Miwok 100K, the minimalist approach.

My goal for Miwok was to enjoy a nice long run in a beautiful setting at a controlled pace.  I didn’t want to get caught up in the race, and really just wanted to finish.  My confidence needed a finish—not a failed effort at an unrealistic pace.  I was definitely not over-trained for Miwok, and questioned whether it was smart to go 62 miles on my base, which I had been building up slowly after taking November and December completely off from running, and much of September and October off, as well.  I also had a couple of nagging issues, a tender right ankle tendon and sore left hamstring, which I hoped to not make any worse.

In general, I don’t keep a running log, although I’ve started to over the past 6 weeks to keep track as I work my mileage back up.  I’ve started various logs at different points in time, but knowing my lifetime mileage has virtually no interest to me, and most logs I’ve started die out after a few weeks.  I also don’t plan what I’ll be running from one day to the next.  That’s not to say that I have no training plan.  I’ll admit, it’s not a strong plan, but it’s there in the back of my head, which is also where I log my mileage in the short term.  I typically keep a weekly mileage tally in my head, aiming to hit typically between 50-70 miles/week—it’s sometimes as low as 40 and rarely over 85.  My 5 week average working up to Miwok was about 55 miles/week;  I had done one long run of 27 miles, and just a handful of runs (4) over 20 miles in the past 4 months, after the long lay-off due to some angry ankle tendons.  I signed up for Miwok while still wearing a boot back in December, and was told by my chiropractor/graston guy that it was a “very unrealistic goal.”  Unrealistic or not, I need a goal in the future to deal with the frustration that forced inactivity brings.  So, I set a lofty goal and slowly worked my way back into it.  Over-trained, definitely not, under-trained, probably.

Leading up to Miwok, I had dropped out of the Peterson Ridge Rumble 3 weeks prior.  In dropping out of a 60K (for ankle issues—see previous post) I decided that running Miwok, a 100K, wasn’t a good idea.  If I couldn’t make it 36 miles, how could I justify making the trip to Miwok to run 62?  Logic doesn’t always win out.  I went out the weekend after Peterson and told myself that if I could make it 30 miles, I could justify running Miwok.  I made it 27, didn’t feel awful, and decided that I could probably suffer through 62 without permanent damage.  My doctor promised me that my ankle wouldn’t fall off, and I decided that I was a head case, and was just using it as a crutch, anyhow.  At the same time, the plans for the weekend away were already in the works.  I would run Miwok, and then take some time off to rest my new sore spots.  Another friend and I had started making plans to do ‘Tour de Hood’ on June 5-6, so I decided I’d make it through Miwok, and then give myself May to turn into a road biker and rest my right ankle issues and left hamstring, which had been irksome for about a month. 

I didn’t get nervous or really think much about the actual race until Wednesday night when I glanced at Gary Robbins’ blog, and then Karl Meltzer’s who both mentioned me as one of the top-ranked women (well, Karl gave me credit for the best chance the east coast had to break into the top 5—while I remain happy to represent the VHTRC, I moved from DC to Portland back in November).  I don’t really see myself in that category, and while it was nice to be mentioned, it caused a bit of an anxiety attack.  I had to remind myself of my primary goal, which was to keep my head out of my ass, and finish. 

This is already getting long, and haven’t even gotten to the race yet, so I’ll summarize quickly.  What went well:

1.  I stayed with my plan, and I went out slowly, but not too slow, and continued to pick off people all day.  I didn’t get sucked into racing early, and that was a good thing based on my fitness level.  I was probably solidly in 7th or 8th once the initial beach-to-trail congo line and first hill out-and-back thinned people out, and worked my way up to 3rd, albeit for about 5 seconds, as we headed into the mile 48.5 aid station.

As a side note, I entered the aid station in 3rd, immediately after catching up to Jenn Shelton, but Krissy and Darcy were right behind me, so we all came into Pan Toll within 5-10 seconds of each other.  I left in 5th, but downing a bottle of Ultragen had been on my mind for about 10 miles, and I took some extra time to do so.  I was pretty content with 5th, and feeling the fact that I had not done anything even half this long in 8 months. And the Pan Toll aid station flurry was stressful; it took a bit of wind out of my sails, and drinking 20 oz. of Ultragen had me in need of a slow period to get things settled in my stomach.  So, we plugged along, and I had some low points and lacked the motivation to try to catch up.  I had no idea that Darcy had gotten off course until we were about a quarter mile from the top of the last climb, when Alan mentioned that Darcy was right behind us.  Alan mentioned that if I had anything left, I should probably use it on the downhill, and I did.  The last 2 miles is almost entirely downhill along a popular hiking path.  And being close to SFO and Rodeo Beach there were many small dogs, families, etc, so I tried to maneuver my way downhill as fast as possible without flinging any miniature poodles out of my way in the process. There had been pre-race guidance that we were to avoid touching hikers at all costs.  So we sped downhill at what felt like breakneck speed; my Garmin registered 5:20 when I glanced down at it at one point—definitely faster than I wanted to be going after 60 miles of relentless climb and descent.  But it was fun to finish strong.  And to finish right in between 2 of my ultra running idols (even if only because one of them got off course).

