The Ferry Run, Completed

The Ferry Run last Friday (actually now the 12th of August) confirmed, again, something I’ve known all along.  I’m just not honest with myself.

"some things in life you cannot measure by degrees"

The run seemed simple enough, 29 miles, really flat.  I had even scouted out the route by car ahead of time, carefully making mental notes to myself. I knew there was no public water between mile 7 and 16.  I said to myself that if I really needed water there were farm houses I could get water from. I knew this wouldn't work, I know myself.  It was hot, high 80's, no cover, my single bottle was almost empty around mile 12, but, “I don't like the look of that house” or “that one’s too far off the road” etc.  “That one looks trashy, I'll see what the next one is like”, this went on for a few miles, all the while not drinking the last few gulps in my bottle, saving them for when I really needed them.  Mildly dehydrated I came upon a house with sprinklers on.

Whew, barely made it!

I held my hat in the sprinkler to get it wet, then attempted to fill my bottle from the fan sprinkler going back and forth.  it was taking forever, so with my bottle half full I got frustrated and quit.  The water was warm, smelled funny and tasted worse.  I was now only a mile from the Ferry, so I convinced myself there would be water at the Ferry.  I knew there wasn't water at the Ferry, I'd checked it out earlier, but I was convinced, so convinced that I poured the nasty tasting water over my head, so as to not drink it by accident.

Looking South up the Willamette River, yes that's unusual.

There wasn't water on either side of the Ferry.  Jeanne came out to check on me around mile 15 and road crew me in, I was pretty nauseous and bitchy.  She informed me that there was absolutely no shoulder on the road until Lincoln.  I knew this, I'd scouted this out too, making a mental note that there was no shoulder for 5 miles.  At the time, that didn't seem very far, and just stepping off the road when a car went by, didn't seem like it would be a big deal.  Stepping off onto steeply sloped loose gravel every few minutes started out as annoying and quickly bloomed into outright frustration.  By the time I'd reached the Lincoln store at mile 20 I was ready to quit.  I started the "dismount", waist pack unhooked and flung into the back of the car, same treatment given to sunglasses and hat, and the complaints started pouring out.  She handed me a Coke and said, "drink some of this and lie down for a few minutes", and as has happened many times, like the commercial of life, I was reborn.

I'm not sure where I was, exactly, but I was 15,000 miles from where I started.

It wasn’t a pretty finish, but the last 9 miles were much better than the previous 9.  It’s a beautiful run, one that I intend to do again.  I think some consideration could be given to day and time of day that the 5 mile stretch of the Salem-Dayton highway with no shoulder is run.  Late afternoon on a Friday probably wasn’t the best planning.  I went passed 15,000 miles, somewhere in the middle of some hop fields and boarding the Ferry on foot with the other cars was a treat.

Ventis Taphouse was too full to get in, when we got there, but sushi is never a bad second choice.

Next up, Hood to Coast, which is more about social endurance than physical endurance, then Autumn Leaves 50 miler the last weekend in October.

The Ferry Run to Venti's

To celebrate the opening of the new Venti’s Cafe and Tap Room in Salem, I’m very loosely organizing a Ferry Run for Friday August 12th.  


Gallagher Fitness and Venti’s Cafe are co sponsoring a GFR/V2V, Venti’s to Venti’s Run/Walk every Friday for the next six weeks.  You register at the Downtown Venti’s between 4:00 and 7:00 PM then walk or run to the New Venti’s, earning you a $2 off coupon for an entre at Venti’s and a $3 off coupon for Gallaghers.


The Ferry Run will start at the New Venti’s at high noon, run through downtown Salem, out to River road in Keizer.  We will then take Wheatland Ferry Road, cross the Wheatland Ferry, .for free on foot.   Then come back on Wallace Road over the foot bridge to the Downtown Venti’s to register.  Then it’s just 2 more miles to the New Venti’s for eating, drinking and relative merriment.


The total round trip route is about 29 miles, a map can be found here.  I was planning to take about five ish hours to do the first 27 to the Downtown Venti’s then walk the last 2 miles in.  There is plenty of water along the course and numerous stores.  There shouldn’t be more than 6 to 7 miles without easy water access and about a 15 mile stretch from mile 7 to about 22 without any stores.  Jeanne will be able to be out on the course and we could easily arrange a water drop somewhere near the ferry. There could easily be ways for shorter distances too.

