laurel highlands trail run

I've been upping my long run by 15 minutes every week. Not that I've added too much distance, since all my runs have been on snowy trails. On Saturday I decided to do my long run on the Laurel Highlands Hiking trail. It's got some fantastic views of the river.

But I forgot that the elevation profile looked like this:

Just kidding. But not really. Here's the actual map.

Basically, getting to the lookout is the easy part. After that, the trail levels off for half a mile before plunging down again. 

And then going way back up again. I turned around at 4 miles, although a hiker assured me I was close to the 5 mile mark. I didn't trust myself to finish 10 miles out there with just snow as a water source. 

Turns out the run clocked in at around 8.6 miles. I had Strava going on my phone, so I set a new Queen of the Mountain on the first climb, since bikes aren't allowed on that trail. So unless someone breaks the law, the fastest climb up the first hill will be set at around 2.5 miles per hour. Hah! 

But when I got back to the park, there was a weird mood in the air. Three fire trucks and an ambulance were all parked by the falls. There were more stationed by the visitor center. A few groups of people in safety orange were milling around all the trailheads with German Shepherds.

Apparently there's been a guy missing in (or around) Ohiopyle for the past few days. He stopped by asking about hiking trails, ate at the pub, and disappeared. According to the news, the situation is inconclusive.

It gives me chills. I feel terrible for his family and friends. I hope they can call off the search soon. 

haven't you ever heard of skis?

Last year I packed on the winter miles and ended up with tendonitis. That wasn't too fun. So for the past month or so, I've been following a training schedule that allows a bit more room for improvisation. My running mileage has taken a big dip--most of my runs have been on snowy trails (which is actually about thirty times harder than normal trail running), and I've been doing a good bit of cross training. Since I don't own a pair of cross country skis, I've been getting creative with my snow activities.

For instance, this was my last hill workout.

Montana has been spending less time on the bike and more time perfecting his unicycle skills. He's actually been getting pretty good at it. Check out this expert filmage. And this one if you'd like a morning giggle. 

We spent our New Year's Eve riding bikes on snowmobile trails Laurel Mountain with our friends Rob and Chrissy. They just got a couple of Salsa's fatbikes, which are basically dirtbikes without motors. 

Montana and I just had our 29ers, which worked pretty well on the trails that were packed down. 

But Montana's singlespeed was geared a little too high to sit and spin up the hills. 

That might the first time he's ever uttered the phrase "Colleen is dropping me." He considered going back to get the unicycle after that. 

The riding was sketchy and slippery. My descents were painfully slow, and the climbs were exhausting. Especially the last one, which everyone but Rob had to hike. We passed a few snowshoers who laughed at us as they floated above the snow like elves. 

We managed to cover 15 miles in 3 hours, but it felt like we'd been out all day. When we finally got around to eating, I tried to crush a plate of cheesy egg scramble at a family restaurant off the highway, but I was too sleepy to finish it. 

Needless to say, our New Year's celebrations weren't too rowdy.  

Happy winter, people!

Part 3: Queenstown

When you talk to other tourists in NZ, Queenstown is like a point on a pilgrimage road - some kind of Holy Land of outdoor activity that might hold Sir Edmund Hilary's ashes inside a quad helmet. Everyone's going to Queenstown. Or they're on their way home, and they're broke. 

Considering the hype, I was pleasantly surprised at how small it was. Downtown Queenstown is a half-mile grid of a few busy streets packed with cafés and outdoor shops snuggled up against sapphire-blue Lake Wakitipu. Sailboats and jetboats cavort around the harbor. There's a brick walkway full of street performers along the lakeside where tourists in hiking packs wander around with ice cream cones. At the edge of town there's a botanical garden on the peninsula with a limestone walking path that extends out to the airport. People are relaxed and smiling - even the tourist-harassed café workers and bike shop guys. It felt like a Colorado ski resort town without as many pretentious Americans. 

Gold and green mountains jut up around the city. Five minutes from downtown there's a network of pristine hiking trails so fantastic it's stupid (you can even get to the famous Routeburn track). Most of the hiking trails are mountain-bike-friendly, there's a freeride park hidden in the woods east of town, and a gondola that takes a bunch of smelly downhillers to the top of a big hill so they can show off their baggy shorts to tourists. Paragliders jump off the top of the gondola hill and float into town.

