A Run on the Wild Side

A and I spent the holidays in Big Sur this year.  There was so much natural beauty to take in, it was almost hard to process.  We had to pull over every few miles on Highway 1 for a new photo opportunity that was more beautiful and very different from the last.

Here is a picture of the sun setting above the fog our first night there:

And this is the sunrise from our yurt the next morning:

After enjoying the view and eating a hearty breakfast, A and I embarked on an 8-mile trail run in Andrew Molera State Park.  Considering our penchant for losing our way on trail runs, we only missed one turn and ended up doing our intended loop in reverse.  For us, that's what I call success.

In truth, the reroute was good fortune because it turned the most concentrated length of elevation change into a climb versus a descent.  I'm chagrined to admit I walked a good portion of the steep uphill while A waited for me at the top.  That being said, running downhill gives me a worse hangover than running up.  We ran about 3.5 miles straight down a 30-degree slope and my quads were angry rubberbands the next day.

Our run was almost a nonstarter when I realized that before we could begin, we'd have to take off our shoes and wade knee-deep across a creek filled with winter-cold water.  I still don't know how A convinced me to do it, but I'm proud to say that I didn't complain for too long afterwards once I was on the other side.

The first half of the trail was single-track and technical.  We were running along a bluff overlooking the ocean, but most of the beauty was missed because it took all my concentration to navigate the rocky, narrow path.  But the biggest hazard by far was the virtual forest of poison oak that rangers can't warn you about enough.  Luckily my very sensitive husband wisely wore long pants, kept to the middle of the trail, and heeded the mantra "Leaves of three, let it be".

At one point near the summit, A stopped suddenly a few feet ahead of me.  There was an animal on the trail ahead of us.  After seeing the many posted warnings about mountain lions, A immediately thought we had our first sighting.  It ran along the dirt a few yards ahead and looked back a few times before darting into the brush.  I thought I saw pointed ears and its fur looked more gray than beige.  We decided it probably was a really big fox instead of a hungry mountain lion.  Nevertheless, A started whistling and I clapped my hands to make us sound large, in charge, and thereby unattractive prey.

Aside from that, we were completely alone for about six miles.  Finally we saw another couple hiking in the opposite direction who confirmed that we were not too far from the trailhead.  Turns out, the living creature I'm most excited to see while on a trail is another human.  I know diehards love trail running because of the solitude, but I find it spooky being so alone.  The irony is, in the city, I hate everyone I'm forced to share the sidewalk with.

After about two hours, we were crossing the creek to get back to the parking lot.  Since my shoes were quite dirty, I kept them on to give them a wash.  They took a bit longer than expected to dry, but luckily I had another pair of shoes to wear on our 5-mile hike the next day.  But I wish I had remembered to bring along a spare pair of quads.