Ode to Oregon: A Photo Essay

Wildflowers on Dog Mtn - The Gorge - Washington 

Oregon is my favorite place on earth. Well...no, not really. With all the varied, culturally significant, and stunningly beautiful places around this wonderful world of ours, how could one really claim a single locale as their favorite of all? It's just an impossible and pointless task. Having said that, I've had the pleasure of visiting an array of exotic, fascinating, and incredible places across the globe, and through it all Oregon ranks right up there as one of my favorites. Perhaps it's because I'm lucky enough to call it my home turf, or maybe it's just because it kicks so much ass on multiple levels.

This past weekend I was lucky enough to head back to Oregon as part of a three day "freedom from family furlough" to attend a lifelong friend's wedding at Skamania Lodge in the Columbia River Gorge. Since I was leaving my wife at home to attend to our lovely daughters on her own, it was my duty to experience as much as I could during my short stint back. As expected, Oregon did not disappoint. 

If there's one thing Portland has become known for over the past decade or so, it is its food culture. I'm pretty sure the term "made with local..." was invented there. Whether its fine dining, food trucks, inventive twists on old favorites, quasi-street, rustic, raw, or mouth watering ice-cream, Portland has it all. And, one of the best aspects of the Portland dining experience is fantastic food accompanied by knowledgable, attentive service without the pretentious vibe you'll often find in bigger cities. That said, their can be a hipster vibe that some people are turned off by. Anyhow, after picking me up from the airport my dad, stepmother, and I went for Spanish tapas and paella at Atuala. Not the best paella in town (that can be found at Toro Bravo), but the cocktails were great and the service was spot on. We finished the night off with some ice-cream from Ruby Jewel since the line at Salt & Straw was around the block. 

The options are endless

I woke up Friday morning to a classic Pacific Northwest morning of gray overcast skies. It was warmish, but there was a thunderstorm the night before which left the air crisp and moist. Typically, on days like this during the summer the clouds will burn off and it will be sunny and warm by noon. It was 7AM and I headed straight to one of my favorite places in the city, Forest Park, for a morning run. To call this place a "park" seems like an understatement. It's one of the largest urban forest reserves in the United States with a vast network of trails and firelanes totaling over 70 miles of hiking, running, and frolicking good times. The park is bisected by the 30 mile long Wildwood Trail, which can be accessed at multiple locations throughout NW Portland. Last July, I ran the Wildwood Trail Marathon and placed 4th overall. I've run and hiked in the park dozens of times, and this morning I was just happy to be in this large slice of city heaven for a leisurely jaunt of an hour or so through the Doug-Firs, ferns, and every shade of green imaginable. The first time I brought my wife to visit Oregon she said she never realized there were so many shades of green and it stuck with me.  

Wildwood Trail

Wildwood Trail to the left, Birch Trail to the right

After breakfast at The Daily Cafe with my dad and stepmother, it was time to head east of Portland 20 minutes to McMenamins - Edgefield Resort, Winery, and Bewery with my buddy Matt. Now, this place is truly unique and the various McMenamins locations throughout Oregon are tourist hotbeds and a testament and living tribute to Oregon's culture, past and present. But, to be brutally honest the wine and the beer are just okay compared to Oregon's many other options these days. Luckily for us we weren't heading there for the beer or the wine. We were heading there for the fantastic 20-hole par 3 chip and putt golf course located on their 74-acre grounds. By this time it was hot and sunny (like I said), so their signature fruity Ruby Ale made with Oregon grown raspberries is actually quite tasty, and potentially dangerous out on the course. I actually had the best round of golf I've ever had out there, shooting a 75 and never losing a single ball, which is nearly unheard of. 

After golf it was time to complete another mission on my list. We headed to Portland Running Co. to look at a few pairs of running shoes, which I really had no need for considering I'm cycling through about six different pairs currently. One look and one trial run around the block in these Nike Lunar Racer 3s and I simply couldn't pass them up. They're light as a feather (6.5oz), fit like a smooth butter glove, responsive, and they're snazzy looking. In some selfish, rational way the purchase made sense since not only are Oregon prices cheaper than Canadian prices, but there's no sales tax, and they were offering a 15% discount on top. All the necessary boxes were ticked, and in the end I walked out of there with a shoe that on the off chance I was able to find it in Canada would've cost me at least $50 more. One could even convince themselves this was a prudent purchase...maybe. However, I did just set a new 3K personal best of 10:32 (down from 10:55) the other day wearing these shoes, so there you go.