A couple hours' drive away are historic Arrowtown, Lake Wanaka, Mount Aspiring, and Fiordland National Park - home to some of New Zealand's most stunning scenery and awesome, accessible hiking.

I was smitten.

Lauren and I spent four days hanging there out to recover from the bus trip. We did a lot of eating. On the first day, we met up with our program advisor Jane - a Queenstown native - at a fantastic ice cream place on the water. We bought groceries at the supermarket and luxuriated in being able to use the hostel fridge. We sampled a more few cafés, went on a bar tour, and ate at the famous Fergburger.

Trevor and Lauren had something called the "Mr. Big Stuff" - a half pound of beef with bacon and cheese. My single-patty brie cheeseburger and its gluten free bun looked a little malnourished in comparison. 

I hadn't had a good burger in New Zealand. Their beef tends to taste a bit different, maybe because NZ cows eat cleaner grass. But I can attest that those burgers were pretty damn awesome. I also realize now that getting a diet Coke with a burger the size of my head was a pretty dumb idea. 

To offset all the eating and alcohol consumption, we walked up the hill by the gondola and watched grown men giggle to themselves on the luge track. 

I also ran around town every day. One of my favorite runs was the Queenstown Hill Time Track. 

It starts outside of town close to the hostel where we stayed. The track switches back and forth through the pines and opens up on a high point where the trees and hills cancel out the noises of the town.   A couple vagrant Merinos had been grazing in the grass when I ran up, but they'd moved on when Lauren and I hiked up later to take pictures. 

Criminy. This place is awesome. 

In retrospect we didn't take advantage of Queenstown. We didn't go Bungy jumping, skydiving, canyoning, fish-feeding, zoo visiting, jetboating, golfing, horseback riding, whitewater rafting, or kayaking (I can do those for free at home). I never got around to doing any bike riding since nobody else was keen on going with me. 

But that's okay with me. I didn't end up broke, and Lauren and I were well-rested and well-fed on the fifth day when we got up at 5:30 to start our long walk on the Kepler Track. 

I do plan to go back to Queenstown sometime, provided it's not too snowy in June. In that case, maybe I'll rent some skis. 

down the rabbit hole and what we found there

Another Wellington weekend's come and gone.

This one started out on a low note. After a month of falling in love with the (mostly) beautiful city, I think Wellington was testing the power of our relationship. Last Monday the rain started. I got soaked walking to class. The southerlies blew. My skirt was ripped from my legs a la Marilyn Monroe on multiple occasions. Luckily, houses in Wellington are built with poor insulation and no central heating - so I didn't have any incentive to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. I trudged out the door every day for runs and attempted to enjoy myself.

I didn't take any pictures. I was too depressed.

On Friday morning, my friend and I tried to get tickets for Flight of the Conchords. They sold out in five minutes. So we went to get coffee instead. Holding a steaming cup of espresso, while delightful, doesn't quite feel the same as gripping a crisp new ticket voucher. We were a little sad. Later my friend Lauren and I tried to drag ourselves out of the funk. It was raining. We didn't care. A dingy one-room sushi bar in town sells their rolls for half price every day after 4:00. It wasn't glamorous. But it was delicious.

 OM-NOM picture. Note the rain jacket.

Then we decided to do one of the most popular Kiwi activities: go out drinking. Wellington is full of tiny, cool bars hidden in back alleys. We wandered down one of them and found a rabbit hole.

Alice is the coolest bar I've been to yet. It's a small, dim place crammed with stuff from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The book's original illustrations are displayed on the walls underneath an array of funky clocks and blown-glass lamps. On one side of the room, the furniture is slightly too small and the ceiling is a little too low. On the other, the stools are tall and the ceiling is high. The bar itself is cluttered with teacups and teapots and books. And you can order drinks for two served in your own personal teapot. I believe they also have a few kinds of cake on the menu.

 There's just something inherently awesome about sipping an absinthe cocktail from a teacup.

