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Photo Tour of Los Gatos Creek Trail

I almost drowned last night in my own secretions- several times. I woke up gasping and spitting, coughing and gagging. I decided to go easy for my bike ride today. But it had to happen. I couldn't just sit indoors all day today like I did yesterday (I think).

So I took a leisurely ride along the Los Gatos Creek Trail where I do most of my runs, and occasionally ride my bike. The speed limit is 15 mph on the trail and on weekends there's a lot of people, so it really limits the actual workout you can get on a bike. Since I didn't necessarily feel like getting out of my pajamas, I decided I would bring my camera along and then show you guys where all my amazing runs have been here. That got me out the door.

I rode my bike through the neighborhood and went a little farther than where I normally get on the trail, since where I usually start is really nothing but concrete near a busy street.

Here's where I started today.

The trail is paved and stretches about 9 or 10 miles before turning to a dirt path. Along most of the trail is also an unpaved trail in case someone wants to run off pavement. Notice how bright and sunny it is here. It didn't stay that way.

Meandering along a couple miles later is my favorite spot, for a fairly strange reason I think.

It's the first wooden part of the trail you come across, and when I run on it, I suddenly feel like I'm a cross country runner-which I missed out on in high school and it looks like that might've been a cool sport. As I run along, my feet sound adventurous on the wooden bridge and the chain link fence rattles like, well, chains I guess. However, on my bike, the planks cause so much vibration that it's hard to hold on to the handle bars.

On the right is the creek and you can look down to see a little waterfall.

Let me remind you, this trail is smack dab in the middle of the city and connects Campbell/San Jose to Los Gatos, a quaint little town that I'll probably never be able to afford living there.

The Los Gatos Creek Trail (LGCT) is an eclectic mix of urban and suburban. It follows the freeway for a good portion of it, goes under and over the freeway, and under city streets.

It passes through a few parks, which is good if you need to use the restroom or refill your water bottle.

A couple weeks ago the flowers were blooming on the trees like mad, but a couple weeks ago I was also in a rush, and healthy enough to be pushing myself too hard to stop for pictures. It's a shame, some of the tree blossoms were so gorgeous that they were distracting. Anyway, the poppies are in full bloom these days.

Here's one of the creek crossings. When I run across it, the bridge actually squeaks to the frequency of my footsteps, which makes me wonder about either the stability of the bridge or that whole physics thing about frequencies and bridges...was it the Tacoma Narrows Bridge? Now that's some awesome physics. Google it.

And lest you believe that this creek trail is a paradise hidden in the city, this poor guy has to share his home with trash from selfish/careless humans.

Going over the bridge, I leaned over to get a shot of the geese.

And the view from the crossing.

And as it turns out, this is not a turtle like I had hoped.

Nope. Not a turtle, but a lost soccer ball.

After crossing the bridge and going under the street, you come up on the park which is complete with a leash-free dog area,

Casting ponds for the practicing fly fishermen,

And plenty of geese.

(and bathrooms, water fountains, a gazebo, picnic tables, etc).

These guys:

do not care who you are, how much bigger you are than them, and what kind of vehicle you are on. They have absolutely no fear of humans, dogs, cats, whatever, and I get this sneaking feeling that there's a reason for that. Their boldness and utter lack of concern for the beings around them makes me pretty nervous. I give them their space. And if they're in the trail when I'm trying to come through, I hiss at them, shoo them, whatever I can to get them out of the way. They don't even look up. They really don't care. They might as well be cows.

Just on the other side of that grassy little field are a few little man made pond things. Sometimes they have water in them, sometimes they don't. I spotted this one from the plane on our way home from San Diego a couple weeks ago.

People fish in there. I think maybe they stock it.

Here's the other side, looking across the creek towards the freeway.

Notice the clouds gathering a bit. Apparently I was enjoying myself too much to notice this while it was happening.

These guys were looking mighty picturesque.

And then you pop out at the Vasona County Park (of Santa Clara County) up over the reservoir.

Yeah, got a little cloudier, didn't it?

A little tranquil spot.

Another wooden walkway spot, just before the paved portion of the trail comes to an end.

 

You come to a T with this mural, and you can either go left or right. 

 Going right through these doors will (presumably) bring you in to downtown Los Gatos.

Going left brings you down a ramp (where the only people who really walk their bikes are ones who can't make it up the steep ramp) and to the end of the paved trail.

