with fatigue.  It was so very tempting to slow the pace.  Was all this suffering really worth it?

But then a glance at my watch and a quick calculation made me realize how close I was to my goal.  If I could hold on for three more miles - I could do it!  I'd worked too hard to throw it away now.  Today is your day.......today is your day......I repeated the phrase over and over in my head as I circled a strip mall, and passed mile 11.  No stopping now.

Today is your day.

The finish line!

About this time I caught up with one of my purple pacer ladies.  Sticking to her like glue, I followed the crowd down a main road and turned onto a path through a local park.  And up another hill....  This one wasn't as steep as the other, but right before mile 12 of a half marathon wasn't great timing for an uphill.  Knowing at this point every second counted, I pushed my body as hard as it would go up the path.  Passing a couple of women, I left the park and turned back onto a main road.  One mile left.  I could see the buildings of downtown Vancouver ahead.  Time to kick things into gear.....

Today is your day.

A new PR!

Crossing over I-5, I was right on the heels of my pacer.  The streets began to line with cheering people.  Their positive energy provided the boost I needed.  I put the gas pedal to the floor and stormed past my purple mentor.  Turning a corner, and then another, I remembered the last block was a short uphill climb.  I hit the uphill and gave it my all.  Around the final turn, and there up ahead, was the finish line arch.  With my last ounce of energy, I propelled my legs over the timing mats.  Hitting the stop button on my watch, I glanced at my time.  And looked again.  And then I smiled.

Celebrating with some cute firefighters

I'd done it!  1:55:08!!  A new PR by over a minute!

Instead of a finisher medal, the Girlfriends half gave every lady who completed the race a cute necklace.  And even better, they recruited local fireman to stand at the finish and hand out the bling.  Greeting the firefighters, I asked if one of them would take my picture.  Not only did the first guy volunteer to snap a photo, the other two were nice enough to pose with me.  What better way to end such a memorable race?

A few men of the "pink brigade"

Checking the results on the web later that afternoon, I discovered my official time to be 1:55:06 (even better!).  My average pace was a speedy (for me) 8:47 minutes per mile.  I was 7th out of 140 women in my age group and 107th out of 1,359 participants.  Definitely a performance to be proud of!

Showing off my finisher's necklace (photo by Sarah Bowen Shea)

I have a theory that participating in a race brings out the best in us.  The cheering crowds, the upbeat atmosphere, and the competition of other runners often result in superhuman performances.  When I ran my first mile at such an out-of-my-head pace, it instilled a huge batch of confidence.  Subsequent fast miles provided more and more boosts, until I knew something special was happening.  Once I set my mind to it, there was no stopping me.

Never underestimate the power of a simple phrase.

Today was my day.


Sharing with:  Weekly Top Shot.

Along the Wilson River

Here in Oregon, September is the best month weather-wise.  The hot temps have cooled down, the rain is yet to come, and fall colors start peeping out from trees.  I made plans to go hiking with a friend on a mid-September Sunday.  But, alas, by Saturday the forecast predicted rain, and my friend ended up canceling.  Not wanting to sit around the house all day, I decided rain or no rain, I was still going hiking.

Lone fisherman on the Wilson River

Tired of driving across town to access the Gorge or Mt. Hood, I instead looked westward.  The Coast Range, between Portland and the ocean, has some terrific trails.  And it's a short drive from home.  But for some reason I've never fully explored this area.  I decided today that would change.

Pretty vine maple

Since the Coast Range catches all the precip coming in from the ocean first, during rainy days it's a fairly wet place.  I knew I was probably crazy to go hiking there on a day with rain in the forecast.  But I packed a bunch of raingear, some towels, and decided to make the best of it.  Also, against my better judgement, I loaded up the dog.

Inviting bridge crossing

After a little internet research I settled on the Wilson River Trail.  The Wilson River, flowing out of the coast range into the ocean, boasts a trail paralleling 20.6 miles of its forested banks.  Accessed by several trailheads, hiking options abound.  The stretch from Jones Creek to Bridge Creek Falls, a total of 7 round-trip miles, was my final choice.

Scattering of moss and fall color

Although I left my house during a heavy shower, by time I drove into the trailhead, things were dry.  I suited up with raincoat and gaiters, only to shed them a half mile down the trail.

Lovely river reflections

The Wilson River in this area runs through the Tillamook State Forest.  Not only for hiking, this wooded area supports a variety of outdoor recreation uses.  Not far from the trailhead parking area was a place to stage off road vehicles, and corresponding trails for this purpose.  I spotted a few people fishing from the Wilson river's banks.  And mountain biking is also allowed on the hiking trails.

Leaf color is just getting started

So, let's just say that the forest along the Wilson River is not exactly pristine wilderness.  But, as I discovered upon the first half mile, it sure is beautiful.

Bear takes a water break

A quarter mile from the Jones Creek Trailhead, a huge suspension bridge takes visitors across the Wilson to the Tillamook Forest Center.  An interpretive and educational place, this center showcases the area's logging legacy and provides information about the infamous Tillamook Burn (A huge series of forest fires that struck this area over the 1930s).  Because I  had my dog with me, I skipped a visit for today and stayed on the opposite shore.

