Last long run

Yesterday there was a pretty wild rainstorm here in the Mono Basin (snow higher up). Nestled against the Sierra, we caught whatever spilled over, which was still impressive, with gusts up to 60 mph and rain darting sideways most of the day. I had to place a cooler below the windowsill beside my desk, because so much water was sneaking through the pane. Towels were futile.

I'd hope to fit in my long run, but of course missed/ignored my only window of opportunity in the morning. So around 6 pm, as the light was fading, I finally worked up the nerve to don my Marmot rain jacket, dive outside, and it was like swimming. Running seven miles around Mono City (back and forth unfortunately has been the theme of the month), occasionally a gust would slow me to crawl, spreading my jacket across my chest like a sail. But starting late seemed to pay off in that the wind appeared to die down while I was out (though later, as I went to bed, it was howling again). Or maybe it's just that taking the plunge is always the most difficult step.

In the darkness, an anonymous SUV passed me in the driving rain. It slowed and suddenly I heard a voice say, "Bless you heart!" "Bless yours!" I replied, surprised and indeed, heartened, as the rain sluice through his taillights. "You take care now," the voice said. "You, too!" I shouted under my hood. We went our separate ways.

Today gives no indication of yesterday, except for a chill. Bright and clear, I drove to mile 10 and did yet more back and forth--17 miles worth. 3.5 out and back (to the east), 2.5 out and back (to the west), then 2 o+b (east), then .5 (west). It adds up, I hope. I was ready to be done, for all of that was run in a straight line (minus four u-turns). But the outing went well. After starting off at 7 minute pace, I ratcheted down the pace and did the last 10 miles at a steady 6 minutes per mile (at least, according to the markers--who knows how accurate those are). My right hip/knee started to complain a mile in, as usual, but I stopped before any shooting pain, gave it a firm stretch, and that was that.

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17 mi, 106 minutes (45:25 for 7, then 1:00:35 for 10); Hwy 167 from mile 10

Sunday, 10/24: 7 mi, 52 min; rainstorm (Mono City)

Week total: 64 miles

Saturday, 10/23: 6 mi, 45 min; Hwy 167 close to home

Tiny, tepid tempo

Today I drove down, again, to my new running territory as of late around mile 10 on Hwy 167. The goal was to sneak in a tempo, by hook or by crook, since I've been without a real workout for too long now. Time to freshen up the legs. Sunny skies for a change:


My three mile warm up out and back toward Nevada was slightly concerning since, like much of this week, my knee started to bother me before long. But I paused and stretched several times, and afterward, when I put on my flats and did a few strides, I felt good enough to go. Unfortunately, I started out, I'm afraid, at too fast a clip. The first mile was in 5:02, which for me, at this elevation, I think is a bit quick. Made it to the 12 mile marker in a second mile of 5:15. There I turned around, and running into a breeze slowed me down further. I got back to mile 10 in miles of 5:28 and 5:31, for a total of 21:18, and decided to call it a day, considering everything. Not the tune up I was hoping for by any means, but at least I was breathing hard and it wasn't my knee that slowed me down. (I'm tempted to try a longer tempo at a steady, slower-to-start pace early next week to further encourage my legs ... but we'll see).

Tonight, my ITB is feeling the effort, but not much more so than usual. I chilled in Mill Creek for fifteen minutes.

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3 mi, 21 min WU; 4 mi tempo in 21:18 (5:02, 5:15, 5:28, 5:31); 3 mi, 21 min CD; Hwy 167 from mile 10

Thursday, 10/21: 7 mi, 50 min; Hwy 167 close to home

One last snake

Chilly today--raining at times, and no warmer than 50 on Aqueduct Rd--but I ran into my favorite, and likely last, "narrow fellow" of the year. A rubber boa, stretched across the road, moving slowly, blending in. I'd never seen one of these before but I knew instantly what it was.


When I reached down to pick it up, it wrapped into a ball around my fingers, sticking its orange burnished tail out, as if to mimic its head. I read later that this maneuver isn't likely to foil an intent predator--fat chance an eagle, fox, or raccoon would be deterred from gobbling up this little guy. But it does allow the boa to fend off a mother mouse while it eats her entire, pinkie litter. (As result, rubber boa tails are extra hard, and often quite scarred.) I also learned that these snakes are more tolerant of cold weather than almost any other.



An aerial view, after I set it down:


To my college teammates, who, in Oregon, years ago, claimed I couldn't catch a snake--ha!

I'll admit, I finished my run, then drove back to the snake with my camera. The jog went okay, but my leg did bother me 10 minutes in. The same thing happened Monday on Hwy 167, when I tried to run down a slight hill. Both times I stopped and stretched, and was able to go on with my run. I'm hoping its healing, even as symptoms persist. Yesterday, however, I was able to run without incident: 14 on 167 from mile 10 at about 6:30 pace. Go figure.