Luckily for us, Rontom's, one of Portland's best bars with an absolutely phenomenal back patio was just down the road from the running store, and it was prime patio time. Allegedly, the guy who opened this place about ten years ago was burnt out on the corporate rat race lifestyle (he worked for...wait for it...Nike), so he cashed out, followed his dream, and opened a bar as you do. There's also another story associated with this bar. It's a "romantic" one, and it involves me proposing to my wife while we waited for a table at a much nicer restaurant, Le Pigeon, next door.  The bar was not necessarily part of my master plan, but we had just purchased a puppy (Carter) earlier in the day, and I couldn't contain myself any longer. Besides, the proposal was just a formality by that point as we had been together for a few years, and when you buy a puppy as a couple it's a done deal. I have no idea what's in the drink pictured, but I'm sure it included bourbon, and it was in fact deeelicious.

Look, it's Portland's best outdoor drinking patio

Who could resist this face? He was the biggest of his litter and they called him, Bubba.

The next morning was Saturday. The big day. Wedding day, and I had a lot to accomplish before its 4pm kick off an hour away in the Gorge. The first thing Matt, wife Celeste, baby Maya, and I did was head down to the Portland Farmer's Market. I've literally been to dozens of farmer's markets, and I've yet to visit one better than the Saturday farmer's market in the park blocks in downtown Portland. The supply and variety of produce is off the charts. Oregon has so many delectable types of berries it's almost comical. The sweets and treats are heavenly. The breads are creative and fluffy. The salmon is wild and line-caught from the Columbia River, and the meat has the whole sustainable, free-range, grass fed, humane vibe to it. There's even a vendor, Tails & Trotters, who specialize in selling pork from pigs fed on hazelnuts. It's pretty damn tasty. The food vendors are so good there's usually long lines by 10am, and many of them have been so successful they've been able to open restaurants around the city. And, there's always two live cool vibe bands who play at different times in the morning and afternoon. In fact, we found the band for our wedding at the farmer's market one Saturday morning.

Got kale?

My friend Celeste's both at the Farmer's Market

Unfortunately, this day I had a mission and time constraints so I wasn't able to laze a good portion of the day away as we so often have many times in the past. I was there for a hearty breakfast to fuel my run up a mountain later that morning, some post-run fruit, a coffee, and to see my lifelong friends at Cherry Country (Celeste's family business). A hearty breakfast of fried market veggies, fresh kale, white beans, and two "happy" eggs on top of two handmade corn tortillas from Verde Cocina was a no-brainer.  Next, I headed straight to Baird Family Orchards for two plump, juicy, and crisp Oregon peaches (God I miss these things). I found a vendor with massive Marionberries - exclusively Oregon - and I was set. Time to head east for the Gorge.

Fresh market veggies on the flat top grill

The hearty Huevos Rancheros breakfast

The Columbia River Gorge extends east of Portland for roughly 90 miles. The Columbia River used to be a mighty beast and throughout its time carving up rock it has left a vast, jagged, and deep Gorge in its wake. The river's raw power has been harnessed by dams over the years to provide Oregon and Washington with an abundance of cheap, renewable energy for the power grid, and loads of irrigation water for the agricultural industry in the rural areas east of Portland. The deep gorge also acts as a reliable and consistent source of wind, making Hood River, about 50 miles east of Portland, one of the windsurfing capitals of the world, which is just one of a multitude of other outdoor activities at their doorstep. East of Hood River for miles and miles is also where you'll find loads of wind turbines capitalizing on those stable winds to provide yet another source of renewable energy. 

The Gorge, as it's affectionately known locally, is thoroughly littered with vistas, ridges, streams, waterfalls, and trails on both the Oregon and Washington side. Many of the trails link up to create a vast network of hiking and, in my case, runnable terrain. It's also home to Multnomah Falls, Oregon's most popular tourist destination. The gorge seems more raw on the Oregon side. The mountains and cliffs rise higher, and mini-gorges cut into the cliffs are more jagged. Since the roads run along the water and most the trail heads start near the roads, most of the hiking and running takes you up. Many of the trails are very reasonable and forgiving in their ascent, but there are also some doozies on the Oregon side that will take you straight up over 4000 feet in four or five miles. I've only done one of those, Ruckle Ridge, and we weren't running, but we did have Carter with us. 

