What a trail hill run is like.

As you know, I love trail hill running. Some of you don't run, or if you do run, it is not on trails - especially ones with hills. I thought I'd write out a description of a trail run so that you could live out a trail run without actually going on one. I hope you'll be able to place yourself there - physically, mentally, and emotionally. Throughout are pictures that I took along the way.

Typically, I plan out what types and distances of runs I will do each week, which includes one hill run. Lately, I have been trying to increase the distance of the run by 10 minutes each time, and increase the elevation climb by 100-200 feet. Yesterday, I planned to do a 80 minute run.

The beginning portion of the route,
at the base of Bald Hill.

Normally my son Jonah is with me on runs. Quite often, we are able to coordinate with my friend Joe's schedule so that the three us do hill runs together. It really makes a difference running by myself versus running with someone else. With others, usually we can talk as we run, we subconsciously or vocally spur each other on, and we are held accountable to keep going. For this run, Jonah and Joe were unable to go. Just me. Alone.

The gravel road that leads to the Mulkey Hill Trail.

I arrive at my destination: the hills just outside of Corvallis. It is an absolute treasure: a series of hills and forests with trails snaking throughout the hundreds of acres. We have ran several of the trails, but there are many, many more to yet explore. I love the sensation of a new trail, it is fresh, it has a sense of awe. The route I planned was to go on a trail I'd only been on once that tied into a trail that I'd been on numerous times.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous. Sunny, yet a cool 46 degrees. Last time I ran here, it was raining quite a bit. Once I was warmed up, I knew it'd be near perfect running conditions. I'm dressed appropriately for the weather and a long run. Today I would wear my sunglasses. Little things make a difference. My sunglasses fit my head better than my normal glasses. 

My mind swirls with thoughts and some anxiety. I have a new pair of running shoes especially designed for the trail. Last time I wore them, I got a blister on the back of my ankle. It hadn't fully healed. It was rubbing against the shoe. I tell myself this could be a long painful run. Little did I know that the healing blister would be the least of my challenges. I wrestle with other doubts. Can I make it? Will I need to stop and walk? How will I do without running partners? How will this feel on my chest? Will this be enough to prepare me for a big race in two weeks? Will I be able to take on that race? My mind swirls with questions, but also anticipation.

The beginning of the first trail at the
base of Mulkey Hill.

I stretch for a few minutes, taking care to especially stretch the ankle that I rolled a few weeks ago. I still baby it just a bit, and I don't want to re-injure it. I start off on a brisk walk. I feel the shoe rubbing against the blister. I stop twice to readjust my socks and the shoe. It still bothers me. I walk for five minutes to get warmed up, loosened up, and mentally prepared to run.

The trail begins along a flat open field, perfect for getting the heart rate up. Immediately I notice that my right shoe fits looser than the left shoe. That bothers me. Should I stop and re-tie it? Why didn't I notice that when walking? I did this last time too. Why can't I tie them evenly? So the thoughts go. 

The base of the first hill.

The trail is wide, and often used. In a quarter of a mile, I veer onto a gravel road that immediately begins to climb. Running up hills is a challenge. It uses different muscles than flatter street running. It takes more energy. I often struggle with starting out too fast and running at max energy which then slowly declines. I try to pace myself. I run with an app on my iPhone called RunKeeper. It tracks my pace, time, calories, route, and distance while I run. I have it set to give me audible feedback every three minutes. This way I can pace myself and not have to look at the phone. I continue up the gravel road, doing well with my pacing.

Today my planned route is to run up and down two hills. The first is a trail that I've only been on once before. I am hoping I remember the proper route. There are several trails and turns, and it would not be a good thing to get lost... especially alone. I find the trail head, and enter the woods. Now I am no longer in the direct sunlight. The scenery changes to a beautiful trail covered in autumn leaves. Trees all around covered in moss. Small shrubs cover the floor. The trail is mostly old gravel that is slowly being covered by dirt and mud. Since it hasn't rained for several days, the mud has mostly dried out. Wonderful running conditions.

The hillside below.