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10 mi, 70 min; Aqueduct Rd on Williams Butte

Tuesday, 10/19: 14 mi, 130 min; Hwy 167 from mile 10

Monday, 10/18: 10 mi, 70 min; Hwy 167, close to home (back and forth)

Back and forth

Three days without discomfort = reason to be optimistic. I credit ibuprofen, a second, more rigorous and productive massage in Mammoth (I took it as a really good sign that my therapist was working on Meb later in the day--"your competitor," she said--we laughed), and ice bathing in the local creeks. Sitting in the waters (I've tried Mill Creek now, too), I start to imagine myself a boulder or root wad. Creek bubbles bounce around my legs, and catch in my quivering hairs. Yellow cottonwood leaves wrap around and stick to my thighs. If only I could stay in longer than 15 minutes (without fear of hypothermia), I could be all gold in a few weeks.

I have to admit I was pretty surprised/overjoyed Friday when I was able to jog 60 minutes without any symptoms. I started with a mile or so of walking in Mono City, then, to attempt a run, I drove a short ways to the relatively flat stretch of Hwy 167 between 395 and Wilson Creek. Most unfortunately, this stretch is less than a mile long, so I felt a bit like a rotisserie chicken turning under the cold fall sun, as I jogged back and forth. I was also holding my breath, as it were: trying to stay focused on my form, keep from speeding up, and stay alert for any sign of ITB unrest. The ice age tufa that stand in a row across the road, like hulking linebackers, proved worthy distraction--they have for months now. They're such interesting shapes--a natural Japanese rock garden. (Zen football players?) I called it a day after 60 minutes, about 4.5 revolutions, and headed down to Mammoth for a session of "bodywork."

Yesterday, I did the same, but 5.5 revolutions worth. Today, for adventure, I drove to mile ten on Hwy 167, where there's a relatively flat 5-mile stretch. It rained off and on much of the day, so by heading east I also may have avoided a few more droplets. After parking, walking, and starting up, I ran at just under 7 min pace to the "MONO 167 12.5" mile sign, u-turned to the 8.5 mark, etc, etc. Though I haven't been running fast, perhaps psychologically this straight and narrow pavement running has helped prepare me for the long blocks of NYC. And it was stormily gorgeous out there, however chilly. The Sierra was draped with raincloud, but the sun seared through, briefly, in scattered rays and, as I drove away, rainbows.


I think I'll always remember Hwy 167 as my injury runway. When I had a pain near my achilles in late June-early July, I ran out and back on it ad nauseam. Then, I was after the pavement--to avoid sand. I suppose I still am, but I'm more concerned with flat terrain--no rocks, and little grade--and there's not much around the Basin beyond 167, other than 395. Tomorrow, however, I might try a hill or two, and maybe stray off asphalt. I hope to try a workout of some sort mid-week.

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10 mi, 70 min; Hwy 167 from the 10 mile marker

Week Total: 37 mi/4 days

Saturday, 10/16: 10 mi, 75 min; Hwy 167, close to home

Friday, 10/15: 8 mi, 60 min; Hwy 167, close to home

The north shore

Yesterday, S's last day in the Eastern Sierra, I ran down from Mono City to Ten Mile Beach, on the lake's north shore. It's so named because the turn to the water is immediately after the 10 mile marker on Hwy 167. It was awesome to run away from the sun, with a slight breeze at my back. That's the furthest on 167 I've run to date.

S met down there, and we enjoyed some crackers and cheese, and couple Blue Moons, by the water on a one-plank, ground level bench someone had left. The place was just magical, an immaculate evening--the water glass still, luminous, and reflecting thousands of red-necked phalaropes twisting and peeping low over the lake in sinuous flocks. Many American avocets around, too, flying back and forth along the shore in groups of 10 or 20--long, wading legs trailing awkwardly--and further out, untold grebes to the horizon of the lake like ant on an endless tabletop. The north side of the lake is officially my favorite, I think. I'm going to do an easy run along Ten Mile Beach soon--the sand seems firm enough.

As for today, I went back in that direction and jogged around Cottonwood Canyon, still craving the view up there. In my second to last mile, I suddenly heard a rattle from the sage just off the road I was on. There was a snake. It was on full alert, and kept up its racket (with its head and neck reared back in a V, ready to strike) for at least three or four minutes as I watched. I was amazed its tail didn't tire out! Finally, I caved, went on--no sound on the way back.

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10 mi, 70 min; sandy run in the vicinity of Goat Ranch, at the top of Cottonwood Canyon Rd

Friday, 9/3: 13 mi, 88 min; from Mono City to Ten Mile Beach, via Cemetery Rd (with an additional mile O+B east on turnoff to the water)

It's alive ...

Both the blog, and the rattler I saw today as I crested the hill northeast of Conway Ranch. I had shooed a garter off the road a few miles earlier, and must have been channeling a charmer's energy. The broken sagebrush strewn across the road even had a sinuous quality.

