ITI training, week ten

Monday: Weight lifting at gym. I was surprisingly not sore after the 50-kilometer run on Sunday, and did three sets without any struggles, although I didn't add weights this week. A few people have asked me whether Beat and I saw Lance Armstrong at the race — we did. I had no idea the man leading the 35K was the world's most famous ex-pro cyclist, but I do remember the runner in the yellow shirt who smiled and said "Good job" as he passed on the return along the Skyline Trail in a torrential downpour. Lance's win at the Woodside Ramble caused a big stir in the trail running community. I'll just say that I don't have a strong opinion about it, but I think that trail running is for everyone, trail racing is about a community where people from all walks of life can strive together, and small race organizers shouldn't be strong-armed into banning participants just because they admitted to doping years ago in a different sport. It's such a small problem in the scheme of things. Moving on ...

Tuesday: Trail run, 49:22, 5.6 miles, 667 feet climbing. My hamstrings were still crazy tight and there was a hint of quad fatigue left over from Sunday, so I'm happy with the 8:50 average on Monta Vista.

Wednesday: Mountain bike, 4:45, 44.1 miles, 4,884 feet climbing. Our Subaru badly needed new tires, so I took it into the dealership, which meant a four-hour lag time in the waiting room I like to call Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve. On this day I planned to hike my bike up all of the steep pitches along my route, for "bike pushing practice" (I realize it's not as effective when the bike isn't loaded.) As I approached the bottom of a locally famous segment of trail known as "Dogmeat," I thought, "I'm going to see how hard I can push this." Dogmeat is an undulating fire road that gains 1,000 feet in 1.4 miles — 500 of that in the final .4 miles. The rub is that the first mile is mostly rideable, but I thought if I ran most of that, it should put me in a good position to "PR" the whole segment. I was gasping flames by the top, but I managed to grab 4th position on the Strava tally, two and a half minutes behind the Queen of the Mountain. I admit I wondered whether I could grab the QOM by really redlining the steep section, but I know that isn't fair nor is it in the spirit of the "No Dabs Dogmeat" challenge. Still, my "All Dabs Dogmeat" experiment does add legitimacy to my theory that in marginal conditions, pushing a bike can be more energy efficient and faster than riding, and during endurance efforts, it pays to swallow pride and hike.

Thursday: Snowshoe, 2:17, 5.5 miles, 1,950 feet climbing. Beat and I flew into Denver in the morning, for the purpose of looking at homes for sale during a series of showings set up by our real-estate agent. It was a packed schedule that did not allow a lot of time for adventuring, but Beat needed to meet with the team at Google in the afternoon, and I had about three hours to kill. New snow and bitter cold temperatures (for Boulder — single digits) meant the trails hadn't seen much use, but I had snowshoes and grand hopes to cover a large loop. In the end I didn't even cover six miles and fought mightily for that distance — breaking trail, slightly underdressed, and not acclimated to the elevation. It was an exhausting three hours. I'll admit to feeling a bit of swagger after Sierra Azul, but Colorado was there to put me right in my place. A mighty slog.

Friday: Morning, Run, 1:16, 6.1 miles, 991 feet climbing. Evening, weight training. I had about 90 minutes free on this day, so I set out from our hotel on Pearl Street, passing Google Boulder and continuing toward the hills. Because this was a road run, I didn't bring my microspikes, but of course I found a trail (Mount Sanitas) and started marching up it without a care in the world. Big mistake. What felt icy but manageable on the way up became treacherous on the way down. I had to do some crab walking. I'll call it an upper-body workout. I continued that workout in the hotel gym later that night.

Saturday: Snow hike, 2:40, 7.9 miles, 2,939 feet climbing. Beat and I marched up Fern Canyon, which is a wonderfully steep trail that gains 2,700 feet in 2.5 miles. Beat went way too hard in the beginning, and both of us broke after we ran out of oxygen in this thin air. At the peak, I proposed we return on the backside of the mountain, because it was a long, gradual descent that should be "runnable." Only there wasn't broken trail — just a deep post-hole track — and we had to move carefully through knee-deep fluff surrounded by wind crust. We made it back in time but just barely, again feeling far too worked for an eight-mile hike. Oh, Colorado. You do know how to strip a person of any delusions that they are "fit." Alaska is good at that, too.

Sunday: Rest. No time for outdoor outings on this day.

Total: 11:48, 44.1 miles ride, 25.1 miles run, 11,431 feet climbing. Light week. Mainly because of time constraints, but with the race on Sunday and the oxygen deprivation in Colorado, it's probably not a bad thing. I also regret that I haven't been on a day-long bike ride in a while, but this is also a time-consuming activity that can be difficult to carve out of a week. Still, overall I am feeling good, and recovering very quickly from the harder efforts — one of the most positive gauges of effective endurance training. I certainly can't complain about our weekend in Boulder. It was very exciting all around. 