Since the wedding I was to attend was on the Washington side, I decided to head to Hamilton Mountain. Karen and I have done this hike a few times in the past as it offers an array of vegetation zones, waterfalls, plenty of vert, and a nice long ridge at the top with views of the gorge in either direction. It also had the added bonus of being only ten minutes away from the location of the wedding, so yet again I was faced with a no-brainer.

So many shades of green at the beginning of Hamilton Mtn trail

Looking back down the trail towards the trailhead

Rodney Falls up top trickling down a rock bed

This is a popular destination for both hikers and campers, and I as made my way into the parking lot at the trailhead it was packed full as expected. To make matters worse the overflow parking and picnic area just up the road was reserved for a wedding party. After a mini-panic attack that my plan had been foiled, I remembered there is a little known day parking area slightly further up the road just past the camping area. The campgrounds are set amongst a thick forest of second growth Douglas Fir trees. The setting is lush and green. The trees are massive and covered in moss. This is idyllic Pacific Northwest at its prime, and I was invigorated and giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. This is what I miss, and this is what I'm here for. Of course there's a spot in the little known parking area designed just for me on this day.

Where I live now in Guelph, Ontario there are no mountains. I wouldn't even say there's a real hill, although the locals I run with may disagree with me. Sure there are some decent rollers and an incline here and there, but I think we'd all agree it pales in comparison to what you find in the Pacific Northwest. This is of some significance since the Hamilton Mountain trail gains 2000 feet in just over 4 miles (6.5km). When I lived in Oregon I was a pretty good hill climber, especially on a bike. But, to be honest, I was a bit worried about whether or not I'd be able to handle it now three years later. I knew I could make it to the top based on past hikes, my current fitness, and sheer determination, but I wasn't interested in "just" getting to the top. I wanted to run as much of this damn thing as I could. 

I knew weeks before coming back to Oregon I was going to run this trail. So, in the couple weeks proceeding my visit I shifted my training focus a bit to help meet the challenge this mountain was going to throw at me. Twice a week instead of doing 8-10 sprints at the end of my easy runs, I did what I called "hill blasts," which consisted of sprinting up a fairly steep grade for 20-30 seconds near our house. And, once in the middle of a long run I threw in 5 x 1 minute hill sprints on the longest hill in town, which is nowhere near as steep as most of the four miles up Hamilton. Other than that, I was counting on my strength from speed training this summer, my relatively light weight, my aerobic fitness, and my excitement and giddiness to carry me to the top.

About halfway up Hamilton Mtn, looking west towards Beacon Rock

Loaded up with Camelback, camera, and IPod (I don't normally run with music in nature, but I felt today called for my special Run playlist) I set off through the campground to the trailhead. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. While we lived in Oregon we hiked and explored dozens trails throughout Oregon and Washington, but one thing I've always regretted since moving away is never running any of the trails in the Cascades, or the Gorge, or the Coastal Mountains. It was too easy to just go to Forest Park and keep it quick and simple. I was also a different person at that time. I was someone who enjoyed running and ran a few times a week. However, since moving to Guelph and immersing myself in a culture of runners and great people in what is likely Canada's "running epicenter" I've evolved into "a runner." Whereas, this type of excursion might've seemed fun, but painful and debilitating a few years ago, it just seems like an obvious thing I need to do on a given morning while going about my day now.  

Single track mind

Nifty staircase, so well maintained

I won't go too deep into the details of the run. About a mile into the trail you come across a couple waterfalls (pictured above), which are really great in late spring and around October. From here the trail really starts to go up. There's a few nifty stair sections, and soon you come across a fork in the trail. The sign pointing to the left reads "difficult" and the sign pointing to the right reads "more difficult." Well okay. I chose to go left since I wanted to run. I'm not going to lie, it got "more difficult" for my breathing real quick, but your body when trained for this adapts and I soon found a rhythm. If I had to I'd walk for one or two minutes, and then I'd run for at least double that, but usually five minutes or more. I must admit, as I made my way up and saw the looks of "holy shit, look at this guy" on the faces of the folks coming back down, or the people struggling their way I was inspired to keep pushing. I couldn't very well stop and walk in their view. After a while I recognized where I was at and knew the summit was near. I forged ahead never stopping again until I reached the ridge at the top of the mountain. Prior to this I had obviously looked at my watch for my run/walk breaks, but I hadn't really comprehended my overall time. As I stopped at the sign signaling Hamilton Mountain's summit I glanced at my watch and it read 54 minutes. Not bad considering my little side trail detour to get a picture of the waterfall, and the few other times I stopped for photos. 