If you’re interested, email me at owensx41@gmail.com and we can coordinate etc.

Birthday Reflections

I don’t normally pay birthdays much mind.  In fact, I prefer something bigger to be going on so that my birthday isn’t a big deal.  For some reason, it’s feeling like a big deal this year.  

A brief recap of my 48th year:

Jewelia got married on the Oregon coast.  It was, in the interest of accuracy, the day before my birthday, but I needed some highlights.

Jewelia and Tyler

My first DNF ever came on my first 100 mile attempt at Lean Horse in South Dakota.  I felt like I learned so much from this experience and maybe I did.  And maybe there is just a lot to learn.

Where the Buffalo Roam

After only completing 55 miles at Lean Horse I felt like I had a bunch of training I didn’t use up and attempted a Boston Qualifier in Tri Cities in October.  It was probably my best marathon effort ever, but very strong headwinds for the last 10 miles proved to be too much.

7 Brides Tap Room

I took the month of November “off”, only running 70 miles for the month, then in early December found out I’d been selected in the lottery for Western States.  My training was going along so well, including a 35 mile run to 7 Brides Tap Room in Silverton, OR and then the first of three separate sprains to my left ankle, including one during Peterson’s Ridge 40 miler, my second DNF.

My ankle almost permanently looks like this now.

In between these sprains and recoveries I managed 70 miles at The Pac Rim 24 in Longview WA.

This picture is only here because Elliott is so cute.

Then came a very fun time at the Western States Training runs, Memorial Day Weekend.

I'll be back.

Followed a month later by Western States, which was the trifecta for DNFs.  

So, what have I learned.  Not much, unfortunately.  I wish I could point to one specific thing, either in training or on race day, but it’s been a combination of things, that mostly just boils down to train more and get more experience.  I do have the feeling of unfinished business for these three races, but am in no big hurry to settle any scores.  I’m going to run on a Hood to Coast Team, and event I’ve always described as more social endurance than physical endurance.  Then set all of my sights and training on running a 50 mile PR at Autumn Leaves in October.  PR is 8:46, but I’m really gonna shoot for sub 8 hours.  After that I’m probably going to give in and get the much needed surgery to repair a  torn labrum in my shoulder.  I originally injured it last November attempting a crazy stunt, even by my standards.  I injured it throwing a towel over a shower rod at a hotel in Pasadena.  My seasoned advice?  If you ever find yourself, freshly out of the shower, in a hotel room bathroom in Pasadena, just leave your towel on the floor.

Return to the Scene of the Crime

A weekend trip to Jessica and Aaron’s wedding brought me hauntingly close to the Western States starting line and the view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains from the east, and the thin high desert air stirred up a fair bit of regret.  But first, it’s strange the things that spontaneously incite an emotional reaction.  I was on a quick morning run in Yreka, CA with Jeanne’s son Mitchell and dashed into a MacDonalds for bathroom break, and was confronted with this.

Van Gogh's Starry Night in a MacDonalds Bathroom in Yreka CA.

While fighting back a sudden rush of tears, I thought of the now very poignant line from Don McLean’s song Vincent, “but I could have told you Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you”.

Running in the hills around Carson City NV was very cathartic, I couldn’t help but think about Western States and what went wrong.  I also spent a good amount of time thinking about getting back to Squaw Valley.  I also just enjoyed a landscape very different from where I live and run.

View South from the Jack C. Davis Observatory

Ash Creek Canyon

Ash Creek

Cougar Sighting

I saw a cougar, and I have a witness!!!

Last night I ran to the Baskett Slough, Jeanne met me at the Baskett Butte trail head where we were going to walk a mile loop together. This was her first time and I was hoping we would see a lot of deer or a bald eagle.

We had barely left the trail head, hiking uphill we passed a girl bird watching, when Jeanne said, "what's that?"