Saturday rolled around cloudy and rainy. The climbing trip we'd planned was cancelled. I took it as a sign that I should go meet up with the local running club instead. I'm glad I did - I finally connected with some runners in Wellington (no more lonely long runs!). I even managed to get a ride to a race the next day. I walked back into the wind with my skirt whipping around my legs, feeling almost content.

On Sunday morning, one of the club captains picked me up for the Mt. Lowry Challenge, a 12 km trail race. I squinted into the sunrise. The weather had finally broken.

"It's a flat 4k on the road before the trail starts," a runner said as I was waiting in line to register. "The trail might be a little messy and it kind of undulates when you reach the ridge trail. The descent's a bit steep after that."

I nodded. I've done some trail races before. It couldn't be too bad.

The race started flat and fast, winding around the road by the bay. I tucked in behind a group of five girls and blazed along as well as I could. Then we turned up a gravel road and crunched uphill for a while. People started walking. Ha! I don't walk. I run cross country. I surged past, feeling smug. And then we turned onto the real trail. I don't have pictures from it yet, but here's a preview from the event website:

See those people? Do any of them look like they're running? No. Because it was nearly impossible. "Kind of technical" was a gigantic understatement.

The term "trail" only loosely applies to the ridge trail. It was steep and technical, covered in slimy, muddy roots and rocks. I lost sight of the leaders immediately. The climbs were endless. I stopped caring about running fast and started caring about keeping my ankles in one piece. As I picked my way down the descents, little kids bombed past me. Whatever. The last bit of the trail was basically a cliff face covered in roots and gravelly dirt. At least twenty people passed me going down.

I managed a shaky sprint to the finish line and staggered to the water station. I won zero prizes. Eight miles has never felt so long.

Wellington rewarded me for sticking with it in the bad times. The day was still beautiful and sunny. After I washed the mud off my legs and shoes, I went to town to watch the National NZ Barista Competition. The passion for coffee was palpable - you could actually taste the freshly ground espresso in the air.

Wellington's baristas nearly swept the competition. I've made a resolution to visit their cafes. And finals are in Vienna, Italy. If only I could go.

Then I meandered down to the harbor and took some touristy pictures. 

This guy is called "Solace in the Wind." He stands alone every day, facing into the wind at the waterfront. Sometimes I think he looks like he needs a friend.

Then I sat in the grass for a while and read a book. After an atrocious week, it was a perfectly delightful weekend.

oh, damn

I wish I was one of these people.

"It was over too quick."

"It was nice, but way too short."

"I was way too tired."

People's comments about their holiday could easily be considered some sort of sexual double entendre. But then again, I have been reading a lot of Augusten Burroughs. My brain is tainted.

Anyway, I would agree. Christmas is way too short. This year I took a total of zero pictures, baked no cookies, and didn't play in the snow because there wasn't any on the ground. I didn't even eat too much because I lost my sense of taste thanks to a crippling sinus cold. Don't buy into Cosmo's gimmicks for keeping thin over the holidays (no alcohol at parties... only one mini hotdog a day... instead of cheesecake chew on ice cubes wrapped in salted aluminum foil). Just go into the closest preschool/hospital/mall and pick up a disease instead. You'll be too sick to eat for a week.

Because I can't remember a date to save my life, I missed the annual Christmas Eve fun run. I thought it was supposed to be on Christmas day. Whoops.

But Montana and I did get to go on a long run in the woods on Christmas Eve. The trails were pretty much clear, and the weather decided to be nice for a change. The run would've been great if I hadn't been wheezing and coughing up clods of mucus the whole time. Even though I was hacking like a cat with an intestinal parasite, Montana never dropped me. He wins the good boyfriend award of the day.

The next day, I got some shweet running shwag from the Santa-people in my life. Notably a couple pairs of cool-kid compression tights and one insanely bright sweatshirt, which I promptly threw on and paraded about the house before giving them a good inaugural coating of sweat.

Then on Monday it was back to work, where I got to sell twinkle lights for half off and listen to people complain about how short their Christmasses were.

And now I think I'll go eat some leftover cheesecake if it's not molded over yet.