Even the sign looks cool

My first selfie - looking east up the Gorge

Ridgeline at the top

Bonneville Dam in the distance at the top of the tall tree on the right

I took a few minutes at the top to soak it all in and shoot off a few text messages. I thought about the first time Karen and I hiked this and had a mini-picnic on the upper ridge overlooking the gorge. I thought about the next time we hiked it with Carter for the first time, and how excited he was when he found a great swimming hole in the creek on our way back down. I thought about our girls and how much I look forward to hiking these trails in our future. I thought about how lucky I was to able to do these types and be there at that moment. And, I thought about the wedding I had hustle up and get to. Then, I geared up and bombed back down the mountain in 34 minutes. 

What a wonderful bridge

The day, and my trip, were capped off Saturday evening when I watched a lifelong friend (a buddy who some 10 years ago pushed me to pursue running) that I've known since I was nine get married to a woman I've liked and known was perfect for him since the moment he introduced us. It was truly a wonderful trip back to Oregon, and it was their wedding that brought me home. Although, I'm happy in Guelph and it has forever changed me into a better, healthier person, I miss Oregon dearly and can't wait to one day move back there and raise our girls Pacific Northwest style. 

More Oregon Photos From Years Past...

Blue Basin - eastern Oregon desert

Crater Lake, OR - straight out of outerspace

Diamond Lake - southeastern Oregon

Joseph, OR - northeast - "Oregon Alps" (Wallowa Mtns) in background

Lavender farm - Hood River, OR

Mirror Lake in May - Mt. Hood in background (11,000 feet)

Oregon's tallest lighthouse - Yaquina Head - Newport, OR 

McKenzie River trail backpacking trip

Upper McKenzie River falls

Monkeyface rock climbers - Bend, OR

Ecola State Park - Cannon Beach, OR

Ecola State Park

Bullard's Beach - Bandon, OR

Oregon surfer at Smuggler's Cove - Oswald West State Park 

Waldport, OR

Portland in October

#1 and mom - Oregon Tulip Festival

*All words and images are my own.

Defeated: Summer's Night 5K Race Report

"Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." The prolific Japanese writer Haruki Murakami wrote this in his book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. To me it's obvious he's referencing the physical and mental duality at play every time we choose to, or choose not to, run or race. There's not much we can do as runners to alleviate the physical pain we experience when pushing ourselves to our personal limits during a race. Whether it's the extreme muscle fatigue and cramping from a marathon, or sheer exhaustion of an ultramarathon, or the searing full-body burn of a 5K, physical pain is an unavoidable component of running and racing. Mentally choosing how we react to physical adversity is where suffering becomes optional. 

Last night I chose not to embrace the pain and suffer better. For the first time in a very long time I lost that mental battle that takes place every time we choose to race, and I gave in to self-doubt. I ran a bad race mentally, and I walked, not only once, but twice.

I came into the race wanting to set a PB (sub 18:20) and break 18 minutes, which my training indicated was definitely within my physical capabilities. The weather conditions were nearly ideal. The sky was clear with a slight breeze. The oppressive humidity often associated with air temperatures around here in July was completely absent. It was warm, but pleasant. In short, last night was a perfect evening for running. And, combined with the flat terrain of the course, it was a perfect evening for a PB.  

However, from the beginning I lost focus of the task at hand. I intentionally, and in hindsight stupidly, unset my Garmin to record and notify me how fast I was running each kilometer split. I wanted to run this one by "feel." Well, I went out way too fast and by the time I passed the 1km course marker I was breathing harder than I should've been, but still manageable if I dialed it back a bit. Shortly thereafter, around 1.5km, I was passed by two older gentlemen, Paul and Michael, who run with our group at the track. These are two guys who are not only at least ten years my senior, but two guys I felt I should've been running with. I really had no idea how fast we were running because I was entering the pain hole, and rather than letting them go and running my own race I let pride take over. It's never a good idea to run someone else's race, but it's especially true when you're not running for place and instead an overall time.

As we approached the 2k marker I could tell we were maintaining a pace my body just couldn't sustain. Running that first kilometer too fast had put my body and my breathing into a shocked state I couldn't come back from unless I eased off. Paul's daughter, Sarah, a girl I help coach on Mondays, was at the 2k marker cheering us on and pride again got the better of me. I couldn't bring myself to ease off in front of her. Plus, there was a tiny piece of me that wanted to see just how far I could push it, and if I could break through the other side. 