A whole new town with a whole new way

On Thursday, Beat and I returned to Boulder for three and a half days — whirlwind days, just enough time to take a few more steps in the next direction. A half foot of fresh snow blanketed the plains surrounding the Denver airport and the temperature was bitter cold, 10 degrees. I dropped Beat off at the Google office in Boulder and pointed the rental car up Flagstaff Road. Winding up the cliffy hillside, I thought of all the ways Flagstaff reminds me of my hometown mountain road, Montebello. Nearly everywhere reminds me of somewhere else. This is how I am — a vast ship full of past experiences, with only a small rudder plunged in the present. I like it this way — living as though my life can only grow larger and richer as time passes.

The car crawled up the icy road as I reminisced about recent bike rides up my favorite oak-shaded street in California, then slapped myself back into the present and the precarious road conditions. I pulled into a snow-covered parking lot and strapped on my snowshoes, breathing in fiery cold wind and an air temperature that, judging by the stinging sensation in my nose, had plunged to something around zero. Low clouds were just beginning to lift, letting in a stream of golden sunlight. A beautiful day for a slog.

One trail wasn't yet broken, and I chose that one, wrapping around Flagstaff Mountain before continuing across the road and up a steep gulch toward Green Mountain. These are some of the most popular trails in Boulder, but with a foot of fresh snow and a subzero chill, almost nobody was out. I had to break a wider trail over the one post-holing track in front of me. On top of the peak, the wind was fierce. The half liter of Diet Dr. Pepper I'd poured in my Camelbak — because I forgot to stop for water — had long since frozen, and the one jacket I brought with me — because the Front Range isn't so cold — barely staved off a menacing chill. I looked across the white plain that didn't quite remind me of anywhere I've ever been, and slipped into a barrage of imaginary scenarios that nonetheless felt real, because they represented the future.

Over the past six weeks, Beat has moved toward transferring to the Google office in Boulder. While nothing in life is a hundred percent certain, we've taken a number of big steps toward this move, and this weekend we flew out to Colorado to look at potential houses. Beat has begun the transfer process, and it's looking very likely that we will move to Boulder after we return from the Iditarod Trail, probably in April.

It's an exciting prospect that's been a long time coming. We've been talking about leaving the Bay Area for a few years now, and while we'd both prefer to live somewhere in Alaska, realistically, until Beat reaches a point where he wants to retire, Alaska isn't our best option. There aren't many tech jobs up there, and my own earning potential in the journalism field doesn't begin to make up for the gap. We still consider Alaska a "someday" destination, but as a compromise, Boulder is pretty fantastic. Everything about it fits our lifestyle well, and the cost of living, while not cheap by any stretch, is still less expensive than the Bay Area.

When chatting with friends about this potential move, I've heard the expected reaction about — "Oh, Boulder, so snooty, and everyone there is an Olympic athlete or professional cyclist and it's difficult to fit in." I don't necessarily doubt this, but it's also not terribly important to me that I "fit in." I'm sure I'll find my way to my people if they're here, probably in the same ways I've made a handful of friendships almost by accident in the Bay Area, which — news flash — is also full of cliques.

Leaving the Bay Area, though — the thought does have a hint of melancholy. I will miss it. If you asked me ten years ago, I would have never, never expected to end up living anywhere in California. When Beat and I started dating in 2010, shortly after I moved to Montana, one of my prominent thoughts was that I liked this guy, a lot, but I wasn't sure that I could do life in urban California. Now I'm going on five years as a Californian. The end of December means I have lived in California longer than I lived in Alaska, which is a sobering thought. I can no longer claim Alaska as my predominant storyline — it was just a few chapters — and it keeps fading further into the stern of my life. I've come to accept that reality, and also all of the aspects of California that I love — the redwoods, the trail running community, the flowy mountain bike trails, Rancho San Antonio with its pet deer and familiar views, Montebello, riding my bike to the coast, San Francisco even though I hate the parking and other big-city inconveniences, the Marin Headlands, and the boring weather, yes even the boring weather. Because even as much as I come alive in the frost-tinged air of real winter, who wouldn't miss it being 70 degrees and sunny seemingly every day? (Disclosure: 95 degrees and parched is probably how California will be burned into my long-term memory.)

Five years is a healthy chunk of life, and I'm going to miss it. But winter and mountains is what I value most, and I'm lucky that Beat agrees. Some of the houses we looked at this weekend were alarmingly fantastic — almost surreal. Neither of us have ever been homeowners. Home ownership is another place I hadn't pictured myself, because I prefer to remain unanchored. But there are many appealing aspects to this, and I also see it as a journey, in its own way. It's a lot to swallow right now, when a part of me would love to have nothing more to think about than Iditarod planning and book projects. Still, when opportunities rise to the surface you have to jump in — life's taught me that much. 

ITI training, week nine

 Monday: mountain bike, 2:38, 25.1 miles, 2,987 feet climbing. I am considering using Beat's MootoX YBB fat bike in the Iditarod. This is the bike I rode in the 2014 White Mountains 100. Its set-up resembles my mountain bike, which I rode long distances in the Freedom Challenge and Tour Divide, so there's already a comfortable familiarity. The other bike is Snoots, the expedition fat bike. We've had some good, difficult times together. But she's a beefy bike, and I am concerned about the heavier front end given all of my struggles with pushing through deeper snow drifts. It feels like sacrilege not to use Snoots for the reason we acquired her, but as I've said before, I just want to take my best chance of making it to Nome. Even if I anticipate hundred of miles of pushing (I always do), I believe a bike is the best mode, but I'll take a sled if trail conditions or weather reports look especially discouraging (i.e. an ongoing El Nino warm snowpocalypse.) Snoots can go with me to Baffin Island, when I finally make that trip happen.

