I rolled out of bed and signed up for my first-ever triathlon while wearing these clothes that I had slept in, moments before the event began.

I never imagined I would commit to my first triathlon moments before the event began, while I was still groggy from sleep and wearing my pajamas. But that’s what happened when Morgan, the kids and I recently found ourselves on the edge of a lake in a eucalyptus forest north of Melbourne, in a community called Daylesford, to compete in a trail race.

We arrived at the Jubilee Lake Holiday Park and settled into a tiny rental cabin that was like a mobile home mounted on blocks. The park, on the edge of a state forest, was the site of a “Dirt Fest” February 20 – 21 put on by an outfit called In 2 Adventure.

The trail race was only a 10K, but it was a good enough excuse for us to go there — that, plus the fact the event promised a kids’ run and other family fun, all in a big recreational area where kids could run wild while us grown-ups sat around campervans and knocked back cold ones. (Our travel budget is all about cheap thrills these days.) (more…)

I was all smiles before the start of the Croesus Crossing because I was clueless about the terrain we faced.

Two days have passed since Morgan and I finished the Croesus Crossing trail event on the West Coast of New Zealand, and we’re still looking at each other stupefied and using expressions like, “Can you believe …?” and “What was that?” I’m grateful that he was with me to corroborate the technical difficulty of the course and the abnormal adroitness of the other runners. We feel a bit like anthropologists who spied a new breed of trail runner here in the jungle-like bush of the South Island.

Long story short: We got our butts kicked. We were unprepared for the difficulty and humbled by the hard-core agility of the others.

“Did you enjoy it?” someone asked me. No, I can’t say I did. But it was a learning experience.

(Hitting your head with a hammer also could be called a learning experience: Don’t do it again.)

Recently, here and on our Away Together travel blog, I’ve been raving about New Zealand trail running. There are beautiful, well-maintained trails (called “tracks”) crisscrossing the country’s national parks. We thought the Croesus Crossing would be like the other tracks we’ve run here, with mostly level footing and well marked. We were wrong. (more…)

A stretch of the Coast Track in Abel Tasman National Park, New Zealand, where Morgan and I ran last week.

Where will running take you in 2010? I’m picking up from the closing line in the last post, “May you go new places and envision new possibilities in the year ahead.”

This week, Morgan and I will take a detour to a wild corner of New Zealand’s West Coast for a 26K trail event, and next month we’ll head toward the bush by Melbourne for the sake of another trail race. We’re planning our Italy itinerary by looking at race websites as much as Lonely Planet, and we’re already thinking about where we can go to run during the week in August when both kids will be at sleep-away camp.

An interviewer for the website RunAbroad.com recently asked me, “One more reason to go running?” and I replied, “Running inspires and enhances travel. I can think of no better way to get to know a stretch of countryside or city than running through it, or better yet, participating in a race at a destination. When I think of trips I took over the past year or so with my family, I always visualize what I saw during my runs.” (I was flattered to be profiled by this cool website, which profiles races around the globe; you can read the whole interview here.)

I’d like to encourage all of you who gaze at your calendars in January and pencil in running goals and races for the year to find a running event that transports you to a completely different environment. Run it not necessarily for time but as a tourist, soaking up all the sights and sensations, and you may have an experience like I did at the Buenos Aires Marathon.

New Zealand is a dream destination for runners. This country has a network of well-maintained trails known as Great Walks that traverse the visually stunning glaciers, forests and beaches that New Zealand is famous for. My new friend Paul Charteris, an ultrarunner we ran with on the North Island, wrote an excellent overview of NZ’s running scene for IRunFar.com, and he also has loads of info on where to run on his blog, TrailruNZ.

Obviously travel and adventure are on my mind — not just the destinations and running events themselves, but why and how to make going new places and trying new things a top priority. I feel incredibly fortunate to discover firsthand how long-term family travel to unfamiliar, not-always-comfortable destinations can enhance personal growth, relationships and pure happiness in countless ways, which is a topic I touch on in our Away Together blog and hope to explore more this year. For that reason, I’d really appreciate hearing from others in the comment field below about where you’d like to run and explore in the not-too-distant future and why — and what’s your plan for going there, or what stands in your way.