I pushed on. Barely hanging on to the backs of Paul and Michael. Somewhere around the 2.5km point I hit a point where I just couldn't push it any further and stay upright. Paul and Michael started to pull away from me. I should've just eased it backed to a marathon pace effort for a bit until my breathing came back to me, and I could feel my arms and legs again. But I didn't. I was pissed. I wasn't thinking straight. I stopped to walk. Never stop to walk. Another older gentleman passed me. I started running again. I made it to the 3k marker before I stopped again, and another dude passed me. What was happening to me!?

At this point I just wanted to pack it in for good. My sub 18 was history for sure, and a PB had all but waved bye-bye as well. My body, my mind, and my ego were in tatters. I have never abandoned a race in my life. Mark Allen, 6-time Ironman World Champion, once said,"You can keep going and your legs might hurt for a week or you can quit and your mind will hurt for a lifetime." Quitting outright is never an option for me unless a serious injury is imminent, and it wasn't. It also helped that I looked down the road and saw Jeff - the head coach of the youth running club I help coach - marshaling a turn on the course. Pride, the good kind, kicked in again. It was time to finish this damn race.

As I ran by Jeff he gave me some words of encouragement. I was embarrassed, but not broken. I settled in about 50 meters behind the last dude to pass me and narrowed my focus to maintaining that distance. I wanted to finish this race on a positive note and with at least a shred of dignity. 

The last 2km felt like the entire race should have. It was painful, but within reason. At some point during the last kilometer I heard the pedaling of a bike marshall behind me, which meant there was a runner shortly behind him. I'm not really that fast, but at the same time, I'm not really used to getting passed that often during a race. Four had been enough, and I wasn't about to let it happen again. I focused on my breathing and staying as relaxed as I could. I rounded a turn and entered the park, which meant the finish line was drawing near. I figured it couldn't be any more than 400 meters away. I allowed myself to glance at my watch. It read 17:4something. For the love of God, I was within PB range. I legged it as best I could and as I rounded the last bend and the crowd cheered us on, the clock came into view. A PB wasn't in the cards this day, not that I deserved it. But, I didn't get passed again either.

I finished in 18:30. In the end, Michael and Paul finished in 17:24 and 17:38 respectively, which is much faster than I could've gone on the day. I was punishing myself trying to keep pace with two dudes I shouldn't have been running with. The guy who passed me the first time I walked finished in 17:57, which was right in my wheelhouse. If I'd only slowed down a bit instead of pushing myself to the point of walking, we could've raced it in together.

A friend of a friend, Sanjay, once uttered while telling a story during a long run, "There are no mistakes in life. Only lessons. And, lessons will be repeated until learned." There were lessons in yesterday's 5K race that I don't care to be repeated. I lost the mental battle in terms of race tactics. I let my ego get the best of me, and it wasn't the time for that. I also let suffering get the best of me and I gave in to self-doubt and self-pity rather than embracing it. However, I didn't give up entirely, and I finished with a respectable time, so I'm not a total loser.

In Other News...

Ricky Gates has found a way to literally combine my three favorite passions - running, traveling, and motorcycling. I watched this video the other morning with #1 and found it beautiful, honest, and inspiring. I figure it must be pretty good because it held her attention for the the entire eighteen minutes and it's not animated. I admire Ricky for his courage to live a free-spirited life that cuts against the grain. In a way, I feel we're kindred spirits and I wish him luck, happiness, and enlightenment in his life On The Road.

I started this post the other day with the intention of writing about motorcycling and how it has provided me with so many amazing adventures, lasting images, and cherished memories. However, I just couldn't find the words that merited the subject's significance. So, for now I simply chose to post some images with minor captions.

My Babies Before Babies

Moto #1 - BMW F800 ST

Moto #2 - Triumph Tiger 1050 - Crater Lake, Oregon in the background

SE Oregon desert. A place one has no business being unless on a motorcycle.

At my friend Celeste's cabin on Flathead Lake, Montana with my pops.
Part of a week long road trip with my pops from Oregon to Glacier Nat'l Park.

Big, bold, and beautiful Glacier National Park. Those are cars at the base.

Moto camping in the Redwoods as part of a week long road trip.

Stanley, Idaho with Sawtooth Mountains in the background. 

  

Picture(s) of the Week - Jackson Hole, WY

Jackson Hole, Wyoming with the Teton Range in the far background

Looking north from Snow King Mountain over Jackson Valley

The Tetons from the other side looking south towards Jackson

*Blog title picture is Carter with the Tetons in the background.