That all said ... I'm riding the Fat YBB on my training rides now. Beat outfitted the bike with skinny 29" tires and rims for the time being, so I can't call it fat biking. But trail riding is a breeze on this bike — it's unquestionably more responsive than Snoots. I think the handling might be an advantage if snow coverage is again low when the Iditarod starts, as it has been the past two years.

Tuesday: Morning, weight lifting at gym. Afternoon, trail run, 0:50, 5.6 miles, 675 feet climbing. This was a great gym session. Same weights as last week, but it felt almost too easy. This was almost disappointing, as I usually have to go into "high intensity" puffing zone to get through my reps. Did two sets this session, since I was planning to run in the afternoon. My usual "Tuesday Monta Vista" loop went okay. As expected, I am no longer becoming effortlessly faster, but I'm still fighting to hold this run under 9-minute pace. It's a hilly trail run, and the paces for each mile are pretty close to 8 minutes or 10 minutes.

Wednesday: Road bike, 2:43, 33.3 miles, 3,624 feet climbing. Rode Highway 9 to Page Mill, and I felt sluggish for most of the ride. It was quite warm — a record high, 72 degrees — and I've flipped over to the other side of winter complacency, so I had a puffy pullover in a backpack but not nearly enough water (Page Mill is often a complete freezer. I kinda like it. But it wasn't on this day.)

 Thursday: Trail run, 0:54, 5.1 miles, 341 feet climbing. I drove down to Pacific Grove for a couple of interviews. After we finished, I still had about 25 minutes of daylight left to go exploring, so I decided to embark on sunset run to find the beach. Once I reached the coast, I returned in what turned into full darkness on unfamiliar trails. Early in this run, a large German Shepherd aggressively and repeatedly shoved me by jumping against my shoulder and chest while growling and barking, as I yelled and backed up slowly. The dogs' owner, who was more than 100 yards back and not approaching quickly, did nothing besides call to his dog, who finally ran toward him when he reached us about six shoves later. Seriously. This is why I make a point to avoid off-leash areas, but I wasn't aware of the rules in this park. Between the dog attack and the darkness, it was an adrenaline-filled outing for a 54-minute run.

Friday: Weight lifting at gym. Did three sets — definitely harder than Tuesday, but I upped the weights by five pounds on six of the 12 exercises. I still struggle mightily with arm curls. It's like my biceps are their own dead weights, and they're just never going to get stronger. Biceps are an important muscle group when wrestling a fat bike out of a snow drift, so this may be a partial influencer in my desire for a lighter front end.

Saturday: Mountain bike, 4:07, 35.9 miles, 4,715 feet climbing. Beat, Liehann and I set out on a brisk, beautiful Saturday morning to ride up Grizzly Flat, along Skyline Ridge, and down the John Nichols Trail. A front moved through on Thursday and Friday that dropped temperatures into the 40s and a lot of rain on the trails, but they drained nicely for our sunny ride. I kept my pace well on the mellow side, anticipating a long run we had planned on Sunday. Still, I felt guilty about not putting in a better effort on Saturday. When I was training for the 2014 ITI, on this same weekend in December, I ran back-to-back 35-mile and 31-mile trail runs. I am basically in competition with my 2014 self, and feel I should at least be up for anything I did back then.

Beat excitedly anticipates running in the cold rain.

Sunday: Trail run, 6:17, 30.6 miles, 6,815 feet climbing. Beat and I signed up for the winter Woodside Ramble 50K — a great course through the redwood forests along Skyline Ridge. An atmospheric river was moving in on the Bay Area, and I couldn't have been more excited about the weather. They were calling for a possible chance of snow — snow! — above 3,000 feet, but it wasn't quite cold enough. Temperatures started out in the low 50s but dipped into the low 40s as the front moved through, dropping nearly an inch of rain, hail, 40 mph wind gusts, and much fun on the singletrack trails above Woodside. My hamstrings were very tight from the start — much tighter than usual. It felt like the tension level had been set to rigid, and I couldn't open my stride to save my life. It was perhaps a blessing in disguise, and the muddy trails were very slippery at times, and I become highly imbalanced (even more so than usual) when I try to place a foot anywhere but directly below the rest of my body. I took especially small steps on the descents, because otherwise my feet slid all over the place. This was disappointing, because the descents at Woodside are winding and gradual — perfect for a timid descender like me to really let go — and I usually do. Besides tight hamstrings, I felt great, and enjoyed the rainy day run: Splashing in puddles, punching at the wind, and keeping my pace just hard enough to stave off the convective chill. Beat was feeling rough today, but he won't let me get in front of him if he can help it, and finished the race a few minutes before me.

Total: 17:31, 94.3 miles ride, 41.3 miles run, 19,155 feet climbing.