I anticipate answers along the lines of “life gets in the way of living” — i.e. work and family commitments and/or lack of money keep you from going where you want to go and doing what you dream of doing. If that’s the case for you, then do you see a way around?

We had a whole list of reasons why we couldn’t and shouldn’t take the long trip we’re on, but we did it anyway. Running gave us a lot of the motivation and nerve we needed to get here.

So I’ll repeat the question because I’m really curious to know: Where will running take you?

New Zealand's trails (known as tracks) have taken us up mountains and down to the coast. This run was on the coast in the North Island's Bay of Plenty region.

Windy Point on the Dun Mountain Track above Nelson, New Zealand, lived up to its name and almost blew Morgan's hat away. This was on January 1, when we maintained our tradition of running up a mountain to start the new year.

“Two things in life that I have experienced moderate success at, and that I love when they’re going well, are writing and running. Neither is going very well at the moment. This blog represents my commitment to get both going again. Writing and running have been on hold due to inaction and injury. … I’m feeling stupid and stiff, wondering how I’ll ever regain a sense of flow at the keyboard or striding out on the trail.”

Morgan and me running last week on the North Island of New Zealand. A year ago, I never imagined we'd end the year here!

I wrote those lines in my first-ever blog post in August 2008 while nursing a broken foot and hoping 2009 would be a comeback year.

I got the comeback I wished for and more, but what I’m most proud and grateful for is I headed off in completely new and unforeseen directions. Never, ever would I have imagined I would write this year-end post from New Zealand, having embarked with my family on a round-the-world journey after six months of reaching new personal bests as a runner. Just as I never, ever would have imagined that when I started jogging 15 years ago I would actually stick with it to the point where I could call myself “a runner.”

I’m not writing this to gloat. I’m here to remind myself and others that life takes entirely unexpected turns, and being open to change and thinking that what seems impossible might actually be possible can take you to places you thought only other people, not you, could go. (more…)

Morgan and me at the start of the Nov. 14 Salomon K42 in Villa La Angostura.

Two hours into the Salomon K42 trail marathon in Patagonia while approaching the halfway mark, the course hit a low point that coincided with my own. After the thrill of sprinting down a forested single track as slick and curving as a luge course, I hit a flat stretch that briefly intersects with a main road just a quarter mile from our rented cabaña in this Argentina ski town called Villa La Angostura. My frustration with a problem involving my shoes was telling me to call it quits and chalk up the effort as a solid half-marathon. I planned to peel off the course, walk back to the cabaña, get out of those dang shoes and hug my kids. Then we would all head to the finish line to cheer on Morgan, who was on the course somewhere behind me. Yes, that’s what I’d do. It seemed so reasonable.

Then, in a split second I’ll never regret, I changed my mind. (more…)

A peaceful run last week overlooking Lago Nahuel Huapi in the Patagonia lake district of Argentina.

Staying safe while running is always an issue, but as Morgan and I find ourselves running in some rather far-flung places during our year abroad, safety has become a top concern. Two days ago, for instance, we left the kids in our cabaña and went to run a remote dirt road above the town of Bariloche, Argentina, in the Andean range of Patagonia. Our picture-perfect run suddenly turned threatening, and tense moments ensued. (more…)

Being healthy and injury-free is something I never want to take for granted, but inevitably I do. Isn’t it easy to be lulled into complacency? Perhaps that’s why running (or walking or biking — pick your sport) for a charitable cause has become so popular. Connecting with and helping those who are coping with serious medical problems is a powerful reminder that “your health is your wealth.” Plus, it’s another reason to get out the door and run.

Now I have my eye on supporting a small nonprofit called Project Athena (named, of course, for that crafty Goddess of Wisdom who often helped other Greek heroes). The group’s mission is “to help women with breast cancer and other medical or traumatic setbacks live their athletic and adventurous dreams.” I learned about it from Darcie Gorman, a 34-year-old runner from Salt Lake City, Utah, whom I met  almost exactly a year ago at the Dick Collins Firetrails 50 miler, which she won. Eleven months later, we met again in the line for the bathroom at the Imogene Pass Run. (more…)

Standing under the race banner on Telluride's main street, Colorado Avenue, the day before the race. The summit we cross during the race is hiding behind the ridge that's behind the "I" in "Imogene" on the banner.

This is a postscript to my last post, “Humbled,” about training for the Sept. 12 Imogene Pass Run from the town of Ouray to Telluride. As that post detailed, the 17-mile Imogene Pass, which summits at 13,100 feet, loomed large in my mind. Family history and childhood memories ran through the precipitous rocky road, while the high altitude and above-timberline views left me awed and short of breath.

The rule of thumb for estimating a finish time at Imogene is to use your regular road marathon time. Imogene is only 17 miles, but it takes roughly as long as it takes someone to run a flat, paved 26. As with road marathoning, a sub-3-hour finish time is the benchmark for real bragging rights at Imogene, and sub-4-hour is quite respectable. I knew I wasn’t in shape to finish near my marathon PR of 3:05, but I hoped for a finish close to 3:15. Then I went on two training runs on the Telluride side of the course — including the one I wrote about in “Humbled” — and I was thoroughly cowed. Please, just let me finish uninjured and under 4 hours, I thought.

As the race director commented at the starting line, this event is a rite of passage for Colorado trail runners. How would my sea-level legs and lungs fare?

Like the course profile, this story has two parts: UP and DOWN. (more…)

I consider myself a capable trail runner — in California, that is. In Colorado, no way.

A tunnel halfway up to Tomboy Mine, above Telluride on the Imogene Pass Run course.

I’ve been in Telluride, Colorado, a little over a week, adjusting to life away from home and acclimating in the high altitude for the September 12 Imogene Pass Run. (Our family travel blog away-together.com details why we’re here and what we’re doing.)

If you’ve never been to Telluride, picture a cluster of brightly painted Victorian-era houses and frontier-era storefronts lining main street, all dwarfed by the surrounding mountains. The town sits at 8750 feet in a horseshoe-shaped bend in the San Juan Mountain range, and the road to town dead ends where the peaks rise up almost 5000 feet more and waterfalls cascade down. Spruce and aspen blanket the backdrop, and hunks of red rocks jut out most of the way up. Then the trees thin out and the red rocks turn a smoother gray on the peaks and ridges, which are stained by rust-colored splotches of mineral deposits that lured prospectors in the 1870s.

If you could look right over the mountain behind Telluride or tunnel through it, you’d reach another old mining town, Ouray, also tucked in a box canyon of stunning scenery. Connecting the two towns is a single-lane rocky road: Imogene Pass. It used to be the trail leading to large-scale mining operations where thousands of people worked from the late 1800s through the Depression. The road runs past the ghost towns of Tomboy on the Telluride side and Camp Bird on the Ouray side, and it crests above timberline at 13,114 feet.

I have some history with Imogene Pass, even though I’ve never run it. I’m here training for the race in part because the trek over the road always stood in my mind as an extreme daytrip infused with family folklore. (more…)

Starting later this month, I will be blogging more regularly at our family’s new site, away-together.com. We leave in two weeks for nearly a full year of travel to several destinations, to educate our kids (and ourselves) by seeing other parts of the world and to strengthen our bond as a family. I’m excited, nervous and asking myself, How did August get here? Running in July mirrored the pace of my life. I’m relating a few highlights here to try to make sense of it all:

Smiling at the finish of the Eden Medical Center 5K/10K in Castro Valley.

July 12: I stand at the start of a hilly 10K by Lake Chabot, seeing some road racing regulars for the first time in a long time. Morgan and the kids are with me to do the 5K. Coach Alphonzo is there with hugs and telling me to do the damn thing. I haven’t trained to race this distance on pavement in over a year — which is partly why I’m here: To face the challenge of running fast. To have fun (what a concept!) going all out. So I go for it, I go out fast with the lead women who turn out to be in the 5K. They peel off at the 5K turnaround and I’m the only woman near the front of the 10K pack (oh, sweet Jesus), trying to catch the guys ahead. (more…)