If money and politics were no object, Jackson Hole, Wyoming would definitely be on my list of top places to live and raise our girls. It's one of the most majestic and beautiful places I've ever been, and it is an outdoor enthusiast's Mecca. However, due to it's celebrity status real estate prices are through the roof. And, due to it's location in Wyoming, a cowboy-conservative hotbed (think Dick Chaney), it will have live on in my memory and simply remain a stunning place to visit.

I snapped the photos above on my road trip from Oregon to Ontario with Carter (our dog) in July 2011. Karen, Momo (the cat) and #1 went by air, our belongings went by truck, and Carter and I went by Subaru Outback (perfect car for this kind of trip BTW). I had pre-planned the first couple days of our trip in order to secure hotels that would accommodate dogs. The rest of our trip would either be spent sneaking into hotels if we had to (Iowa), or tent camping, which we did further east in Wyoming and again in South Dakota at Badlands National Park (pictures forthcoming). 

Carter and I arrived in Jackson Hole on our second day after spending our first night in Boise, Idaho. Jackson had me at hello. I expected it to be idyllic, scenic, and outdoorsy. It delivered on every level. I was captivated by the quaint small town setting and surrounding mountains before even stepping out of the car. Once I did step out of the car at our hotel, I checked us in and immediately booked another night. 

It was like this place was specifically designed for me and the dog. Those who know me well will attest to the fact I'm driven by some inner urge to run or hike up any mountain or hill that provides the opportunity to do so. Karen and I trekked the Himalayas in Nepal for a week basically as an extended first date after having met in the Kathmandu airport. We hiked the Machu Picchu trail in Peru on our honeymoon. We (Carter included) spent our years before #1 routinely hiking trails in Oregon with 3000 - 4000 feet of gain (Dog Mountain, Ruckle Ridge). While living in Portland, if time allowed, I'd set off on runs up into the West Hills where you can gain over 1000' in a mile or two. On past family vacations in Mexico and Hong Kong, I set out on runs with the intention of navigating my way through the city to the top of the nearest mountain. In Hong Kong that means Victoria Peak, which towers 1800' over the bustling city below. It's an amazing juxtaposition. Something about getting to the top, or as close as possible, has always compelled me.  

Hong Kong - I started to the right of the "X" building down by the water.

Well, similar to Hong Kong, Jackson Hole has a mountain, Snow King, that juts right out of the downtown core. However, unlike Hong Kong, which is obviously at sea level, Jackson sits at an elevation of 6,200' and Snow King rises straight-up nearly 1600' from there. Needless to say, the first thing Carter and I did was walk the three blocks from our hotel over to the base of the mountain, which serves as a popular place to picnic and chillax during the summer months. There were trails leading off in every direction and I had every intention of hiking to the top with Carter on-leash. Imagine our surprise when we soon discovered the entire mountain beyond the designated picnic area served as an off-leash dog park as well. Elated and invigorated by the scenery before us and the surrounding mountain gods, we power-hiked to the top.

As we reached the top, and evening approached, a beautiful thing began to happen. The clouds, which had been partially obscuring the Teton Range range in the distance (pictured above), started to part as the sun descended to the west. It was a magical moment. Everything before me was on such a massive scale. The valley. The Tetons. The King. The moment. I had to capture this on camera. However, my camera was back in the hotel room and the sun was setting...fast. We ran...fast.

Rather than taking the main trail back down, which had several switchbacks, we opted for a less used side trail with a more direct route to the base of the mountain. Ripping down the mountain leaping off rocks, stumps, and logs was an exhilarating experience I will not soon forget. There's nothing like jumping off a few logs on a trail to make you feel youthful, giddy, and in the moment.  

I quickly dropped Carter off, put on my running shoes, grabbed the camera, and made my way back to The King. I raced the setting sun back up the mountain and stopped to take pictures along the way. When I reached the top for a second time I finally took a moment to sit and reflect on the serene beauty before me as well as my life in general.

#1 was only nine months old. I had read somewhere that having a child and moving are considered two of the top five most stressful things in life, and here we were just getting used to the reality we had created a human life that we were responsible for loving and rearing, AND we were moving our entire lives from one side of the continent to the other. Not to mention Karen was embarking on going back to school for four years as part of a career change, and I would be seeking employment (another top 5). This was some heavy shit. I wanted Karen and #1 to be able to experience this moment with me.

