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| Sunrise near Hollywood Beach, my base of operations for my 90-mile birthday adventure |
The idea to turn my birthday into a solo 90-mile relay event came to me randomly while I was out running.
Running birthday miles was nothing new to me — or for my Dad who is responsible for starting the tradition. I’d already planned to run 30 miles that day to mark my 30th — much as I’d run my 29th, my 28th, my 27th. But now I had a whole new decade moving in with all its heavy psychological baggage weighing down.
I needed some stronger juju to pull myself up to this next level.
OK, so what if I ran 30 miles and then kayaked 30? That sounded better. But, ending with two events seemed off-balance somehow, unfinished. Right, so I had to throw in a bike event too. Thirty miles of pedaling would be the last segment. of the day. I would call it the Hurt-y 30. If I finished downtown, I would follow up with an immediate beer and pizza.
I laughed aloud, as I occasionally do when I run alone. What a stupid plan! It sucked that I had to do it now.
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Running
I started running down the street outside my apartment at midnight.
I was starting with an easy 1.4 mile loop, with the hopes that I could trigger my morning bowel movement early. Alas, no luck.
I ran in the cool of a plump moon — below moon-washed snow on the mountains. The short warm-up ended with me getting into my car and droving to the base of operations I had chosen for myself at Hollywood Beach, downtown Port Angeles. I ran beneath the streetlights along the deserted waterfront, then up Hill Street onto the bluffs toward the Olympic Discovery Trail, a corridor beneath dark pines. I flicked my headlamp on. The pavement glimmered in front of me in a ghostly pool. This would be my world for many miles.
Night running takes its toll in monotony. I’ve found that I consistently run much slower than I think I am going, even when it feels like I am pushing myself, somehow I find myself running below average.
So I shuffled slow through the miles along the Discovery Trail, until I jogged over the bridge over the Elwha River.
I took heart at the sight of moonlight dancing over the dark current. This was my turnaround. I chewed mechanically on a Clif bar and began the slog back to Hollywood. By the time I got downtown, I was 16 miles into the 30. Another man with a headlamp was going through the gas station Dumpster. The courthouse bell rang three times. Damn. I was falling behind the goal.
I found myself stopping at my car to drink water and eat granola. Then I ran out to the Elwha a second time, resolved to pick up speed. Yet, bathroom stops, food and goofing with the camera ate into this time.
When I returned to Port Angeles it was 6 a.m. This timing meant that, since midnight, I’d been averaging slower than 12-minute miles, a pace that would have put me near the back of the pack of elementary schoolers doing the mile run.
If there was any consolation prize for being slow, it was the opportunity to watch the sun come up through the beams of the Japanese Peace Bridge over Valley Creek. The bright orb left a fiery trail on the harbor water — the setting for my next test.
Kayaking
Eating, drinking, changing clothes are all real things that take time. Because they are mundane, however, it is easy to underestimate just how much time they take out of an event. In this case, the time to get from running to kayaking was about an hour.
My slow run had already put me an hour behind my predictions, but I couldn’t just make up that time by jumping into the kayak immediately. I had to deal with the usual body-temp plunge that follows exercise. I wrapped myself in my orange puffy and drank hot tea from my thermos, took another bathroom break and crammed handfuls of granola into my overstuffed gob. Carrying my boat to the water beneath 30-mile legs was no joy.
Now it was 7 a.m.. My arms felt weak, my legs were cramped. I was in a lightheaded, out of body feeling. My dilated pupils suffered in the bright light off the water.
A solitary loon floated beneath Klahhane Ridge.
At least the harbor views were beautiful. The scenery wasn’t going to change much for a while.
The kayak course I had mapped out was a monotonous four laps around Port Angeles Harbor. While boredom was bound to be a disadvantage for this course, some positives included the fact that the waves couldn’t get huge here like they could in the open strait. I was comfortable going without my drysuit and could therefore paddle faster without overheating.
