Goodbye, Winter, Please Come Back

A quick update with perspective on the Marin Ultra Challenge

I have a short update today rather than a full story. I’m working on a freelance writing assignment for our regional magazine and getting ready to travel tomorrow. Next week I’ll bring you a race report. Meanwhile, here is a snapshot of the San Juan Mountains now, followed by some links to recommended stories.

From Saturday’s run.

Last Friday, the wind howled and gray clouds rolled in, and a day of steady snow dumped nearly 10 inches on the mountain. We woke Saturday to a landscape that sparkled white. I laced up my winter Hoka Speedgoats that have built-in spikes for traction, knowing it probably would be the last time this season that I use them, and headed out on a 13-mile run, tapering for this Saturday’s Marin Ultra Challenge 50K.

I studied the snow-covered mesas and peaks, and the curtains of dripping icicles hanging from rocky slopes where precious water springs, and recognized that their transience enhanced their beauty. The sun was shining strong, the temps rising into the mid- to high 40s.

Two hours later, I was running on mud that stuck in my spikes. The melt happened that fast.

Four days later, the roads and most meadows are bone dry and brown, save for some crusty white patches on shadowy north-facing slopes. The forecast calls for highs in the mid-60s a week from now as a heat wave builds over the West. We’re wondering if the ski resort will shut down early, in a couple of weeks instead of later in April, if no more snow arrives.

I want to revel in the springtime transition and brilliant blue sky, and welcome the arrival of green shoots of grass poking up through the dead-brown landscape. And I would—if it were May. But we’re two months early for this transition.

I know I’m not alone in struggling to savor and appreciate the present when an inner voice worries, “We’re screwed.”

The Colorado River is screwed¹. The wildfire season looms. With existential dread, it’s reasonable to expect that every year going forward will be incrementally hotter, and that our future grandkids will not know snow.

What do we do in the face of that? I don’t have answers. But I do hold onto faith that nature adapts, people adapt. I remind myself that in each of the past three Mays, I optimistically planted flowers and hung flower baskets too early, around May 1, only to have them freeze from a cold blast, and that we sometimes get Cinco de Mayo snowstorms.

Meanwhile, we harden our home and take whatever fire-proofing and water-saving measures we can. We get outside to absorb the beauty. We support regional environmental groups that are doing important work and making an impact, even as our nation’s leaders worsen the situation by eviscerating environmental protections and denying climate change.

We take photos of fresh snow.

The beautiful thin, brief layer.

Pilgrimage to the Marin Headlands

In lighter and brighter news, I am so excited to return to the Bay Area for the Marin Ultra Challenge.

Those of you new to this newsletter probably don’t know that I spent the formative years of adulthood—from grad school in my mid-twenties, to raising kids in my thirties and forties—in the East Bay Area, and the trails in the Headlands across the bay always beckoned as a special running destination.

To give you a sense of what it’s like, I offer this short-and-sweet race report from 2022—the early months of this newsletter—which hardly anyone read at the time. It helped me to re-read it to remind myself of reasonable goals and a positive mindset for racing.

When I raced the Marin Ultra Challenge 50K a decade ago, in 2016, I finished in 5:03 (a 9:46 average pace on a course with about 6300 feet of elevation gain). Now, I would be happy and proud to finish an hour slower than that. I’m estimating the 50K this weekend will take me 6:15 to 6:30, averaging around a 12-minute pace. That’s the reality of running at age 56 instead of 46. People assume that altitude acclimation from living at 9000 feet will make sea-level running easy. It’ll help. But the fact is, slow-paced mountain running here in southwest Colorado, with a great deal of hiking in the mix, has normalized a 12-minute/mile average pace on most trail runs, slower in the high country. So be it.

Two blasts from the past: Racing the Marin Ultra Challenge 50M in 2013 and the Marin Ultra Challenge 50K in 2016.

I listened to a podcast last weekend that helped me adopt a positive attitude toward this race—to think of it as a vacation, which it is, with no disappointments! I’m so stoked to revisit this area in its springtime green glory and to connect with old friends! The podcast is The Trail Network featuring Katie Asmuth’s recap of the Tarawera 100K.

More generally, I’m so grateful to be healthy and uninjured! My body feels blissfully normal for now. Neither my knees nor my lower back is protesting.

Also worth your time:

As a Rajpaul fan, I appreciated this story about his triumphant, patient comeback from last year’s heartbreak, when he won the USATF 100-mile championship, then was DQ’ed for shoes that didn’t comply with the regs.

I’m a latecomer to Ali Feller aka Ali On the Run, who’s widely known for her podcast and her Substack. I appreciated her latest post, Sweet & Salty, for her smart take on the USATF women’s half marathon championship finish-line shitshow and her general advice about social media hot takes: “I just wish people didn’t have to be such assholes about every injustice. Take. a. breath.”

And that’s all this week! After writing the intro above, I made a snap decision to set aside work and shoehorn in 90 minutes of skiing mid-morning because it may be my last chance for zoomies on the hill this season, if the snow is a slushy, patchy mess this time next week when we return from our trip. Carpe diem.

With my girls Daisy and Dakota at the end of Saturday’s run.

1. For essential Colorado River reporting, follow Jonathan P. Thompson The Land Desk and on Instagram, @westernwatergirl.