However, ultimately, this was meant to be a solo mission. Not only did it afford me the opportunity to reflect on the trajectory of our lives, but it also served as closure to a deeply personal, emotional journey that had started back in Oregon, which spanned many years and spread across many countries. This moment and this place specifically was also about my buddy, Matt, who had lost his battle with cancer the previous year.

I had known Matt since Little League baseball. We had lived together in college and for a couple years post-college in Portland. We had travelled together for six months in SE Asia in our early twenties. In the ensuing years I went on to teach English in South Korea and Singapore, and he went on to film school in Miami. Though life took us in separate directions we remained good friends and had recently reunited in Portland.

Matt had a special affinity for Jackson Hole, and after he passed away his family spread some of his ashes in the surrounding hills. This was our moment together. I'm sure those clouds would've spread and the sun would've popped out on its own that day, but part of me likes to think it was Matt making sure I made it back up to the top of The King to soak it all in.

Guelph Lake 5K - Race Report

My first road 5k race and my first overall win of any kind! No...really...I actually won the race outright. Crazy. Granted, this was just a small local race, and the dude who won the 10k and the gal who was 2nd probably would've dusted me based on their 10k times, and the fact they were already a couple seconds ahead of me at the 5k turnaround point. But, still, a win is a win as they say.

Imagine my surprise when we reached the 5k turnaround point and the two people ahead me kept going. I even asked the kid "manning" the point if he said anything as they went by because I was sure they simply missed the tiny sign that read "5k turnaround" attached to an orange cone in the middle of the road. 

His reply, "I don't know. They must be running the 10k." Great job bud. Way to tackle your duty with enthusiasm and vigor. 

In an instant my race had changed completely. I went from trying to hang on to the two in front of me to being the leader of the race. As the leader, I had my own marshall out in front on his bike with his high visibility vest clearing the narrow road of oncoming race participants. I could hear him saying, "To the right. Leader coming through." There were chants of encouragement from friends and complete strangers as I made my way back. This was a first for me, and it felt great. 

However, with this race leader position came a unique brand of pressure I'd obviously never felt before to maintain the lead. Unfortunately, the undulating nature of the course coupled with a fast start trying to hang on to the 10k leaders were taking a toll on my body. My Garmin was set to beep at every 1k split and I noticed by the 3k mark each one was slower than the last. My breathing was heavy and labored. I was experiencing the weird stiff, dead leg thing I sometimes get in my right leg at higher speeds or very long distances (need to get that figured out). Even my arms were aching. I was going into maximum oxygen uptake/deprivation. Maybe the fact that I only had ten minutes to warm-up for this race was coming back to haunt me. 

"OK. You're winning this damn thing. Don't blow it." I knew I had a decent lead at the turnaround and I hadn't looked back since. 

"Just back off for small stretch. Get your breathing back in order and then maintain. Maybe I should walk for a bit? At the very least I could back it down to 4min km and still come in under 19 minutes, and I'd be happy with that." These are some of the things that went through my head between the 3-4k markers. Not exactly positive thinking. I was in a pain hole, and I was on my own. And, my brain, muscles, and organs weren't getting the vital oxygen they needed.

"1K to go, Eric. Looking good." My dedicated bike marshall hollered back to me. He was obviously lying about the looking good part.

"1K...that's it? Shit, I got this." I had entered my suffer hole, but come out the other side. I began to recognize aspects of the course. Onlookers began to appear. I could hear the faint sound of race director John on the P.A. system just around the corner and over the hill.

"400 meters, Eric. Bring it home." My trusty bike marshall had peeled off to the left.

As I crested the hill I heard something I won't soon forget. "And, here comes our 5k leader, Eric Schwindt, making his way towards the finish." 

I finished in 18:20, which I am very satisfied with considering the course is quite hilly and I only had four weeks of speed training in the bag. Things are trending in the right direction and I'm looking forward to this summer's upcoming races. Next up, the Summer's Night Classical 5K on July 9th.

Best part...I won a free pair of New Balance running shoes from The Running Works, which I'm going to collect right now.

Downtown Mile Race Report

About 400m into our first lap. 

My goal was to beat the two guys behind me.

Heart pounding. Lungs burning. Eyes bulging. Vision narrowing. Breathing labored. Am I going to able to maintain this pace? Have I gone into the danger zone? Have I bitten off more than I can chew?

No! I got this. Physically, I've been down this hole numerous times at the track and during interval reps on the road. Mentally, this doesn't even compare to the depths I've had to dig during every marathon I've ever run. This is a race and it's time to suffer better.