2.  Having a pacer worked out really well.  I hadn’t lined up a pacer, but when I came into the mile 42 aid station, Alan Abbs told me that he was jumping in with me.  Sweet!  His runner had dropped and had encouraged him to jump in with me.  Having pacers in 100 milers to date hasn’t added much benefit, I don’t think.  I’m not sure why, but maybe because they were friends, and I felt no guilt for a slow slogging pace.  But having Alan behind me caused me to run more than I probably would have otherwise.  Regardless, the company and conversation made the last 20 miles infinitely more enjoyable, and his noticing Darcy behind us at the top of the hill, spurred a finishing kick I didn’t think possible.   

3.  Overall, I was happy that I could complete the distance in a time I was very happy with, without many long runs to date.  It seems to show that there is some muscle memory there, and that I haven’t lost too much in my time off.  I haven’t run a ton of 100Ks (Coyote 2 Moon, Fuego y Agua and Waldo), and comparing times on different courses is useless, but it was a 2-hour 100K PR.  4th woman in 10:02.  Pretty psyched based on the company. 

4.  My hamstring and ankle issues that had been bugging me leading up to Miwok disappeared during the run.  Let’s hope they’re gone for good.  I’ll continue to do my PT exercises, bikram yoga (for ankle stability) and more regular massages to encourage them to stay away.

5.  I was in surprisingly good shape afterward.  Definitely walking funny on Sunday and into Monday, but went for a 4 mile run on Tuesday and didn’t feel bad.  I feared that the sprint to the finish would completely trash my quads, but it didn’t.

What I need to work on:
1.  Not letting where people are around me change my rhythm and pace.  This statement is probably the opposite of what it sounds like.  I’m not saying that when I get in front, I back off.  I’m saying that when I’m behind, I back off for fear of passing.  Sound odd?  Well, it might be.  I can remember coming into an aid station early on, and Alan mentioning that I was closing on 4th and 5th.  My response was “eeks.”  Meaning, I don’t really want to close on 4th and 5th.  And when someone told me we were a minute or two back of Jenn Shelton and closing, my internal reaction was “oh crap.”  Competition has always scared the crap out of me, and while ultras are way less stressful than the mile, I still have issues.  I love the competitive aspect after a race, but during it, it causes a fight or flight reaction, that trends toward flight in a reverse direction.  

2.  I’ll admit—I could probably benefit from a more strategic training plan.  I might work on that in the coming months.  I've considered getting a coach, but go back and forth on that one.  I think I know enough about training plans to write my own, but there is also something about being held accountable. But I think there’s something to be said for not taking things too seriously, as well, going out when you feel like for paces and distances that feel good.  In ultra running, where so many of us seem to be life-long runners, keeping the fun in it, and keeping it light might promote longevity.  But a plan might lead to some faster times.  It’s interesting to compare approaches, and think about whether someone that takes a 70 mile/week approach to training is at an advantage or disadvantage to someone that takes a 110 mile/week approach. Is one better?  After a certain level of fitness, are ultras over a certain distance enough of a mental game that if you have the base and muscle memory to complete the distance, is it more mental than physical, and higher mileage approaches don’t reap the added benefit?  Of course, as I’ve mentioned, my mental game needs some work, as well.  I’ll never be a 100+ mile/week runner, but I guess that’s all about personal choice and what one’s body will allow.  Mine seems to reach the break-down limit at about 80.

3.  Learning what poison oak looks like and more careful cleansing with Technu afterward to avoid the pain I'm in now.  I used it, but it didn't seem to help my left arm which looks like a burn victim at this point (that's my arm pictured at right after about 3 days on drugs).  I'm on Prednisone, and it's clearing up slowly.  I'm super susceptible to poison ivy, but this was my first introduction to poison oak.  It sucks, big time.  I never thought I'd say that I miss poison ivy, but I do.   