Our trail paralleled an old road

Although the majority of leaves were still in various stages of green, there was just enough yellow and orange to provide nice accents.  And make some great photos.

This way to Wilson Falls

I trekked through areas of dense forest with thick vegetation below.  Huge clumps of moss draped from some of the tree branches.  Although the river was always in view, only a few steep trails led to its banks.  Bear and I made a couple trips to shore, to check things out (and to give Bear a chance to drink).

Bear in a maze of leaves

About halfway to our turnaround at Bridge Creek Falls, the trail began to veer away from the river, and climbed over a couple of ridges.  Then it would dive down to cross small side creeks, spanned by one-log bridges.  I'd expected a flat trail, so these climbs were a surprise. 

One of many log bridges

Finally Bear and I came to a side trail that was supposed to lead to Bridge Creek Falls.  But I got waylaid by a scenic bend in the river.  Next to the bend was a deep pool, that appeared to be used as a summer swimming hole.  A downed tree had a rope swing attached to its end that I assumed was used for this purpose.  Ready for a break, I took a seat on the adjacent rocks and snacked on some apples and a cliff bar.

An old swimming hole

My gps showed we'd already traveled more than 3.5 miles.  I decided to bag the additional trek to Bridge Creek Falls and head back.  So Bear and I began to backtrack our route, hoping to beat any rain.  We came upon one of the single-log bridges.  Bear started across, and I took out my camera to capture him on the bridge.  I called out for Bear to stop and tried to get him to turn his head around.  But instead poor Bear tried to turn his whole body around, and in the process, slipped and tumbled into the creek below.

Tunnel of green

I panicked.  Rushing to the side of the depression, I arrived just as Bear scrambled up the bank.  He'd fallen down a drop of at least six feet onto rocks below.  Anxiously, I felt his legs and feet for any sign of broken bones.  Bear didn't wince at all.  In fact, the only injury appeared to be a couple of small gashes on his face.  Bear had weathered this slip just fine.

My dog's always been a very sure-footed pup, so having him fall like that greatly surprised me.  But at nearly 12 years old, Bear has been slowing down.  And this stumble confirmed to me just how much he's declined.

One last flower

So Bear and I continued back to the trailhead, him moving much slower than before, and I watching him like a hawk for any sign of limping.  We passed a large family with tons of kids scattered up and down the path, and a dad trudging along behind smoking a cigarette (!!!!! in a forest!!!)

Beautiful river view

We made it back to the car with no further incidents.  Although very tired, Bear seemed to have weathered  his fall just fine.  As I loaded my backpack into the car, I realized throughout the entire hike not a drop of rain had fallen.  When I arrived back in town, my hubby complained it had rained off and on most of the afternoon.  Guess I picked the right place to hike today!

The Wilson River, although very much touched by man, was still a lovely place to hike, and only a 40 minute drive from my front door.  I have a feeling I'll be back soon, to explore more of its trails.


Sharing with:  Tuesday Muse.

A Ski Area in Summer

Poor Mt. Hood.....by early September she looked so gray and bare.  Snow-riding season was still nearly three months away.  But I had plans to visit my favorite ski area anyway.  Only this time I'd be on foot.

Mt. Hood is looking barren

Once the snow goes away, most ski areas turn into ugly barren places.  But not my home hill, Mt. Hood Meadows.  In summer, its ski runs turn into a wildflower paradise.  The Timberline Trail, which circles Mt. Hood, passes through the area's boundaries.  Connecting this trail with a couple other adjacent paths makes a wonderful 10-mile loop.  And late summer is a great time to visit.

The best butt-burl ever!

One sunny Sunday in early September I got a yearning to check out Mt Hood Meadows' side of the mountain.  My friend Katie was more than happy to join me for this latest adventure.

Parking at the Elk Meadows Trailhead, near the Hood River Meadows parking lot, our first leg of the journey was the Umbrella Falls Trail.  A short two-mile ramble took us through lush green meadows.  The adjacent forests were full of interesting trees, many sporting funny shaped burls.  The wide variety of burls kept my camera clicking.  Then I spotted one that was the most realistic replica of a butt crack I've ever seen!

Umbrella Falls

Leaving the butt-tree, Katie came upon lovely Umbrella Falls.  A hidden gem, this delicate stair-stepped cascade isn't as well-known as its Columbia River Gorge cousins.

Cascade close-up

But it's beauty rivals any waterfall in the Gorge.  While Katie took a snack break, I dug out my camera for a photo session.  Not having my tripod, I had to improvise by propping the camera on my backpack and utilizing its self-timer.  I was pleasantly surprised with the results.

View towards Mt. Hood Meadows parking lot

Leaving Umbrella Falls, Katie and I followed a continuation of the trail.  It led us past a nice clearing with great views of Mt. Hood.  The only problem - it was right next to Mt. Hood Meadow's main parking lot.  I tried my hardest to crop the ski area buildings out of my photos but this was the best I could do.