I looked up the trail and seeing the back of tan animal sticking out of the tall grass I assumed and said, "oh, that's a deer"

As I was noticing the long tail, Jeanne corrected, "I don't think that's a deer". The cougar then turned out of the grass towards us, before slowly turning and walking up the trail and around a turn out of view.

I alerted the bird watcher girl, and the three of us walked together nervously for a bit.

We completed the loop, notifying the few other people we saw. One of them, a guy I see there regularly, said there was a sign up at the trail head that a cougar had recently been seen in the area. Well now it's been seen twice!!!

Altered Western States 2011

Several years ago in the Newport Marathon, I followed a shirt for a few miles that said, “After all the explanations and all the excuses, what you accomplished is exactly what you intended to accomplish”. I believe this.  I’m now 0 for 2 in 100 mile attempts.  Both times, ultimately, it was what I lacked in preparation that did me in.

Still believing.

I loved everything about Western States.  I loved the atmosphere, both human and scenic.  I loved the challenge.  I even love the knowledge that if I say, “the ice just beat me up more than I could handle”, to someone that wasn’t there, it doesn’t mean the same as it does to someone that was there.

Beautiful Squaw Valley.

We stayed 2 nights in Reno, at Jeanne’s niece and fiance’s house.  Jessica and Aaron were so gracious with their home and the mental distraction of others (not others also freaking out about an upcoming race) being around was an unexpected bonus.  We spent Thursday day up at Squaw Valley, attending the workshops and soaking in atmosphere and sunshine, then back to Reno for sushi....reverent pause.....then moved our base camp to Squaw Valley on Friday, including a little nap in the back of the new Subaru, which is the perfect race weekend vehicle we expected it to be.

A nap in the Subaru.

 The only time I ever have trouble falling asleep is the night before a race, unless I have a beer that night, but that’s a whole other scientific experiment.  I had been waking myself up at 4:00 for the whole week before WS to hopefully promote earlier bedtimes.  This didn’t work, I just got less sleep for the week.  The US Track and Field Championships were on TV Thursday night.  Not only did I stay up watching them, but that jacks my enthusiasm up sky high.  So, little sleep the night before, but I’m not sure that had much contribution to success or failure.
Awake at 3:30 and still lamenting over what to wear.  I don’t know why this is such a dilemma for me?  It should be fairly simple, but the added knowledge that whatever you start in is what you’re carrying for the first 4 ish hours does make you think about it a little more than usual.  I had clothes stashed in a few strategic drop bags and socks in all of them.  I made a bad calculation in my Infinit drink, again!!!  I brought enough, I just didn’t bring enough to have too much at each drop bag, and didn’t really think through, that if I don’t use it, there is no going back for it later, I’m learning, slowly.  They gave away (ha, strange thought given the entry fee) some Moeben arm sleeves, or arm panties.  I’ve never worn them before but I like the idea of removable sleeves instead of a throw away long sleeve shirt.  I’ve had several instances of starting in a singlet with a long sleeve shirt over.  Then a few miles in, you’re burning up and remove the long sleeve shirt and now you are sweaty wet in a singlet and it’s still 36 degrees, and that is cold like no other cold.  So, short sleeve shirt, arm panties and gloves seemed the right combination for the 38 degrees it was outside at Squaw Valley.  I had a funny altercation with the volunteer regarding what size arm panties I needed.  I signed up for everything medium, but I’m a tweener.  If I order medium, shirts will run large and I’ll get a tent.  If I order small, shirts will run small and it will look like I’m wearing by little brothers shirt.  So, the volunteer looks at my card, looks at me and says, “you ordered medium, but you might want a small”.  Thinking she was making a disparaging remark about my biceps, I showed ‘em off for her.  “Do you want to try the small on to see” was her reply.  They seemed too small, which pleased me so I took the mediums and went on my way.  They were too big, I was pulling them up constantly for the first 15 miles.
I knew 2 other, non famous, people running Western States.  One, April, I would know by face, we’ve run together a few times.  The other, Ric, I’ve emailed numerous times and have seen a picture and know his number is 286.  I really didn’t expect to see either.  We started in the dark and in all of the excitement of the start, moving up the trail with 400 other runners, barely a few minutes into the race I hear, “Chris?”.  April and I are side by side at the start.  We talk for a bit about taking care of our ankles and she gradually pulled ahead of me.  Half way up to Emigrant Pass, I was thinking about the chances of seeing April, and wondering whether I’d see Ric or not.  Then I looked to my left and there was 286.  Ric and I made it to the top of the pass together, but I pulled ahead a bit at the top and on the way down.