Overall a really fun day on a beautiful, beautiful trail with a great group of people. The volunteers were really top notch, the race was extremely well-run and the course well-marked.  I will definitely be trying to get into Miwok again and again.

Inside the mind of an ultrarunner.....

I'm stealing the title from my friend, Kirstin.  She posted a blog about her great run at the BRR on Saturday where she set a 50 minute PR and overcame any mental doubts and believed in her training and in herself, resulting in a great run.  If you read her post, just do a 180 degree turn and that's where my mind was on Sunday during the Peterson Ridge Rumble 60K.

Rather than running with some pain on Sunday, I took the easy way out, and dropped at about mile 21.  Well, I walked back to the aid station to drop, and then hiked in to the finish, so I probably got in about 27 miles round trip.  Would have been easier to just hike the extra 9 and get the regular finish, but I wasn't in the mood, was stressed about the fear of continuing to be injured forever, and didn't care at that point.  I can make up all sorts of excuses, but the bottom line was that I was frustrated and wasn't having fun.  At this point I don't know if my ankle pains are exaggerated or real; what are the odds of finally getting rid of an injury in one foot and then developing the same damn thing in the other?   Anyhow, the inside of my right foot started to scream, I started to crash a lot, and I threw in the towel pretty quickly. 

Backing up, I got the go ahead to run--with no further visits to my chiro/graston guy--about 3 weeks ago.  Giddy to be free from pain, I might have gone a little gung ho, but my left foot felt fine, and I was watching it closely.  I woke up the day after a 22 mile technical gorge run with pain in my right ankle in the same spot.  The feeling that the big knobby inner-ankle bone was bruised to the touch with pain behind and below it.  In a panic, I went back to my chiro guy, and was relieved when he told me I had nothing to worry about bc it was a new tendon injury (FHL), and not the same thing I'd been dealing with (posterior tib).  This was something I should be able to run through (although he later commented that he would normally advise a couple of weeks off to rest it, but knew I wouldn't listen to that advice--not necessarily true). Anyhow, I've been going back twice a week for graston on this new thing, but it seems to be getting progressively worse, although not extremely painful while running.  However, on Sunday, it got to the point where I wasn't sure that continuing to run on it was a good idea. 

It's easy to second guess that now.  Memories of pain fade quickly.  Today the foot is a bit tender, and there is one spot that hurts like hell if you massage it, but no different than it has been for the last 2 weeks.  Now the decision is where to go from here, and whether running through it will leave me where it did last year, hobbling and yelping in pain every time I stepped on a rock or root. Or if this is something I should be able to just suck it up and run through. 

I remember some advice I got this past fall--suck it up and get over it, it's just a tendon.  I didn't buy that advice then, but I'm trying to decide if I should this time.  Ultra running is a huge mental game, and Saturday I chose not to play.  Maybe my decision was a good one.  Maybe it was just the easy way out.

Running on the Road

I’m in the middle of a 3 week trip to Kenya, Uganda, and Ethiopia.  I don’t always visit countries that are runner friendly.  Recent and upcoming trips include:  

Afghanistan?  Not so safe. Stick to the treadmill.  They actually have a hash, but I’d never be so bold (stupid) as to try it.  

Nairobi?  Also, not so safe. No gym/treadmill in the hotel, so I ran in the pool.

Kampala?  A hill runner’s paradise.  

Ethiopia?  I’ll find out in a couple of days, but I’m hopeful for a week of nice runs at 7500 feet.

Myanmar?  I’m intrigued to find out, but I’m not that hopeful. 

Also note that short work trips mean that I don't get the chance to explore all that a place has to offer, so my observation are based on short-term trips to places and situations where I'm often stranded in a hotel, and need to be able to run from wherever I'm staying.

So, last week while in Nairobi, I stuck to the pool and used my aqua jogger.  Crowded streets, air pollution, and warnings from people not to venture into the street are enough to convince me that running outside is not the safest bet.  A lady on the flight from Nairobi to Kampala mentioned that there is a nice park for walking.  So, were I forced to spend more time in Nairobi, there might be some outdoor options, although probably involving looping around a small area.  But Nairobi is not a runner’s paradise—at least not for an obvious foreigner who would likely draw attention where attention is ill-advised.  Always strikes me as odd, to be in Kenya, but not be able to run.  