Within a short time, I am climbing the hill. This involves numerous switchbacks, running one way up the hill, then a tight corner, zig-zagging my way up the hill. For the most part, it is uphill with very few flat or downhill breaks. I choose not to look too far ahead. If I do, I see hill and more hill. Mentally that is difficult. I keep my head down, watching the trail. On the street, I run several miles before feeling much pain or exhaustion. Hills are different. I feel the pain, the heavy breathing, the challenge almost right away. I'm only a mile into it and already feel tired and the muscles are straining. I have six more miles to go! 

Almost to the top of the first hill.

Really I know I'll be OK, so I block those thoughts out and settle into "the zone." I begin to think about my upcoming races. I let myself fantasize about races that are way beyond my current abilities. Reaching for the next level. Setting goals. I think about my wife and my kids. I think about things going on in our life. I think about things we want to do in the future. I think about current work problems. I think and occasionally pray, bringing God into the conversation going on in my head. Clearing my mind. Running does that. The problems lessen, the future looks brighter, the goals more exciting.

My current circumstances force my mind back to the run. I veer off on a path that is basically the start of a large loop around the top of the hill. I'm still climbing. It is now a single person path only a foot wide. Tall grasses hang over the trail. I'm all alone in the mountains. I think of cougars and mountain lions and get a bit nervous. I hear rustling and it spooks me. Oh, just my legs brushing against the grass. My mind is not quite clear from the exertion. What if I fall? Or if there is an animal? Ridiculous thoughts. I battle through them. I need to focus on breathing. If I breath too quickly I will hyper-ventilate and make it worse. I count: 1-2-3-4-breathe. 1-2-3-4-breathe. I began to calm down and continue on. 

Beginning of the loop around the top of the hill.

Narrow single track at the top.

I reach the top. I've climbed over 600 feet. I made it! I climbed the hill. The challenge, the grueling, the breathing, the legs screaming. I made it! There is such a sense of accomplishment. A euphoria. An adrenaline. Like a lover after a fit of passion, my mind metaphorically rolls over desiring a cigarette. Enjoy the moment. But there is no time to relax and enjoy the moment. I realize I've only gone 2.25 miles, only 28 minutes into my 80 minute run.

The descent. Flying down the hill!

Now I begin the descent. I pick up speed. The slope is gradual enough that I can partially let myself go. Running downhill, while sounding easier, is surprisingly challenging. If it is too steep, it takes a lot of energy to hold yourself back and the gait changes and becomes uncomfortable. But this slope is nice, I continue to pick up speed. Now I am running a low seven minute mile versus the mid-eleven minute mile on the way up. If only I could always run a low seven. On flat roads, I run around a 10 minute mile, which is not fast. A seven minute mile feels like I am flying.

Within what feels like only a few minutes, I have descended the hill that I worked so hard to climb. The trail was perfect for a fast descent. I am a bit worried that I came down that too fast, but it felt good.  I break out into the clearing and onto the gravel road, and suddenly the adrenaline vanishes. Gone. Now all I feel are the effects of running up a hill and coming down too fast. My legs hurt. My hips hurt. When I run too fast, my back will hurt. Today is no exception. Just great: an aching back, legs, and hips. 

The point where I need to decide to quit or continue on.

I have about 3/4 of a mile to go before the next hill. Doubts settle in. I'm only a little over three miles into this run and I feel like this? Perhaps I should just head back to the car. Four miles would be a good run. I don't need to push it. This is supposed to be fun. Why try the next hill? What if I can't make it? This is the low point of the run. The time where I need to decide if I will really push through. I have no adrenaline left. The excitement of attaining the top of the hill is gone. Now it is just gruelling it out. I need to dig deep. I need to push through. I begin some self talk. I gaze out at the great view of the surrounding area, gaining a more positive outlook. I begin to think about the attainable challenge. I am attempting to go up and over another hill. Joe, Jonah, and I had previously climbed that first hill but on the second hill, we cut back part way up the hill. This would be a new accomplishment for me. I love to push myself. I can do this. Besides, I am preparing for a race with a couple of hills worse than this.

The second hill (Bald Hill) is now in view.

Base of Bald Hill.