It is also the site of the Forbes Mill Museum, which I have never been in.

Being on skinny tires, it's time for me to turn around. Not that Ruby hasn't handled rougher terrain, but I was already hungry.

A few more photos of Vasona Park (where by the way, you can also rent kayaks and stand up paddle boards) on my way home.

Within about 20 minutes of home, it got pretty windy. Windy on a bicycle is no fun. Also, as it turns out, it's not a good time to learn how to ride with no hands. I would like to learn how to ride with no hands, but it's difficult for me for some reason (and other people do it like it's second nature). Anyway, gave it a good brave try, got blasted by the wind, and almost died. So, no more of that on a windy day.

I leaned sideways into the wind until I turned and faced it head on. It was ridiculous.

But anyway, so now you got to see a little piece of my regular running route.

Chasing Zyrtec

Like a bad tequila that requires a lemon wedge and a beer, I chased last night's 24 hr Zyrtec with my steroid nasal spray, two cups  of coffee and a puff of my inhaler. Judging by the gurgling noise my sinuses were making last night, the Zyrtec didn't help much anyway. It reminded me of the noise kids make when they're trying to suck up the last remnants of a cherry slurpee.

Once all the medications hit my blood stream I started having second guesses about today's "marathon pace" 7 mile run. In reality I started second guessing being out of bed at all. I drank a protein shake to cushion the medicine feeling a little bit- which didn't help at all.

When I did my first marathon pace (M-pace) run a couple weeks ago, I actually had a hard time running slow enough. I was supposed to be averaging a 7:58 mile, and after a few 7 min miles I managed to slow down enough for my total average to be 7:27. Easy peasy.

With my allergies going nuts, no doubt fueled by yesterday's long bike ride through the gorgeous hills of the south county, feeling drowsy from the Zyrtec, and feeling jittery from my inhaler (and probably the coffee), I figured I wouldn't have any problem going "slow enough". I was right.

Even for my warm-up mile I just wanted to stop and go home. This was going to go badly. I can understand canceling a run due to a cold or flu or something, but it's hard to forgo a workout simply because of allergies. I mean, allergies last for weeks, sometimes months...and sometimes all year. As much as I want to just lay around in bed all week (it's Spring Break after all), it's just not a good idea.

8:08 was my first mile. Not bad considering I also use the first mile to get warmed up a bit. I cruised along, haunted by the deep nausea in my belly and my urge to just close my eyes and go to sleep. I had my sunglasses on despite the lack of sun this morning, to soothe my eyes a bit. Usually I smile and say good morning to people I see on the trail, but I really wasn't feeling it today.

The trail was crowded-much more than usual. It was like running in a race. But just when my spirits were at their lowest, someone coming in the other direction put his fist in the air and yelled "Yay Boston!" referring to my Boston running shirt I had on. I smiled and said good morning to him and his little group. I felt slightly more uplifted. However, my nausea intensified. 8:08 for my second mile. Yeesh. 

When I ran this pace two weeks ago, I winced as I hit a 7:07 (oops), cringed when I hit a 7:14 after thinking I had slowed significantly, and then laughed when I hit a 6:59 near the end (I mean, really?). Today I wondered if I'd be able to hit a 7:58 at all. I was tired and nauseas and just wanted to be curled up in bed sleeping.

I went around the mass of runners on the trail and pushed a little harder. 7:52. That's better. Although I was still shocked at the effort it was requiring from me. I turned around at 3.5 miles and headed home. I noticed some fly fishermen all lined up in a grassy area practicing their casts on the lawn with little plastic circles. Then as I went a little further, there was a group of them in waders in the casting pond standing in a huddle talking. In the next fenced area there appeared to be a dog obedience class going on. Wow, I guess it's spring. Everyone is out and about today.

I felt a little better and pushed on. 7:47. See, there we go. The nausea was back. My pace crept up again. I leaned forward slightly to increase my forward momentum a bit.

Across the creek a group did some sort of dance with sticks on the basketball court. Onto the wooden bridge with the chain link fence, down the little hill and into the dark tunnel under the freeway. The quiet enveloped me and I wanted to shut my eyes. Out into the daylight and past the new condos that have been under construction since I moved here. Under another dark bridge and past the car wash, with the obnoxious barking dogs on the other side of the creek. Up the ramp to the road, and right at the railroad tracks. Left at the school, down the street, and my Garmin beeped. 7 miles. I walked. I felt overheated despite the cool air. My face felt puffy and swollen. 7:59 average. I'll take it.