This week in Kampala has been nice.  My hotel sits on top of Tank Hill, the highest hill in Kampala, so any run means a considerable amount of climbing super steep and relatively long hills.  Kampala is formed around 7 hills, of which Tank Hill is not one, so there are more than 7 hills, and there’s the potential for a lot of up and down on any run.  And the hills are steep.  Steep enough that I would normally walk them if they were found anywhere after about mile 2 in an ultra.  I’ve got a nice hill repeat option of 1 mile straight down and one mile straight up.  At 6 a.m. with the sun rising over Lake Victoria and views of the many surrounding hills, it’s a nice way to start the day.  It’s dark at 6 a.m., which does cause some potential for danger, in that some of the roads are kind of crappy, and some sections are poorly lit.  I hit a speed bump the first morning which provided some entertainment for the guards hanging out not far away.  It’s not uncommon to see Ugandans, mainly men, but some women, too, running in the early morning, in a variety of shoe options, including flip flops, rubber rain boots, dress shoes and running shoes.  I've also discovered some nice loops through some quiet neighborhoods on really great rutted dirt roads--who needs trails when you've got really bad roads that are more technical than many trails?  Lots of really cute kids that like to laugh and wave, along with plenty of chickens and goats. 

I try to run wherever I end up, as it’s what keeps me sane and happy on trips where I’m often working long hours and my normal routine is otherwise completely out of whack.  It’s definitely a way to see a lot more of a place than I would otherwise get the chance to see. But I dearly miss the gorge, and am looking forward to being home in a couple of weeks.

Our un-injured ancestors and barefoot running

I can't say that I've drunk the koolaid on the whole barefoot running craze.  Yes, I see that there would be some benefit to adopting it in small quantities to work on form, and strengthen the feet and ankles, but I have no plans to throw out my running shoes anytime soon.  One argument that I just don't get to support running barefoot is that it's the best choice because our ancestors did it.  Do we actually have data from our ancestors that show that they didn't suffer from achilles tendonitis, IT band syndrome, stress fractures or other common running injuries?  There are a lot of things about how our ancestors lived that don't parallel life today, and I'd have to say that in many ways we are better off today (or have the option to be better off depending upon our life style).  What was the life expectancy back then anyhow?   How do we know that our ancestors weren't plagued by common and frequent running types of injuries?  After all, those of us that have suffered from injuries, know that many of them aren't life-ending or even activity-limiting, so the fact that they endured doesn't meant that they weren't injured.  People win races while injured, and our ancestors could have survived evolutionarily while injured, as well. 

Yes, I'm currently injured.  Is it because of shoes?  Not in my opinion.  I've been running for 25 years, and have had 2 side-lining injuries, one about 7 years into running, and the other another 17 years later.  I'd just call it part of the deal, especially when you're trying to run higher mileage consistently.  And I'm not blaming it on the fact that I wear shoes.  Like a lot of injuries, in my case, something got tweaked, and I ignored it and continued to tweak it--I didn't listen to my body when I should have and had a few races in the way.  So I continued to tweak it, and tweak it.  In my case, I think it had more to do with terrain than anything else.  I was in El Salvador for 5 months for work and ran a lot, but didn't have the opportunity to run on trails.  Upon returning, I jumped into many trail events quickly, and the quick transition from smooth road back to rocky trail was more than my road-weakened ankles could handle. It's kind of a no-brainer that one shouldn't train for MMT-type trails on roads.  Would my ankles have been stronger had I been running barefoot?  Well, maybe, but they also would have been stronger had I eased back into trail running.  And running in the dark in San Salvador barefoot could have led to far worse injuries. 

I'll be anxious to see the data in a few years from outspoken barefoot runners who think it's the only way.  In 25 years, can they claim 0 injuries?  I'm doubtful.  While being injured sucks, I happen to think it's a part of the game.  And in some ways, it's good for us.  In my case, it's widened my cross-training repertoire and I've discovered that I love some other activities, too, which I can make more time for when I can't run, like road biking, bikram yoga, swimming and snowshoeing.  Being injured has also lit a fire in terms of desire to be on the trails again.  It wasn't out, but the flame was flickering a bit low this fall.  I can't wait to be back out there running long distances.  In shoes.

Just what I needed: Bridge of the Gods Century Ride

I took advantage of another gorgeous sunny winter day (people lie about the weather here—they just don’t want any more migration into the state) to do a loop I saw advertised on a great riding site. The ride takes you across into Vancouver, WA and then up the WA side of the Columbia Gorge, over the Bridge of the Gods, and back along the OR side of the Gorge.  I'd only been to the Gorge once, and that was driving over on I-84 on my trip out here, and it was stunning.