I gather strength as I begin the slow climb of the second hill. It begins as a gradual climb, but I know up ahead, it gets steep. Ignorance is bliss. The first hill I couldn't remember how steep or challenging it was. The second hill I was not so ignorant: I knew it was going to be tough.  I push that out of my mind. I try to enjoy the scenery. I'm running into the sun, and I feel the warmth of it as I press up the hill. I dread the part of the hill with large rough rocks - a short section, but very annoying. 

Slow climb up Bald Hill.

My legs are tired, I am focusing on breathing, I continue to try to gauge how much is left in the energy tank. I know that I am only a little over half of the way through my route. How can I gather enough energy to finish this?

"The Climb" - the steep portion of the hill.

I turn the corner, and see "the climb." A steep climb with very few switchbacks. This is where I have to dig the deepest. Self-doubt. Fears. Weakness. Pain. Failure. I shut out all those thoughts and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Breathe. 1-2-3-breathe. I can't count to four. I begin to overheat. If I don't get it under control, I'm a goner. I'll be walking. It feels like I am just wagging my rear and not actually moving. My mind starts to fade. My surroundings are less clear. Get the breathing under control! I feel drunk. I stagger. Breathe. One foot in front of the other.

Slowly, ever so slowly it feels, I begin to climb. Step after step I chug up the hill. Breathing becomes better. I talk aloud, "Come on. Come on." I look ahead and just see more hill. Don't worry about the speed, just keep going. I feel like I have no energy left to go another step.

I glance down at my iPhone, and I have a faster pace than expected. I have noticed this several other times: that the second hill can feel much harder, but I am actually running faster. It is a mental battle. I never realized when I started running how much of this sport is mental. Yes, it is physically a challenge, but I've observed that our minds limit us far more than our bodies. If we are able to take those mental negatives captive, we are able to achieve far more than we realize.

Grinding up the hill.

I grind up the hill. The top is a clearing, and I take in the view from the top. I made it! I climbed the second hill! A wave of tired sense of accomplishment washes over me. I know I still have 20 minutes to go, but it doesn't matter now. I have crested the second hill. It should be easy now.

View from the top of Bald Hill!

Another view from the top.

Corvallis in the distance.

I forgot how difficult the descent was coming down the front side of hill. This hill was steeper. The descent was much more challenging. I couldn't let myself fly. To compound the difficulty, the trail was rough with lots of boulders. The trail was covered with leaves, making those rocks difficult to see. Furthermore, the mud was much worse on this trail. So: steeper, rockier, and muddier.

The final descent.

My legs felt like spaghetti. With my ankle weakness, I knew I couldn't afford to misstep. My mind was flooded with fearful thoughts of my legs collapsing and falling headlong into the rocks. I descend and naturally pick up speed. I must force myself to slow down. It feels so unnatural. I hit a gully and realize again how weak the leg strength is. Mud and rocks make it an obstacle course. I step on a hidden rock and feel my other ankle wobble. I run a bit further and my back foot slips and slides several inches. I recover and slow. Carefully I continue on descending the hill and eventually come to another clearing.

I've made it through the difficult part. Only a mile left on fairly flat surface. But I have one more goal. It is good to save a bit of energy for the end. To speed up and finish strong. To not walk across the finish line, but to run fast. Do I have anything left? I must pace myself. I'm so tired. I want to walk. But I push on. I think about what I've accomplished. I think about my next run - a long flat street run. I think about eating. I pick up speed. I recognize when I am lumbering versus running. I try to improve my form. Back straight. Head up. I pass several people walking their dogs. I can now smile a bit. I sprint the last 30 seconds. Thirty seconds feel like an eternity. I count it down in my head. Thirty seconds, I can do anything for thirty seconds.

I made it! Back at the car.

I'm done.

Seven miles. One hour and 20 minutes. Elevation climb of 1166 feet. 1,114 calories. Alone. The furthest distance I've ever ran on a hill run. 

As you can see, this run included so many things: challenge, excitement, euphoria, fears, overcoming, exercise, mental submission, goals, accomplishments, natural beauty. That is why I subject myself to such challenges. I love it, I hate it, I dread it, but I can't wait until I can do it again!