I could probably write forever about the snow and ice.  I’ve never run on either.  At first, it was fun. Even the first fall on my ass was met with laughter.  It wasn’t long before I passed the first injured runner, which sobered me up a little.  A few falls on my ass later, the fun had worn off.  I kept seeing stains on the snow that were obviously sports drink, and thought to myself, why would anybody be wasting their drink, when the challenge of carrying enough to the first aid station was a very real concern.  Then I fell forward and caught myself on my handheld bottles and had my drink squirt out, oh, that explains that!  Not too long after that discovery, I started following a trail of what was obviously blood.  I would catch up to the bloodied runner later, but it was quite a bit of blood in the snow.  The falling really took a toll, mentally and physically on me, especially the falls on the icy parts that hurt much more than on softer snow.  I was moving pretty slow, and with each fall I became more tentative.  In retrospect, I probably fell more often as a result of running tentative.  But my big time loss came on the Fall of the Lost Sunglasses.  It seemed like an ice cliff.  it was probably not a cliff by any definition, but it was steep and icy and seemed to go down forever, especially when both feet slipped out from underneath me and I found myself sliding down in “break up the double play” position. About 50 feet later I got both heels dug in and came to an abrupt stop.  At which time, my sunglasses popped off their perch above the bill of my cap and skied down the rest of the mountain alone.  I sat, frozen, for a while watching them vanish into the distance, then surveyed my options for getting back to the “path”.  A 45 degree angle back seemed the most sensible, but required me to carry both bottles in my mouth, leaving my hands free to assist in the climb.  This worked, though I occasionally needed to use a bottle to break a step in the ice/snow for my next step.  I’ve tried to calculate how much time this fall cost me, and I really don’t know.  I know I was pretty shaken and sore after it, and was so relieved when, after a few creek crossing in the snow, I got back on solid ground.

Ice burns.

There were some great opportunities to make up some serious time once we got out of the snow.  Long gradual downhills on forest service roads with great footing.  I just never really got my legs back.  I was unprepared for the distance between aid stations, and for the hill coming up to Mosquito Ridge.  I’m sure I saw the distance, 7.3 miles and I remember in the course description briefing somebody referring to it as “quite a haul” but I never really put the two together.  I got behind in water and salts and blew up on the hill.  I staggered into Mosquito Ridge and got weighed, I was down 6 pounds.  Dr. Mike was awesome, strongly encouraging me to stay in the aid station and hydrate and “get my shit together”.  I’ve paraphrased the speech he gave me to several people and I’m not sure I even heard it the way he said it, but I sat down for about 15 minutes, drank, took an Scap, thought, drank some more, peed and was on my way.

I ran better for a while.  Ric had passed me while I sat in the aid station, I called out for him, but no real sound came out of my mouth.  I caught up to him about a mile out of Mosquito Ridge, I had some decent momentum at that point and tried to encourage him to go with me, but he was hurting pretty bad.  After Miller’s Defeat I was staying ahead of the cutoffs but I wasn’t putting any distance between me and them.  I was starting to get a sinking feeling as I came into the Last Chance aid station, I was expecting to hear that I was about 20 minutes ahead of the cutoff.  I was pretty shocked when they said 10 minutes.  I didn’t get her name, but a young (everybody seems young these days) blonde girl working the aid station saw me deflate and did an incredible job of not only getting me out of the aid station but having me believe I was going to make it to Devil’s Thumb in time.

I didn’t make it in time.  I came in 12 minutes behind the cutoff.  The 36 switchback up to Devil’s Thumb were almost surreal, passing people that had or were in the process of literally quitting on the course.  The rest is pretty tail between the legs academic.  Jeanne and I spent so much time pouring over crew plans, drop bags, which aid stations she could get to and when and I never even made it to her.  We did head down to track to watch the 27 and 28 hour finishers coming in. That was very inspirational but I don’t think it’s what will motivate me on my next attempt.  Instead I think it will be the way I perceived the reception at Devil’s Thumb.  