The ride was advertised as 89 miles and scenic. I live about 7 miles from the start of the trail, so figured the ride would be just about 100 miles by the time I connected with the 205 bike path trail that leads into Vancouver, WA. I got a bit of a late start, considering the distance and that I didn't really know where I was going, and finally got going by about 11. I figured that I might have a hard time finishing the ride in the light, so grabbed a headlamp on my way out the door. It took me a long time to leave the city and find the bike path over the river into Vancouver and I asked several friendly bikers, about half of whom turned out to be fairly clueless, as I'd head off again in the wrong direction. Anyhow, I finally found the 205 bike trail which takes you down the middle of 205 and over the river. Kind of an odd little bike path, but it took me to where I wanted to go, the Evergreen Highway and eventually to the Washougal River Road. The Washougal River Road is a winding, climbing road, with minimal traffic that seems to keep gently climbing for miles along a beautiful little river.

I set a turn-around time of 2 p.m. in my head, thinking that if I were smart, I'd turn around 3 hours in, in order to be back at my house by 5 p.m. when the sun would go down. Sometime after 2 p.m. I had made it as far as a little store on Hwy 14 and asked the guy how far I was from the bridge, thinking I was probably a couple of miles. He said 5, so I figured it was more like 3, and decided to go ahead and go for the bridge, knowing that I had a headlamp because at this point I would need it for the return. It turned out to be more like 10, but who's counting. I made it to the bridge around 2:45, meaning I had been riding for about 3:45 minutes, and that I had 2:15 to make it home before dark (keeping in mind that the bridge should be the half-way point, more or less). I had several thoughts during the ride, several of them pretty good, but two that came up often were: 1) Amy, you need to learn how to fix a flat, because even though you carry the fancy little patch kit, you have no clue how to use it, and 2) Amy, you need to invest in some decent bright blinky lights, for those times when you're out riding in the dark alone on highways in the middle of nowhere (no worries, mom, I've since purchased some bright blinky lights).

I spent most of the first half worrying about the fact that I should turn around, but once I got to the bridge and accepted the fact that I was just going to have a long ride in the dark, and that if I got a flat I had a credit card along and could always get a hotel room, I relaxed and enjoyed the gorgeous ride home-wards. And it was gorgeous....the entire day was gorgeous with killer views of the gorge, sunny skies, and bright white puffy clouds floating along. One issue in the gorge can be wind, but it wasn’t windy coming or going, so I definitely lucked out there.

Immediately following the Bridge, the turn sheet called for 6 miles on a bike trail, during which time you would need to carry your bike up a staircase. This was true, and there were a few more uncertain spots along this trail, including some rock slides and fallen logs. Where's Gary with the chain saw when you need him? I abruptly came to the end of the trail, but fortunately, I-84 was 10 feet to my left, so I hoisted my bike over the guard rail and proceeded along the interstate. Luckily, the section on I-84 lasted about a mile, before the exit to get onto the Historic Columbia River Highway. Most of the rest of the way home was on this road and the Crown Point Highway, both of which were great windy roads with some up and down. There were lots and lots of trailheads off of these 2 roads, which I'm assuming are the famous gorge trails I've heard much about. Although I do love my bike, I still gawked as I passed those lovely trailheads. Soon, very soon.  At some point I pulled out my headlamp, which thankfully had batteries that were somewhat bright, and I had a small blinky light to hook on my back.  I made it to the edge of Gresham, I believe, about the point that it was getting really dark, and the least exciting part of the day was the ride through the burbs, but the strip malls weren't so unattractive in the dark.  The ride through the burbs, was long, probably 15 miles or so, but I eventually found my way home, although I got a bit lost trying to find the right bridge.  Frustrating to be 2 miles from home with bridges lit up in all directions, but riding around in circles trying to find one.  I did find one, and did make it home.  Hungry, but very happy after a great little adventure and 101 miles in total distance. 