As a whole, the Speed River Inferno Downtown Mile was a fantastic experience. We had bright sunny skies and just enough cool in the air to make it an ideal evening for a race. The event had a nice, wholesome feel to it as there were loads of families and friends there to mill about, cheer, and even participate in the chillens 100m dash after the mile (including my #1 who got a late start due to a bib malfunction). The route was well-marked and marshaled, and plenty of fast people showed up sporting their running club or team singlets, which lead to an exciting race and a "photo" finish. As per usual for a local race in this town, we even had a couple olympians on hand as volunteers and spectators.

The race itself was awesome. Although, much of it is but a blur in my mind now. Rather than run for time, I decided to make it a race against competitors. Gathering at the start line I spotted two guys I was determined to beat. These weren't two randoms. No, these two had to go down for very specific reasons. The first fella (behind me in the blue singlet above), blew past me last fall after the first of two laps at the Falling Leaves cross-country 5K. He left a mark and I needed redemption. The second fella (behind me in the orange singlet), I'd seen over the past few weeks leading our club through intervals at the track while I did my own sessions. I needed to beat him just because.

As the gun went off and we streaked down the first straightaway (Carden Street), around the first and second bends, and up the "dreaded" hill (Gordon Street) I found myself right in the mix of the second pack of runners (top picture - the first pack were sub-5 minute milers). Most importantly, I was ahead of my two targets and I was determined not to let them pass at any cost. The race was on.

We rounded the last turn of the first lap and barrelled down Carden Street amongst the cheers of the crowd. As we approached the midway point, which also served as the finish line, I had passed two of the University of Guelph varsity girls pictured above and was closely trailing the third. But, more importantly, although I was totally locked-in and zoned-out, I picked up a faint "Go daddy!" from my left and knew it was number one cheering me on. With this extra bit of encouragement I was ready to dig in for the second and final lap despite the mounting discomfort of a near maximal effort.

We crossed the "halfway" point at the 2:45 mark, which was basically right on pace with what I thought I was capable of, but it left me a bit befuddled because it felt like we were moving faster than that. If I'm honest, it was eating at me. However, I didn't have much time to fester over it because as we rounded the left turn shortly after the line I clipped feet with the girl in front of me, which caused me to push out to the right, which caused more feet clipping with the guy behind me, who happened to be orange singlet man. At least I knew where he was. Not wanting the same thing to happen on the upcoming hard right hand turn just before the steep hill, I put in a quick surge (just like the training runs) to clear myself of the traffic.

As we hammered it up Gordon Street I had a brief sense of calm. It wasn't hurting as much as I had expected. The endurance I had built-up over the hundreds of runs during the previous months was paying off. I was putting some distance between myself and the group I had just surged away from. I was right where I wanted to be despite my slight disappointment with my midpoint time. I knew shortly at the top of the hill we'd have a gradual downhill and roughly only 400m left to go. I could use the downhill to catch my breath, and then give it everything I had.

Forget the folks behind me. I was after the guy ahead of me. After the downhill I had reeled him in to within a couple meters. As we rounded the last corner and headed into the final straight I spotted the finish line and the clock. Those racers who had just finished were either bent over at the knees gasping for air, or sprawled out on the ground in complete exhaustion. This is what the mile can do to you. The clock came into focus and it read 4:5something. There were guys legging it, arms flailing to get in under the 5-minute barrier. I couldn't manage to bring the guy in front of me any closer, but my time was looking pretty good.

I'd like to say the crowd was ushering me on, but everything had gone silent at this point. As it often does at the end of a race. It was just me, that finish line, and that clock. I crossed the line in 5:10. A pleasant surprise and a respectable time for my first mile. The first two finishers were separated by only .1 seconds (4:31.4 and 4:31.5). See below.

The dude on the right won.

I didn't have a massive negative split as my "halfway" time (2:45) and my finishing time (5:10) might suggest. There's no way I ran the second half of that race 20 seconds faster than the first. What I had failed to connect was our "halfway" split time included the Carden Street straightaway at the beginning, which took me about 19 seconds according to the race photos.  So, in reality I was right to think we were moving much faster than the clock read at the halfway point because we were, and it was actually the halfway plus a little bit point.  

I wasn't bent over or sprawled out on the ground gasping for air at the finish, so I think I may have left a few seconds out on the road. Guelph Lake 5K up next this coming weekend.

Coming through the eventual finish after the first straightaway.

Approaching the halfway point.

Setting up for the final lap.