Asotin Island Run

The first meet of the year for the Asotin teams - the Asotin Island Run - runs on Chief Timothy Island in Clarkston, Washington on September 14th.

The course is short of the full 5K distance used for championship meets which is a definite advantage early in the season when the kids are still working on fitness. Tim Gundy, the head coach at Asotin, set up the race in 2007 and it's become a regional favorite for small schools with teams coming down from Moscow, Idaho and up from Enterprise, Oregon.

The course for the high school does a pair of laps - a shorter 1 mile loop along the west end of the island that returns the runners to the start line then sends them on a longer 1.6 mile loop. Two-thirds of the course is on dirt track and has small rolling hills. The backside of the big loop does have one short hard climb. The junior high teams - and there is usually a good turnout here as well - runs just the longer loop.

The race finishes under the trees of the park and there is plenty of grassy space for the teams to spread out under the shade. Many teams take advantage of the water and splash in the river before loading up and heading home.

Spectators are always welcome and there is usually good crowd to cheer the runners on.

More info on the Asotin Island Run can be found at athletic.net

Asotin Cross Country is Nearly Here

I admit it - I'm excited that the Asotin cross country season is nearly here. This will be the first year that I don't have any children of my own on the team but I'll be helping out with the junior high squad again. Coaching the kids keeps me a touch younger and, at the junior high level, most of them run because they enjoy it - they haven't gotten to the stage where each race counts in some standing. They do still care, passionately, about how they do. My job, even part-time, is to help them reach for their limits.

The other job is to keep them injury-free. The Asotin cross country teams have been remarkable blessed to have some fine runners among the fine people and we hate to see one of them hurting. At the junior high level, we work to teach them how to run with as little harm to their joints and tissues, focusing on form and listening to their bodies.

This year, I think I'll introduce them to Emil Zatopek, the great post WWII Czech runner - who had perhaps the worst form ever for a world record holder. Every picture I've seen of Zatopek makes him look as though he's just been kicked by a mule but, oh my, could the man run. At his peak, he held nine separate World Records.

Zatopek was a master of listening.

The message to the Asotin cross country kids is to not freak about form - you have to be true to your body. If you run best flopping an elbow, don't tuck it in. Listen. Your body will let you know when you have it right.

And when you have it right, you'll be faster and you'll be far less likely to be injured.

Volunteering

2002 was a good year for the Duffau family volunteering at local races - though, admittedly, it was only at Ultras. That year is one of my favorites in running - though I only did a little bit of racing myself. San Diego has an active ultrarunning group and. in 2002, they put on five events ranging from a 50K to a 24 hour track run. I didn't run a single one though I did run a 12 hour race (more like 9 due to a stress fracture in my right foot) in San Mateo at the Jim Skophammer race that the Bay Area Ultrarunners used to put on. I did volunteer at every event.

The first of the year, the Cuyamaca 50K, all I did was help out at the finish. I wasn't instrumental to any particular degree but I was there handing out water and food as the runners finished.

The next race was the Smuggler 50 Miler (I think it's extinct now) and my first time sweeping a trail. For those that haven't been to a trail ultra, we always mark the course as well as possible. We also clean up behind ourselves. It is a point of pride in the ultra community that we don't leave trash on the ground like you will see at a typical marathon.

My job as sweep was to make sure that the last runner made it in successfully and, as I followed behind him, pick up all the course markers and any trash we left behind. So, for my first night-time trail run, I was carrying a cardboard box for twelve miles, adding stuff as I went.

It was also the first time that I had talked to a Badwater finisher, one who ran it before it went corporate and 'organized'. I caught Dale about four miles from the finisher and we chatted into the finish until he kicked away at the end. I think there were fifty people still there cheering him in to the line.

The next one was run by a friend, Maureen Moran, who we met after I started running ultras even though she literally lived around the corner. The race was the PCT50 and was run in July. In southern California. In the desert.

It was a mite hot. As in 105 degrees in the shade. The runners didn't get much shade.