Beautiful mountain meadow

Leaving Meadow's access road, our path wound through a mixture of fir forests and open meadows.  Each opening offered yet another spectacular view of my favorite mountain.

More Hippy-on-a-stick

I was hoping to see a few leftover wildflowers, but sadly the main bloom was well past.  Happily, one meadow did have a small patch of "hippy on a stick" stragglers for my camera's enjoyment.

Looking down the Easy Rider chair

After climbing for nearly a mile and a half, our path intersected with the Timberline Trail.  Now into Mt. Hood Meadows' boundary, the scenery improved considerably.  The cleared ski slopes sported lush green vegetation.

Tons of color in this magic meadow

And lots of colorful plants and bushes.

Bright red berries on this bush

We hiked down through a small gully with a cute rushing stream at the bottom.  Filled in with snow during the winter, it was cool to see what was underneath all that white.  Tall bushes showed off bright red berries, giving the place a splash of color.

Still a few wildflowers

Although the flowers were mostly withered up and dead, I did come across one small field of asters still going strong.

And even a butterfly!

I even managed to catch a butterfly for a split second when it landed in the flower patch.

Dried, golden beargrass stems under the Express lift

The parade of scenery continued.  Our trail cut across the middle of ski slopes and snaked under chairlifts.  I had a great time identifying all my favorite ski runs.  Things looked so different without six feet of snow.

Another lovely meadow

Having skied at Meadows for many, many years, I know the place like the back of my hand and impressed Katie with my navigational knowledge.  From the bunny slopes on the west side, we traversed Express and Shooting Star lift areas.  I named off every run as we passed them by.

Heading northeast across the ski area boundary, there was just one final slope to cross - Heather Canyon.

Looking for a crossing point

Heather Canyon is a steep, experts-only area.  Cloaked in winter white, it's a wild, beautiful place.  But in summer, not so much.  It's barren, gray rocky slopes look like a moonscape.  Over the years, many avalanches have roared down this canyon - not exactly conducive to supporting vegetation and trees.

Climbing out of Heather Canyon

It was a long, steep trek down the west face of Heather Canyon.  In the canyon's very bottom, ran swift, chocolate-brown Clark Creek.  By the time we arrived, it was mid-afternoon, and the day's snowmelt had swollen the creek into a raging torrent.  No bridge existed here.  To get across hikers had two choices - wade or rock-hop.

Looking back up Heather Canyon

Katie and I traveled up and down the bank, scouting for a good place to cross.  Sometimes other hikers will lay logs down to form a makeshift bridge, or pile cairns to indicate a safe crossing route.  But today we found none of these.  Finally, I spied a narrower spot that appeared to have some well-spaced rocks.  Although it looked scary to hop across, I took a deep breath and made my move.  As I've learned, most creeks look way more difficult to traverse than they really are.  Both Katie and I leapt across no problem.

I thought we'd never find this trail

Katie and I celebrated our successful conquest of Clark Creek with a snack break.  Then we shouldered our packs for the steep climb up the canyon's east side.  The trail rose up and up and up.  I though we'd never see level ground again.  At the very top, we kept a sharp eye out for a junction with the Newton Creek Trail, the final leg of our loop.

Silver ghost trees

The Newton Creek trail followed this creek down the west side of Newton Canyon.  Snaking along the ridgetop, spectacular views abound.  I could see across the valley to Gnarl Ridge, on the opposite side.  Forested hills spread out in all directions.  And the very top was lined with a parade of ancient silver snags.  Good photo subjects!

Hiking along a ridgeline gives marvelous views

After such a long uphill slog, traveling downhill was a welcome change.  Our path charged steeply down, following the very top of Newton Canyon.  As we ascended, the views behind us kept getting better and better.  Mt. Hood appeared once again, anchoring the canyon's upper reaches.

Looking back up Newton Canyon

As we approached our last junction with the Elk Meadows Trail, the rocky ridgetop began transitioning into forest, and the tall steep slopes above Newton Creek began to flatten.  Then bursting out into a small clearing not 20 yards in front me was an enormous elk!  I immediately stopped in my tracks and gasped a garbled "ohhhhh" to Katie.  The elk stood there for a long moment eyeing us.  It was then I remembered my camera readily available in the fanny pack around my waist.  Fumbling quickly to get it out, my motions spooked our wild friend.  Just as I brought the camera to my face, the elk shot off into the forest.  And - surprise - right behind her, a second elk came bounding up the creek's steep slope and quickly followed her friend into the woods.

Katie and I celebrate a safe crossing of Clark Creek

Katie and stood open-mouthed.  In all my years hiking, this was the closet wildlife encounter ever.  We both agreed seeing those elk so close was the highlight of our day.  A perfect end to an amazing hike!

We finished our day's journey hot and tired, but with huge smiles.  Who would've thought trekking through a ski area in summer could be so beautiful, interesting, and exciting?


Sharing with:  Weekly Top Shot.