Overall, a fantastic day and a really great loop.   And a couple of firsts for me.  My first century ride, and my first time in the lovely state of Washington.   I hadn't done anything active over 3 hours in a few months, so the long ride felt great.  Not exactly time on my feet, but it felt good to get out and go for several hours and to start feeling like I'm getting back into shape.  On top of the ride, I put in another 35 miles biking and 20 miles running last week.  I'm slowly working my way back into running in hopes of some spring ultras.  My ankle feels OK.  It's not 100%, but I keep getting graston done on it and keep doing stabilization and strengthening exercises and am hopeful the posterior tib tendon issues are behind me.  Although it's fairly tender, I haven't had any of the sharp pain that had been plaguing me this fall/summer whenever I took an uneven step.  I'm still running on roads to keep my foot stable, but hope to work back into trails in the coming weeks.  I ran 6 miles today, which is my longest run to date, so I'm building up gradually, and working up to longer runs.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying my bike, and am feeling much more comfortable and confident on it.  I haven't fallen off of it since I've moved here (eeks, big jinx there), and the clipless pedals no longer petrify me.  And I've been taking advantage every chance I can to get up into the mountains to snowshoe.  I hope to work into a few longer snowshoe treks in the coming weeks, as well.  This weekend I hope to get back on cross country skis for the first time in 15 years and do some snowshoeing, as well. 

This loop will be on the list of to-be-repeated rides.  I still have a hard time believing that I live in such a beautiful place.  I miss many (many) aspects of my life in DC, and DC has a lot to offer in terms of nearby attractions, but so far Oregon is winning me over in terms of stunning beauty.  Big big trees, big views, ferns-lined trails, snow-peaked caps, snow to play in, the gorge, and the potential for forest gnomes.  What's not to love?

What a difference a week makes....

I continued on my snowshoeing binge this past weekend and headed up once again to Timberline Lodge on Mt Hood with the plan to do a couple trips up to the top of the ski lift and back down.  It's 2 miles straight up, and 2 miles down.  What a difference a week can make.  The forecast was for snow, and it was indeed snowing.  What had been a solid sheet of ice last week was now covered in several inches of powder and blowing snow made visibilty nill and created nice little drifts that were hard to climb up and over on the way up, and made for some hard-to-see drop-offs on the way down.  I was alone this week, and climbing up a mountain side in whiteout conditions alone is maybe not the smartest move, but I followed the ski lift and saw a couple of people coming down on my way up.  Had I not had the ski lift to follow, I wouldn't have headed up, but I was warm, and could at least see well enough to follow the lift cables.  Just to compare (the top of the lift last week as compared to this week):

And last week's glamour shot as compared to this week's:

Alas, by the time I finished one up and back in a bit over 2 hours, fairly wet and soon-to-be-cold, I decided to jump into Bridget, turn the seat warmers on high, and head homewards. 

I also got in two great bike rides over the long weekend.  A bit over 50 miles on Saturday, and 35 miles on Monday.  I'm hoping to attempt a 90 miler this Sunday if the weather is reasonably warm (45) and not too wet.  And I'm finally working my way back into running....a whopping 10 miles last week, around 15 miles this week, and increasing gently from here.  Miwok on May 1 could still happen....

Mt. Hood Snowshoeing from Timberline Lodge

Another weekend, another trip out snowshoeing.  My friend, Sarah, and I had planned to hit Tom, Dick and Harry, a popular trek starting at about 4000 ft, but the snow around that elevation was crap, so we drove up to Timberline Lodge, which sits at about 6000 ft.  While the snow was still kinda crappy, we wanted to snowshoe, and it turned out to be a fabulous day--night and day in terms of snow conditions from the past weekend, but actually much easier in terms of effort.  Although I guess that depends on how effort is defined, as the weekend before, the snow was wet and heavy, and each step caused your foot to sink down a foot, but the trail itself was easy and gently rolling. Whereas this week, the snow was hard and icy, so we stayed on top of the snow, but we were climbing up 2500 ft in 2 miles, so there was definite effort in climbing, especially being that my climbing muscles have been on vacation for the past 2 months.

We left the parking lot with the intention of finding the PCT and hiking on it for a few miles out-and-back.  But it was foggy down low, and we missed the PCT, but realized we could easily follow the outer boundary of the ski area.  So we headed up, and had an easy target of the top of the upper ski lift. 

In short, about 4 miles, 2 up and 2 down, which took us a long while to go up, and next to nothing to come down.  I didn't run going up, but tried out running down part of the down.  I love my new Dion snowshoes!   The views all day were spectacular, with some low clouds, interspersed with clear spots, so that the views of Jefferson in the distance were quite nice.  And while we never got a clear view of Mt. Hood, parts of the top did peak through every now and then.  By the time we got back down, we were once again surrounded by fog.  

This one's a keeper....I plan to go back and do some repeats this weekend, as snow at lower elevations is apparently still crappy.

Some photos from the adventure: