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Smelt Sands + Yachats + Cape Perpetua

August 31, 2014 (Morning)

Exercise Type: Run

Weather: mid-60s, nice

Comments:
I was awoken this morning in a way I've never been before: by a kiss. Kaci had arose before me and, with a grace, gentleness, and love is at the core of her soul, her lips met mine - just enough to awake me, but soft enough not to startle. And again, my first vision was her smiling face.

I can only dream that each morning could begin that way.

The ensuing moments were typical Joe & Kaci: lying together in bed for a bit, talking cuddling, kissing. Then up to look at the morning sun over the ocean. The Overleaf had breakfast, so I went down to scope it out, bringing back eggs and such for me, and fruit for Kaci to accompany her cereal and yogurt.

We were hoping for a late check out, but normal was 11 and late was 12. Being that we had a 2.5-hour run in front of us, neither would suffice. We would have to check out, run, then clean-up later.

I had thought about us driving over to run around Waldo, but it would've been a ton of driving, and, to be honest, we were having such a fantastic time at the coast, I simply didn't want to leave. Saturday had sealed that.

So we began on Saturday night to look for run routes. In accordance to her training plan, Kaci needed a 2.5 hour easy long run. The Oregon Coast is, in general, TOUGH running: uneven, windswept beaches; rugged, root-and-rock-paved trail that nearly always climbs up and away from the water; and piecemeal pavement. But Yachats has some relatively great options: Smelt Sand Beach is a flat, firm sand stretch, while the 802 Trail is a solid mile or two route connecting Yachats to the beach. Then, there were some purported trails around Cape Perpetua that beckoned. I'd run on the nearby Cummins Trails and those were rugged as fuck, even for me. I told her so as we scanned the options, and recommended we do a combo run: of the beach, then town, then an out and back to Cape Perpetua - a climbing single track that was accessible from town.

So, after checking out, we started off from the parking lot.

Although I was having a fantastic time, I was dreading this run, a bit. I knew I wasn't close to 100%. But I had faith in this route, in the gorgeous morning, and that running with "My Treasure" would buoy my spirits. And, in many respects, she did!

We ran north from Overleaf on the 802 to the beach, then north...for four solid miles! It was mid-60s and - unbelievably - scarcely a breeze! I bet there's 30 days a year this calm on the coast, and we'd had two.

Along we ran, during low tide, which exposed even firmer sand, making the surface even more amenable. I worked hard on running efficient and trying to . match KacR's terrific turnover - so light and quick! We ran along, mostly in silence, which was OK. I'm not a huge talker on runs, unless I'm worked up about something, and while I love to share stories with her, sometimes I just like to listen and feel.

We ran along and, as I remembered, had to hop over a trio of streams or small rivers emptying into the ocean. I watched with amusement as Kaci hopped - with variable success - across these wide streams - usually with one shoe succumbing to the depths of the flow! I took a more nuanced approach with little advantage.

When the GPS pinged at four, we turned back. I figured, to run 2.5 hrs, we'd run an our on the beach, and the remainder south of town on the trail. We turned back.

The body came around a bit, but still struggled to simply get a rhythm. Kaci and I chatted a bit. We'd be talking about our relationship, and we both mentioned a trio of things we'd liked about the other. Hers included my caring and nurturing, and my maturity; mine: that she's a survivor (eternally positive, hard-working, and grateful), that she is a nurturer, and that she's "edgy"; that she has a spark to her behind her kindness that, to me, is utterly attractive.

And, as it turned out, I was soon to get a heavy dose of that edge!

A mile or two from the truck, my breathing began to get more and more labored. And shallow. It felt like asthma, but that couldn't be: there could be no allergies out there, in that ocean air. Could there be? By the time we got back to the truck, I felt fucking terrible: I was breathing hard, and Kaci had dusted me on the gentle climb to the trail before the hotel.

When we got to the truck, I told her, "Ugh, I feel like shit". I rummaged through the truck and, rejoice!, I found an inhalar. I took *four puffs* from it, preparing for part two of the run.

"You don't have to do this, if you're not feeling well, you don't have to run!"
"I know, but I don't want you to go alone. If we slow down a little, I'll be OK"

And so we went: past the resort on the 802 before it ceded into the quiet streets along the ocean wall. I tried to put away the pain with some Seinfeld trivia, but it didn't seem like Kaci was into it, so on we went, more or less quietly.
Through town we ran, quickly loping along the wide shoulder of 101, across the Yachats River, to the south end of town. By this time, my quads felt full of lead, and I couldn't fathom going much farther, except I knew some singletrack and incline awaited. At least the variety would help.

I got in a quick mercy stop at a port-a-john on the other side of the river, and we covered the final half-mile of road before we got on the Oregon Coast Trail, which led us along 101. It was only gently rolling, but it only took a single rise to get gapped by Kaci.

I've come to accept - or "accept that I will someday accept" - some personal preferences and desires Kaci holds about her running. Many of them are different than what I value and desire and that's quite alright. For one, she and I are very different. She's 28, I'm 36. She's a small, powerful figure, while - on most days - I feel heavy and - after a year of heart-rate training - am keen to keep the effort even, even when the pace suffers.

But I was flat-out suffering at that point. My HR was nearing 160 on these puny climbs, as the Pixie was putting ten, then twenty meters on me, as the trail crossed the road and, mercifully, led toward bonafide singletrack.

We were on the east side of 101, seemingly about to climb away from the zooming cars and paved misery, when Kaci disappeared into a wooded canopy ahead. I followed along the single track that - although narrow - was remarkable smooth and soft.

I crested the small rise and was about to plunge into the forest canopy when I was jolted out of my misery by Kaci, coming running right at me! I stopped and, instinctively, stepped off the trail!

"What's going on?", I said, perhaps thinking she'd run into something unsavory ahead.
Without breaking stride, she turned back and yelled, "It's too technical, I'm turning back!"

What?

Utterly confused - less at her decision, but more about the fact that she kept running.

"Where are you going?"
Now a good hundred feet back the way we came, she stopped - but perhaps only because - had she kept going, she'd be out of both eye- and ear-shot: "I'm going back, I can't run on that"

Then she disappeared over the berm.

I stood there for a moment, then said to myself, "This is not acceptable."

I ran onward.

Perhaps it was a simple act of defiance on my part: a pull to her push. But it was much more than that.

It'd be one thing if this were my run, my training; and me, zealously trying to showcase Oregon to Kaci, or - as I'm sure many men do to talented female runners - trying to make them hurt on their home turf.

But it was anything but: it was her run; a run that, an hour in, I was ready to be done with. A run that I felt so badly on that, at the time of her turnaround, I was a good thirty meters behind! I was the one struggling, yet she - who, up until that point, had only stated her legs "felt good" - turned around in revolt, without discussion.

"Where was she going? Was she going to run the road, instead? Cut it short and run back? Run in town?" I had no answers, but I knew that simply tailing after her wasn't the right one for me. We'd talked about being "a team", yet this seemed a far cry from that.

So, I ran on. I knew the trail emptied back onto 101 before delving into the woods again, so - perhaps a quarter mile later, the trail popped out by the Big "Yachats" sign. I stopped, and waited.

I was looking toward the highway, expecting that she might approach, when she came barreling down the trail in front of me.

"What are you doing?", I asked.
She muttered something like, "I was being a mental midget", and said she had to get over it, and come back.

Understandable, I suppose, but I told her what I told myself earlier:

As calmly as I could muster, I said, "What you did, how you handled that, is unacceptable to me."

That got her amped, to a degree that I'd never seen. She was MAD!

'I told you where I was going!", she argued.
"Yeah, but you never stopped, you kept running!"
"I did stop!"
"But only after you'd turned and run away!"

And around and around we went for a while, her seemingly getting more and more irritated with each exchange.

Finally, she volunteered, "My legs felt terrible, and I didn't want to run a technical trail! Can we just GO?"

I tried to reason, and to explain how I was feeling: "My understanding is that we're supposed to be a team, and that means communicating...". Clearly, there was no communication there - not about the route, but about how she was truly feeling. She was suffering, but she didn't tell me.
She. Was. Amped. I've never seen her that angry! But you know what?

It was fantastic.

I don't like that she didn't communicate with me - about how she was feeling, or about what she wanted to do, before she did it - but I LOVED that she was able to show her emotions with me: anger, frustration. A lot of people hide those things for a long time - often as long as they can - as if they don't exist.

But anger, frustration, fear, and sadness: that's passion. That's real. And I felt like, at that moment, she'd given me a gift, especially because - despite those feelings - we were, at that moment, having an earnest, raw exchange. We were communicating, we were being a team.

I asked her what she wanted to do. She said she wanted to continue. She wanted me to lead, so I on we went.