Luckily, I saw it before it was trouble. It was on the left side of the road, and I was jogging down the middle. Thick, girthy, its pale sides glinting in the post-6pm sun that was pouring its final moments over Conway Ranch. I suspected at first glance that the snake was no gopher, and it's six-tiered rattle confirmed that hunch.

I stopped, of course. I often feel guilty when I pause while "training", and feel the pressure to keep on, to keep the heart-rate up--I just can't help it. One part of my soul loves to linger, the other chafes. But I fought my guilt off for longer than usual this time. If anything, rattler's would have such an effect. I circled around it, squatted down. It raised its rattle and gave two shakes and side winded to the dirt lip at the edge of the road, with its head tracking my shins the whole time (don't worry, I wasn't dangerously close). I think I stood, or took a step closer, and then it slithered quickly over the little embankment and coiled, in a perfect pretzel shape, in the tight clearing between several sagebrush. Its rattle was upright before its body, like a shield, its head reared back--a classic display. It would take a fool to mistake this for an ordinary snake.

But I followed it, stepping off the road, and observed the rattler for a few more minutes. Its forked tongue--jet black at its prongs, a pearly coal further in--slid out and down, in a slow, sense-ful flicker, and then, sometimes, curled back over the top of its spade-shaped head. I stepped from side-to-side, trying for the best angle to see the creature, and it's dagger-face followed knowingly. From the road, before I left, I couldn't resist boyishly prodding its side gently with the twiggy tip of a sagebrush branch, and it turned toward the provocation violently, giving two isolated rattles--like the single click of a castanet--that were quite elegant and clear in their message. (When I told this story to a friend, she mentioned that it's usually males 18-30 who get bit by rattlers ... I can't fathom why.)


Then I went on another 14 miles, or so, down Goat Ranch Cutoff to Cottonwood Canyon Rd, to Highway 167 (a stretch I normally don't reach), and back on Cemetery Road to Mono City finally, after dark.

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19 + mi, 135 min; a big Conway Ranch Loop

Week total: 75 mi

Also: A Mono-logue post about a gull, "An elder in our midst"

Gunning it

Roads out here often gun straight to the horizon. Take 167, which beelines what must be 20 miles from Mono City to Nevada with hardly a swerve in a horizontal direction. A more average road can, without warning, go a mile no sweat without a curve. Perhaps these cuts through the sage feel drawn out because there's nothing to contain them on either side--no shopping center, city block, or buffer of green to give the overall space a cupped sensation. The basin is a broad platter. Or it could be that lines on this landscape feel narrower, longer, because so little else around conforms to the edge of the yardstick humans are habituated to wheel.

I thought about this tonight, kind of, because my first tempo run on Cemetery Road (great name for a workout arena, right?) included a long straight stretch. Of course, I was hardly thinking about anything at all during the effort, except smooth breathing, an easy arm carry, and an efficient stride (not even how I eventually aim to go faster for 26.2, not 4+ miles). I started at the Mono City-Wilson Creek-Cemetery Road junction and headed northeast, covering at least a mile of dirt before a bend. Since it was my very first workout (of what will be about a 4 month buildup to a marathon), I did it on feel. It felt like a clip, but who knows really--perhaps I'll measure the route later. Figuring I'd manage at least 5:45 pace on average, I planned to go 11:30 out and back. There were some gradual declines (on the way out), and some inclines (on the way back), and by the finish I was feeling it, but still steady. I returned exactly at 23:00. I felt strong, and I'm pretty sure I covered more than 4 miles. A solid first wake up call for the ol' legs.

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10 mi, 65 min (3 wu, 4+ tempo in 23:00, 3 cd); O+B on Cemetery Road from Wilson Creek past Dechambeau Ponds turnoff

Alta ...

Then all of a sudden, on Hwy 167, I was crawling up on a jogger. A jogger? Out here, on the loneliest span of pavement this side of Mono Lake, around 11 on a warm Monday? From a distance, I thought he must be a biker with a flat tire. Or a mirage. (I've never seen a biker out here, either).

He turned around just before I caught him, just before the dip down to Wilson Creek (it was the type of turn-around-before-a-hill move I know pretty well). No doubt he was as curious to see me, a sneak in ruby-red shorts, as I him.

"Alta ... altitude's a killer, buddy," he stammered, as we traded enthusiastic runnerly nods behind our shades, nods of recognition and oddball communion. And I said, "Yeah, man--I thought I was the only one who ever came out here!"

He was doing a kind of shuffle, wore headphones and black hat. Where he came from and where he was going, I don't know. But I salute you, stranger. Never thought I'd have to share that road with anything but SUVs, caravans of humvees, and roaring tractor-trailers.

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10 mi, 70 min; Hwy 167-Cemetery Road loop