The Duffau Family, all five of us, showed up at the first aid station at 5AM and got everything set up. We would see the runners twice, first at the 5 mile mark and again at 45 miles. The PCT50 is an out-and-back course, 25 miles uphill into the Cuyamaca Mountains before turning around. Except that year, some joker moved the turnaround sign. Bonus miles for the runners but it was dangerous since it took them miles out from the aid stations in brutal heat.

The girls left at noon with grandma and Donna and I and the volunteer radio operator (ALWAYS thank the ham radio operators - cellphones don't work out there and they worked long days) spent the afternoon sweating and trying to get runners rehydrated. The aid station at the ten mile mark was doing the same. A couple of them were in bad shape but I don't think we had to pull a single runner.

The extra miles also meant that the slower runners, instead of finishing at dusk, were finishing in the dark. Maureen sprinted up from the finish to bring us a load of flashlights for them. We packed up after the last runner, getting back to the finish in time to watch the bobbing lights descending to the finish.

Want to be a hero? Show up at 2AM at the San Diego 1 Day track run and cook grilled cheese sandwiches and warm soup for the athletes. They will be unbelievably thankful that you're there. I was gimpy from setting a new PR in the 25K earlier in the day but I didn't have to move much. My daughter Katie helped too, keeping the food flowing as she cheered the runners circling the track.

We've moved from SoCal and don't help with ultras any more, obviously, but I love the fact that the local cross country coaches ask their teams to volunteer at the local races. Tim Gundy, coach at Asotin High School and all-round neat guy, has encouraged volunteering in his kids. The kids have responded by showing up with great attitudes and

Mike Collins, coach at Lewis Clark State College, does the same with his runners.

Brian Denton at Clarkston does too.

They don't just encourage it in the kids - they all walk the walk - you'll catch them at races helping, organizing, doing the little things that need to be done.

I watch races begging for volunteers and some, like the Spokane to Sandpoint relay, charge a few to hire 'volunteers'. I don't have a problem with the fee - I appreciate the help when I run.

But we could use more people volunteering. Just one race a year would be a huge help and it's a nice way to give back to your sport.

Copyright © 2013 Paul Duffau

Swimming in the Snake River at Asotin

Asotin is separated from the state of Idaho by the Snake River and, with summer weather baking the valley, it has been a popular destination for boaters, jet skiers and rafters. I don't own any of the above so I opted to swim. There are little inlets up and down the riverbank, some set with safety markers to keep the boats out. Paddling about in the safety of the cove isn't my style though. Someday my style  is likely to get me killed.

I made my first attempt to swim down the river, starting two miles upstream from Asotin. I will admit that I am more than a touch rusty on my long distance swimming since it has been nearly a decade since I used to swim in the La Jolla Cove in San Diego, which has a protected marine preserve.

Long distance swimming at the Cove was always play time - a good workout while admiring the fish, kelp, sharks - whatever came along.

The river is a totally different environment from ocean swimming - far more challenging and, I think, much more dangerous.

The water temperature was a comfortable 72 degrees when I slipped into the Snake River at a little sandy beach but was much murkier than I expected - recent rainfall had added a lot of silt.

The plan was simple - take off from the beach, check in with my wife at the first mile if I made it that far and out of the water at Chief Timothy Park in Asotin if I continued. That plan, as they say, was good until contact with the enemy - the Snake River.

First, I chose to enter the water above the lake. What we call a river is actually a dammed lake separating Idaho and Washington, Lewiston and Clarkston/Asotin. As you move further from town, you get closer to the river in a more primitive state.

It's faster and sneakier - rock outcroppings hint at the turbulence below the surface but slamming into a boulder - pushed by the weight of the whole river - is a shocking reminder that you only have partial control.

At the time of impact -I bounced off more than one submerged rock before getting braced against one to puzzle out my next plan - I was already getting tired. Muscles that were neglected for too long were running up the white flag.

Sensible people pay attention to such things. I headed for the channel and the choppy current, mindful of the boaters ripping past, prows in the air as they headed up river at speed.

I almost preferred the boulders. Getting sucked into the flow of the river as it heads for Portland. Escaping it required a lot more work with already tired arms and lungs that were severely over-taxed.

