Splits

Running, surfing. A bit over two weeks ago I ran the Orcas Island 50k. Poorly trained and in brutal mud, but it was still fun and the dance party after was amazing. In a way this culminated a long stretch of training that began a year ago when I started preparing for the Siskiyou Out Back. After that race, my dilligence faltered, with some longer weeks and some shorter ones. Some good race results for me. But, overall, unsteady attention to training and subsequent loss of fitness. Hence, my Orcas time was about 30 minutes slower than I would have hoped for, I hardly slept the week before and woke that morning with a painful stomach.

Coming home in the deception pass 25 k

Coming home in the deception pass 25 k

Then, we flew to Maui. Prior to to arrival, I’d thought about training runs there, hoped for long ascents of Haleakala, and fantasized about learning to deal with tropical heat and humidity. Then we arrived and the surf bug started to stir in me. Watching perfect and almost uncrowded waves peel through tropical, clear water had me turning to the nearest surf shop. By the end of our first day I’d rented a couple of boards and would go on to surf for 6 of the next 7 days. And once that switch flipped, my desire to run vanished. This has happened any time I’m deeply rooted in one or the other passion. There simply is no room in my mind or heart to do the other thing. Ultimately, I think surfing wins. It’s more playful. It’s got more thrill. It’s less zombie like.

So 10 days went by in Hawaii with only one short run. Granted, this was a recovery period from a very hard race, but I usually feel extra motivated post race and have to reign it in. This time… nothing. And, it was a relief. Being free of the endless chasing of “getting a run in” was relaxing in a way I hadn’t felt in a while. We just surfed (Liz was surfing too) and ate and napped and ate and surfed and snorkled and explored.

Honolua

Honolua

I imagine this would happen with skiing too. If I had backcountry touring in my life, then I’m sure the running would take a back seat. Surfing would fade from view, and travel in the mountains would consume me.

Now, I’m back home. And driving the highway through Goldstream park and all of its trails. Looking up at Mount Finlayson. Peering into the damp forest. It makes me want to run. No wetsuit to put on. Easy escape from the most pressing deadlines. That exalted feeling when done with a long climb or a long run that I’ve seen something and explored my environment a little bit. Essentially a whole other face. The surf is far away and imperfect and cold. The running is close. Spring is opening up the trees into blossoms and leaves. The skunk cabbage is almost out. The thrush is calling. It’s trail time (and I’ve got a 50 mile race coming up). And, one day some time later, it will be surf time again.

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Above from Below

A midnight run up Mt. Tzouhalem. 500 m of climbing. Left the car at 11:30PM. Why? Why not just go to bed? It feels crazy. I can only do it because I have no kids and my girlfriend is asleep after a long 24 hours of midwifing. I do it thinking of her. I do it thinking of future runs and self worth and the simple pleasure of moving and for the long day spent in an office chair. Thinking of cougars lurking in the forest around me. The trail pierces upward through fog, into and out of forest and meadow and rocky ridgelines. My own bubble of head-light and glimpses of town lights growing more distant below. Until I reach the top. And look down on the Cowichan Valley and see the thin fog lit from below by mercury vapour and sodium arc and LED. An impressionistic patchwork of beautiful color below and sharp pin pricks of stars above and frost glinting in the grass around me. I feel triumphant and like I’ve seen something and that’s enough to send me back down the hill to my car happy and almost confident that I wont get cougared or stranded up there somehow.

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It became this

After so much light
5PM became this

IMG_20141205_172041

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Summerama

These sum it up. Mountains. Freedom. New places. (click image to be immersed)

Mt. McDonald

Mt. McDonald

Crater Lake

Crater Lake

Mt. Olympus

Mt. Olympus

Home

Home

Strathcona

Strathcona

Conuma

Conuma

The Tea Hut

The Tea Hut

Kludahk

Kludahk

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Mesh and Rive

The violence of compromise pre-exists in me.
The ionic trace that leads electrical discharge;
Fissure in sun-baked wood guiding the maul
The crevassed ice shelf before it splits off
And drowns half of humanity.
Lightning exploits the compromise
As does the wood
And the ice
And the heart.
The cleft,
The cleaving
Grounds potential
And keeps other elements
From thunderously splitting apart;
Keeps the machinery grinding along
Gears gnashing into and out of mesh
Keeps your hand from gliding down splintery wood
Too quickly, too firmly; keeps the slivers from bone.

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Here comes a scruffleton

50 mile scruffleton

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