I get the sense that sometimes the medication is worse than initial problem. Zyrtec might be one of these cases. My ears are still stuffed up and I'm still sleepy. There's a pile of dishes in my sink and studying that needs to be done. But for now I'm just going to close my eyes for a second. It is Spring Break after all. 

The Long Ride

Today I decided to take the scenic route to Morgan Hill for my ride, most likely stopping at Starbucks before heading towards home. I packed a baggie of sweet potato wedges and a small breakfast burrito into my jersey pockets.

It was overcast when I finally set out (got all the way down the stairs with my bike before realizing I hadn't pumped up the tires...had to go back up again) but not too cold. I had on my shorts and a sleeveless jersey, but also had on arm warmers and a wind breaker. Easy layers to remove during a ride.

Not too far into the ride, I was swept up by the Sports Basement cycling group. We kept meeting each other at stop lights. When they finally turned off the road I was on, I was relieved to get rid of the awkwardness. But then they came up behind me at another light and I heard one of them say "She took the short cut". But I also know I was going further today than they were. I talked to one of them about where they were going and where I was going. When I said I was going about 55 miles, he commented "Wow, that's far." The light turned green so I don't know how far they were going.

My first stop was the Calero Reservoir for a bathroom break.

It wasn't long before I was on a road I recognized from club rides. It's a fairly quiet road with rolling green hills and green trees, lupines and golden poppies dotting the landscape, cows hanging out in the grass, and a bubbling creek leading the way to the next reservoir.

At Chesboro Dam I pulled over for a snack and a view, eating my entire bag of sweet potatoes.

I said good morning to the cyclists out enjoying the misty morning, but mostly stood over my bike enjoying the quiet. There were a few people fishing and I wondered if the fishing was any good. I clipped back in and went on my way.

I had a general idea of where I was going. Enough so that if I took a wrong turn it would only change my route by a mile or two. I had an index card with directions clipped to my handlebars, and if all else failed I could just tell my Garmin to "return to start". Although it's old enough that it doesn't know roads so it might be a little extreme with directions. I think the "return to start" function works as the crow flies. The actual route would be up to me.

As I got down near Morgan Hill, the houses started getting bigger and more glamorous. I turned right into town and then looked right and saw the biggest house I have ever seen. I was so distracted by it that I almost missed my turn. It was literally a mansion! Who owns these places?

I located Starbucks and went in for some caffeine. I contemplated getting a little sweet snack too, but I still had my breakfast burrito and didn't need to shove 6 cupcakes into my mouth, which is what I was really thinking. I decided a light sugar fix would be fine, so I ordered a caramel macchiato. I was at mile 30.

I decided to also eat my breakfast burrito, which concerned me a bit, knowing I had a little over 25 miles to go to get home. But I would be riding through towns that had food, so it wasn't too big of a deal. If I got really hungry I could just pull over for a burger or something.

I hopped back on my bike and headed into a busy intersection. After sprinting through the turn, I was hit with a simple truth about human physiology. When you sit down for say, a half hour, and eat a burrito and drink a caramel macchiato, your brain says "Hey, we're done with the leg thing now, let's divert blood to the stomach to digest all that goodness". And when your legs suddenly sprint through an intersection after being seated for so long, and all your blood is in your stomach, there's this really weird thing that happens. You suddenly feel like you're about to die. Ugh. That was fun. Apparently we are taking this leisurely for awhile.

My route home would take me over the mostly flat valley, but would avoid the awful route home I took the last time I rode down here. The thing about flat in these parts though, is that it usually takes part in a valley. And the thing about valleys is that they are windy. And the thing about being on a bike on an open road in a windy valley is that you get tossed around like a leaf. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I don't weigh enough. Probably should've had the 6 cupcakes.

I noticed cyclists on the other side of the road crouched into aero bars or low in their drops. Weird, I was pretty sure I was getting a head wind, which would mean they were getting a tail wind. No need to get low, take advantage of the push! I crouched low for a bit to get out of the wind.