I felt fantastic after that. The adrenaline, or the implication of the moment, invigorated me. We ran along, what became a pretty phenomenal bit of trail: another up and over until we hit the "Amanda Trail", which eventually climbed a good 700' to the top of Cape Perpetua.

We stopped briefly to take in a memorial sculpture thick in the boreal rainforest of the Oregon Coast. She'd apologized. Twice already: only minutes down the trail, and again, as I held her in my arms, in front of two bears, doing the same.

"Don't be sorry: about hurting, about wanting something. But you need to communicate with me. You need to meet me halfway".

We embrace, and I kissed her tiny lips. All was good again.

And on we went, toward Perpetua, up a gradual but unrelenting climb. I could tell, midway up, she wasn't happy about the climb. But I kept things easy, and alternatively allowed her to lead. We ran along a rugged up-and-down ridgeline trail as the minute ticked away. We needed to turn back but we were close. We continued.

Finally, the trail popped out to a paved overlook. Perpetua! What a terrific view! We took it in, looking down upon the spot we'd first stopped at a day ago.

Then, we double back.

The run down the trail felt great, but we were nearly 2.5 hours in when we spit out onto the highway. To save distance, we ran the road. And it was rough. I felt awful and the HR spiked well above 160. But I wanted to be done, and I was nervous about being on the highway, running in front of Kaci in some sort of feeble defense against the runaway RVs and speeding cars.

Finally - finally! - we got back to Overleaf. I stopped to walk, breathing labored. I finally removed my shirt in that last :45, and when I looked down, it was all red! I later discovered that my shirt had been soaking in Oxy-Clean for days and scarcely rinsed out before I dried it and packed it, inadvertently, and I think I'd had an allergic reaction. Figures.

We finished in just under 3 hours. Kaci and I embraced again, celebrating the end of a long, tough run. An important run.

The rest of the day: the luxurious final shower in the spa, the drive up to Newport, and the time we spent - hand-in-hand, then sitting together overlooking the beach - was made doubly-special by the adversity we'd shared - the rawness of that emotion, the vulnerability of authenticity - that we found on that run. All the other great moments we'd had dwarfed in comparison.

That was Kaci, and - even in that moment - she was utterly beautiful to me, because I know where that emotion came from. It was borne from her fear, from her vulnerability, and her fierce drive to overcome it. But what she ultimately did was let me see it. Once again, she was courageous enough to give me another piece of her heart. And my greatest hope is that she will show me that vulnerability a bit sooner, so that I can help her with it. So that we can help each other. A team.

We had a phenomenal time, sitting in each other's arms, while overlooking a busy scene below us on the beach. Kaci, the consummate observer, provided a whimsical, hilarious play-by-play of the goings-on below. I smiled ear to ear behind her.

Finally, we drove off, inland, back to Eugene.

After a quick clean-up, we donned our respective Silver buckles and headed to T&G to meet the Eug crew. It was a piecemeal group, splintered by a little drama on the trail: while summitting Diamond Peak they somehow lost Emily's car key - the only vehicle in the group. So a few hours later than planned, they finally returned to EUG, just in time to meet Kaci. We stayed out longer than planned, but everyone was excited and glad to meet her.
We were exhausted from the big day and walked, hand-in-hand, back to my apartment, and were in no time beneath the sheets, amidst a faint candlelight.

We embraced, and I smothered her with kisses, and me with hers. She uttered something about loving my friends, or loving something...and - I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

I told her, quite plainly, that I was in love with her and that, indeed, I love her. I told her that, in my heart, I fell in love with her that weekend -at Western States - and, without a doubt, at that moment at the river crossing, where our paths crossed, our bodies - and souls - touched.

Even this morning, in the midst of our conflict, those feelings of love bloomed. The decision I made - to continue on, then stop and wait - was made out of love and faith. I had faith that she would return, without me having to chase after her, and my love fueled me to make myself vulnerable, by asking for more from her, from us, rather than gloss over what had happened.
Upon hearing those Big Three Words, her mixture of passion and trepidation was palpable. Those words frightened her yet, I knew, she believed them to be true. But also palpable was painful wounds of love lost, or perhaps never found.

Perhaps it wasn't the right time, but - let's face it - I've known for a long time, and - after the day - and weekend we'd had - I wanted her to know. And I look forward to proving that love to her.

And with that, we held each other a bit more, then closed our eyes on yet another surreal day.