In salt water, especially with a wetsuit (I was wearing it for buoyancy - my mother was right when she said I have lead in my ass), you can rest, slow your stroke count, take a breather.

Try it in the river and you'll drown.

So no breathers - I drew an imaginary diagonal to a beach and started to swim to the upstream side of it, expecting that the river would push me toward it. Darn near pushed me past it but I did manage to get my feet down and, gulping some much needed air, had to decide whether I was going to re-enter the water or finish up on land.

I chickened out and the folks in the fancy houses overlooking the river had the opportunity to laugh at the skinny guy trail-running in a wetsuit through the wildlife refuge south of town.

My feet? No problem. I had picked up a pair of boat shoes to swim in just in case I needed to exit the river on rocky surfaces. They handled the surfaces - broken rock, sand, brush - without a problem.

Challenging myself (and Mother Nature) means planning. I knew that I was getting in over my head - literally - and built my contingency plans for that. Taking risks doesn't mean being stupid - though that is sometimes a point of discussion in my household - it means pre-planning what you can, adapting as best you can and accepting your control is imperfect because life and nature just don't care.

You do get to chose risks. Sitting on the couch eating potato chips carries its own risks - I'll take a trail or river, bear or rapids, any day.

Run gently, friends.

North Asotin Creek Trail and the Bear Family

I posted last week that I was going to go play with the wild things along the North Asotin Creek Trail - I hadn't planned on getting quite so close to the bigger critters out there. The conditions were nearly perfect  - weather about 68 degrees at the trailhead and high clouds. The recent rain had softened the ground without turning it into a mud hole. The only footprints out there were mine and the deer - the trail isn't open to motorized traffic for a bit yet.

I only cover 8 or 9 miles, an out and back along North Asotin Creek, starting at the open fields that abut the creek and following the trail into the canyon and up into the woodlands.

During my various runs here I've seen bighorn sheep, deer, elk and bears - and the occasional rattlesnake.

Cougars have been reported in the area but I've never seen one and not sure that I'd like to - they're awfully bashful creatures that are most comfortable introducing themselves with a firm grip and shake - on your throat.  Admire from a distance, that's my motto...

North Asotin Creek Trail follows alongside the creek for several miles before swinging out into forest land. The first miles before you swing wide is on Washington Fish and Wildlife land and a part of their Wildlife Areas. This is the narrowest part of the trail with the creek defining one side and the basalt cliffs the other.

The trail is very runnable for even an average trailrunner - there are no truly technical sections, no bomber climbs or descents. It's a wonderful place to just enjoy the afternoon, covering some ground and sightseeing. With so little traffic this early in the season, the trail is a bit overgrown - that will change later when the four wheelers hit the trail.

The Wildlife Area transitions in the Umatilla National Forest trail as you start climbing up to the Pinkham Butte Area - I didn't go nearly that far. Once you cross the boundary into the National Forest, four wheelers are prohibited.

That was my turnaround point and the run back was literally all downhill - there is a steady climb from the trailhead as you head into the mountains. It isn't steep but it is noticeable.

Momma bear must have crossed the creek after I ran by the first time because I didn't see her or her very cute little cub on the outbound leg. The crashing in the brush to my right was my first indication that another large animal was out with me and, silly me, my first thought was deer, especially since it was running away.

The scratching sound on bark was when I noticed Cutey, the cub, climbing the tree about 15 feet away. Always part of the quick thinking club, I was in the midst of an "Aw, how cute!" moment when it dawned on me the crashing was Momma bear. Probably.

Might have been Brother bear. It so, where was Momma bear? Paranoia is such a useful survival skill....

I scanned the trail, the open side to the left, the dense brush bordering the creek to my right. No Momma bear. Unsure as to whether that was good or bad.

Looked again and made started to make tracks towards the trailhead, walking first - ho-hum, just me, non-threatening, probably not very tasty human, leaving now - then getting some distance between me and Cutey bear. Cutey watched me go.

Very bummed that I didn't have a camera out to take a picture of Cutey but lingering was not on the agenda. Still, it's hard to have a better run or day plus I get to add it to my collection to trail memories.