I should mention at this point that it's allergy season here. The only antihistamine that works for me is Zyrtec, but it also makes me drowsy. So I used a steroid nasal spray before the ride, which cleared up my congestion, but it did nothing for my persistently running nose. Apparently runny noses are common with cycling anyway because they put these little snot wipe pad thingy's on cycling gloves so that you can blow your nose on your gloves. At least I think that's what they're for. My new(ish) gloves have a smaller snot wipe area than my older ones. This is an issue. So I generally wipe as much snot onto my fingers and then on to my shorts as I can, and then use the snot wipe pad as a finishing touch. 36 miles into an allergy ridden ride, this just doesn't cut it.

Anyway, I trekked on, nose running like a faucet. I rode by dozens of bus stops, and it occurred to me that I should carry my student ID card with the transit sticker on it. As a student at SJSU, we get free transit.  There are spots for bikes on both buses and light rail. What if I needed a ride?

I finally made it out of the wind and into a residential area. I had to pee. Almaden Lake should be coming up according to my current mileage, and I'd be able to make a stop there. It was hard to tell how far away it really was, so I looked for Mt. Umunum, the image of my battle with Hicks Road. For the longest time I couldn't see it. I kept searching. I hummed songs to myself and eyed bushes on the side of the road.


When I finally spotted the tower on top of Mt. Umunum, it looked so far away! 46 miles had passed. I should be nearing Almaden Lake soon. I took a left on Coleman road and knew it was near. Then there it was! I turned into the parking lot and found the restrooms, drank some water and got back on my bike. I knew it was about ten miles from here to get home. I was hungry.

About 2 miles later the rear of my bike got a little soft and squirrelly. I tried to get a glimpse of the rear tire. It looked a little flat. I pulled over. Yep, flat. I pulled up on to the sidewalk to change my first mid-ride flat. The only other flats I've changed were at home due to me ripping out the valve stem with the pump. At home I have a nice floor pump. On my bike I have only a hand pump. I thought again about that transit pass. Bah, you've got this.

It wasn't too bad except that I think the limit of my ability to pump up my tire by hand is about 40 PSI. I was hoping for about 100. I wasn't too far from home so I had to take what I could get. I thought about the CO2 cartridge pumps and wished I had one in addition to the hand pump. That way I could pump it up as much as possible by hand, and then finish it off with the CO2 pump. More stuff to carry. I would say worth it though. Road bikes don't generally appreciate 40 psi.

Just over a mile from home, I pulled up to a stop light on a left turn and noted the guy standing on the sidewalk waiting to cross. Once again I blew my nose into my fingers and wiped it on my shorts (I'm so classy, I know). But then I thought of something. I looked at my fingers. They were black from the grease from changing my tire. And...I just wiped my snotty nose with them. "That's wonderful" I said out loud. I wiped down my nose with my snot wipe on my glove, hoping to remove any black.

The light turned green for the pedestrian to cross and I waited patiently. As he walked in front of me he avoided making eye contact and had a bit of smirk on his face. Hmm. That probably looked a little interesting, what I just did there. I kept myself from laughing out loud. The light turned green.

But! I made it home. 40 psi and all. 56.6 miles total with an average speed of 14.7 mph. My longest ride yet and on track to have a good century ride at the end of May.

I drank a quick protein shake, took a hot bath to soothe my aching quads and crawled in to bed for an hour nap.

Gentle Reminders

The time change has not been kind to my morning routine. Things were doing so well, it was starting to get light at 6:30am. I was enjoying getting off the treadmill and into the streets (or track) for an early morning run.

And then we were robbed of an hour of time. Just like that.

I bet night-type people enjoy this. Now I'm shorted an hour of daylight. Why do we call this daylight savings time? It is now pitch black when I'm supposed to be running or cycling. What the hell?

When 4:30am suddenly becomes 3:30am, life gets rough. This morning my alarm jolted me out of sleep after having gotten up at 4:45am for months with no alarm clock. I grabbed a cup of coffee and crawled back under the covers with it.

I heard rain outside my window. What is that? I got up and peeked out the window. The street was wet. It was raining. Grrr.

I had a full body strength training routine to do at the gym and then on to a speed workout at the track. Can you run at the track in the rain? I guess it depends on whether or not it's an all-weather track. I have no clue.