When I finished the first, lap however, it was clear that I was still lagging. 2 hours and 15 minutes per lap would put me on pace for a 9 hour paddle. Then, I had to get out of the boat to stretch legs, drop a layer and get more food out of the car. OK, that was another 15 minutes gone. At this rate, it would be a 10 hour paddle.
Once I’d stuffed down more granola, I felt strength return. I switched direction so that I did this lap clockwise around the harbor. This allowed me to fight the wind and ebbing tide at the beginning of the loop where there were many piers and anchored ships that I could draft behind. When I turned around to go east, I had a long straightaway down Ediz Hook, where I could rip down open water with the elements at my back.
I made this lap in two hours, even accounting for the break that I took beneath Rayonier Pier to admire enormous colonies of tube worms, mussels and sea stars on the pilings.
The third lap included a lunch stop at the west end of the harbor. I stopped here because the elements would be carrying me in the direction that I wanted while I took my break.
As I noshed on a peanut butter sandwich, several shiny heads with coal dark yes bobbed in the water around me. I counted a dozen seals who had been following me the last 20 minutes. Several of the bolder ones would pop up about a kayak length behind me then go back down with a terrific splash when I looked at them.
By the time I’d finished this third lap, it had taken me 2 hours and 15 minutes. I stayed in my boat and flung myself into the last loop with renewed purpose.
I went back to paddling counterclockwise so that I could take advantage of the gathering flood tide — but of course now the wind was picking up again. I paddled hard past the Coast Guard base and the net pens where Atlantic salmon thrashed in their rope cages.
I turned around to go east a final time. The wind started whipping up the water, lashing it into small angry white caps.
I managed to surf the hotheaded little waves, bounced through the chop from fishing boats and reflector waves ricocheting off tugs. I had to make a series of paddle braces and move my hips to keep the boat upright.
When I got back to Hollywood, it was 4pm. My legs were a joke. I pulled my boat on shore, heavy with the slosh of water that had infiltrated its way in. I turned it upside-down with a half-hearted shake to empty it. There was surely plenty of water left, but I didn’t want to deal. I lifted the beast up onto my shoulder and staggered drunkenly up the steps to my car.
The wind had stolen my warmth again — so I got back in my puffy and sat in the solar-heated car. I stuffed more food into my mouth, and Gatorade. I just needed one more rally.
Biking
I emerged from the car, pulled my bike from the back, put the front tire on, and took a seat. I started pedaling for the Elwha River. It was 5 pm.
Given how flimsy my legs had felt when I got out of the kayak, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself feeling strong now. I got up out of the saddle and pumped my way up Hill Street and onto the Discovery Trail.
The wind was far mellower away from the water. Earlier, I had planned to do some of my bike miles on Ediz Hook, where the wind would be blasting. Now, I decided to just go back over my running route.
I thoroughly enjoyed being able to cruise the flats and cover ground with minimal effort. Did I say enjoy? Yes. The sun was still out, and the sun shone like a thousand paper lanterns through the new green leaves. Walkers and bikers wore smiles and waved eagerly.
I emerged at the Elwha in about 45 minutes. I was holding down about a 10 mile an hour pace, which still seemed slow, but I’d also lost time city biking earlier on. I went east a short ways past Hollywood to make an even 15 miles, then I began my final bike lap.
My front derailleur got fouled up, so I couldn’t get the chain to stay in high gear. While this slowed me down, it also meant thatI had an excuse to pedal easier. My final lap felt fine and my energy stores were stable. I had a final sandwich on the Elwha Bridge and cruised into Port Angeles at 8 pm, right as the sun was going down.
My good friend Vanessa gave me a shout out as I pedaled along the waterfront.
“How’re you doing.”
“Not so bad,” I remarked. Legs, arms, back, everything felt pretty good, not smashed up the way it would be it I’d, say, run a marathon all out. I definitely felt tired though.
“I pizza and beer sound pretty good right about now,” I said.
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