Every single volunteer at every single aid station were amazing.  If I tried, I couldn’t come up with a single, small complaint about the organization of any part of Western States, I was truly amazed by the whole experience, so what I’m about to convey, I know, was all in my own little head.  Prior to Devil’s Thumb I felt received at each aid station as an athlete.  An athlete having a bad day maybe, but an athlete none the less.  The cheers had a tinge of pity at Devil’s Thumb, empathy is probably the correct term, but I didn’t hear it that way.  I had already, privately, acknowledged my defeat about 20 minutes earlier, this was just the confirmation.  It was hard watching them coordinate how and who to drive me back, I realize that’s part of their job, but it felt like I was inconveniencing people, and I hate that.  I know myself and I wish that the memories of watching others finishing would be my darkest hour motivation in the future, but it won’t.  It will be those very sincere, very well intentioned cheers for the fallen, that I don’t ever want to hear again.

My Dad and Western States

My Dad, Dale Owens

My Dad spent his last Father’s Day running a 5k at Mount Tabor in Portland, Oregon.  I don’t remember the exact sequence of events and it doesn’t matter enough to do the painful “research”, but I think he was in between 2 surgeries for the brain tumor that ultimately took his life.  Three generations of Owens boys ran that day.  2 things vividly stand out in my mind: Nathaniel was high school track and cross country fit, and ran the first half mile with me at about 8:00 pace, which was somewhere in between where I would run, and hanging back for Dad.  There were runners he knew and had competed against up ahead of him and he felt like a dog on a leash running next to me.  On a long downhill that winds back around itself, I cut him loose and told him to go.  Watching him take off at sub 5 minute pace weaving in and out of 8:00 minute runners was amazing to watch.  The course was a big loop followed by a shorter loop.  You pass by the finish with about a mile to go.  Nathaniel and I had both been finished for quite a while when my Dad and Mom came by the finish line together.  This turned out to be way more than Dad was capable of and with an easy “quit” in sight, I asked him if he wanted to call it a day.  “Nope, I’m fine” was all he said, with a smile.  As we passed the finish chute, a race official called me over and explained that everybody else was in and they were getting ready to take the finish chute down.  I explained the situation and my Dad’s tenacity.  He asked if I knew the remainder of the course as he was going to call the volunteers in, but that he would leave the clock running and finish chute up until we got in.  I assured him I knew the course and off we went.  The finish area was nearly empty when we got back, but a few volunteers remained as did the finish chute and the clock, 1:08 and some inconsequential seconds.

2 weeks before this Father’s Day, I ran Newport Marathon for the 3rd time.  I don’t remember what my goal time was but it must have been 3:40 as I clearly remember hand signaling 1 5 1 and a thumbs up to friends at the half marathon point.  I didn’t run 3:40.  Despite my good friend, Steve, jumping in and trying to “run me in”, my back tightened up and I “quit” around mile 18.  I was shuffling up the last hill (yes, there is a difference between quitting and not finishing) and my Dad was waiting at the top of the hill for me.  There was no parking available up there, so I knew he had walked to be “out on the course” for me.  He ran the last awkwardly steep downhill to the finish with me.  I remember being embarrassed to be coming in late.  I don’t know why I always insist on apologizing if my time isn’t what I told people it would be.  He didn’t seem to care.

I’ll enjoy Father’s day with my kids and their families this Sunday, then head out for Western States, which will be the biggest running challenge of my running life so far.  Dad would have loved this.  Jeanne would not be crewing alone, as there would have been nothing on this planet that would have kept him from being a part of it.  Dad had 2 great sayings, that rattle around in my brain all the time:  “It’s not what you do today, it’s what you do every day, that counts”, has been my training mantra for years.  “It’s not how fast you go, it’s how slow you don’t go”, I have only started really appreciating and understanding lately.

I have no idea what’s ahead of me, in the middle of next Saturday night, I’ve never been there before. But I know what Dad would tell me to do.