These are the days when I need a reminder of why I do this. Because there are plenty of people who don't. And most of them are plenty happy. Training is miserable some times. The motivation you get from embarking on a training routine in the first place never lasts very long. You get some crazy idea to do some stupid race and it all sounds fine and dandy. And then reality sinks in. Training is hard. Eating right is hard. Getting out of bed at 4:45am after the government just stole an hour from you, is hard. Suddenly the original fun idea is not fun anymore.

Lately I've been thinking about Boston. I guess because it's that time of year, the trial is on the news, and my physical therapist requested a Boston picture of me. Remembering the excitement of Boston, it's easy to remember why I do this. I think about running and swimming events I've done in my life, when it was time to perform, when it was time to put aside whatever I had going on, and give it the best I had. I love those days. The moment when the buzzer goes off, and you start your journey. In that moment there's no making up for lost training, poor nutrition, crappy sleep habits. There's no un-doing injuries or illnesses. You have what you have and now it's time to show yourself what you can do with it.

Snuggled under my covers with my coffee this morning, I decided I would have to dig into some of my Boston memorabilia for some motivation....after my workout that is. I have my short sleeve and long sleeve training shirts. I have a sweatshirt, and of course my medal hangs on the wall with my other medals. My gym shoes are the ones that ran Boston.

I tumbled out of bed for cup number two and set some rainy running gear on the bed- my shorts, a hat, and a rain jacket, and then got dressed for the gym. After my gym workout I head straight to the track, so I bring my running clothes with me. I drank my protein shake and headed out into the rain.

The gym workout went well-upper body and lower body weights and an ab routine. I looked out the window into the darkness and then went to change into my running clothes. When I got to the track it was still fairly dark, and still raining. I groaned and got out of the car.

The track was wet-but turns out it's all-weather. Not slippery at all. It wasn't as crowded, but as expected, there were walkers with umbrellas. I suppose that's fair. By the end of my workout my shoes were soaked but the rest of me fairly dry. I went home, had a cup of hot coffee and some quick pasta before my hot shower (hey, it was the only thing already made).

Then I decided to go back to my Boston blog, look at the photos of my running gear laid out on the bed, the temporary tattoo on my arm, and read the story again- to get that sense of the rewards for all my hard work.

And...it made me cry. What an emotional and rewarding experience! (Aunt Pat- I found a couple typos and fixed them.) People who wonder why I'm so hard on myself and try my best not to miss a workout, have obviously never experienced anything like this first hand. Yes the training sucks sometimes. It's hard. But not everyone will get to experience what I did- and that was due to hard work and commitment. It was due to pulling myself out of a soft, snuggly bed. Eating healthy food when I'd rather have McDonald's.

And when I see my times improve, that's another reward for my hard work. It's such an amazing transformation for me since it wasn't too many years ago when I would not call myself a runner. I felt I was too slow to be labeled a runner, which in itself is pretty silly. I think I tried to deny it for awhile too. Especially because if I admitted I was a runner- a marathon runner at that- then I would have to train hard, be dedicated, make sacrifices, and be strict with how respectful I am to my body.

But it pays off. The reward is great, and it's personal. Possibly my most inspiring photo is of my Boston running outfit laid out on the hotel bed the night before the race. When the excitement and nerves had me restless and unable to concentrate. When I was about to take part in one of the greatest running events in the world.

Oh yeah. I remember why I do this.

Helium

My grandmother sorrowfully said to me “He had such a beautiful mind”. But we all noted how as his mind slipped away, it revealed such a beautiful heart.

When my dad died, a chunk of my grandfather's heart broke off and fell away as my dad's soul drifted into the ether. It fell among his son's ashes, stirred along with it in the memorial garden to live among the flowers and roots, diving deeper into the soil with each passing rain.

The day my grandmother slipped away, he must've somehow felt her soul take flight of him: fluttering softly like a butterfly having just found its wings. Though he consciously didn't understand who she was, he must've felt the lack of her and been at a loss to explain it. He noted though, that as the pieces of him fell away, he somehow felt heavier instead of lighter. Being an engineer, he thought “Helium. Our souls must be made of helium.”

It's as if the hearts we cling to hold us up on strong shoulders, lightening the weight under our footsteps. As they leave us, we grow heavier. Pockets full of rocks.

And as he lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, he suddenly knew where to find his wife and son. He shook himself free from his old body and the weight of the world, looked toward the sky and let his soul be captured by the passing stars.