Tam: day by day
Through the little panes in the top of the colonial-style window across the living room, I look at Mt. Tamalpais. People call it “Mount Tam” or just “Tam” for short. Most would say mountains don’t change much, even as the seasons do. But through this same window over the last ten months, I swear I have watched Tam change, day by day.
It’s not only the actual proximity of Tam to the front door of this little house (less than half a mile to the true bottom), but rather the repetitive nature of my coffee view that has made me feel so close. I’ve had the same perspective every morning and evening, so even the slightest of evolutions has been discernible.
A change in the shade of the mountain, from green to yellow as the year wears on. A different shade of sky behind Tam, the contrast causing me to notice a rocky outcrop I hadn’t before. Growth of the trees I look between to see the summit. A light illuminating the fire lookout perched on the upper ridge. A headlight flickering as someone, likely a San Francisco city-dweller, gets caught out after dark.
People always talk like a stagnant perspective is the devil. Like you’ll never see new things unless you look from new directions. But it’s only when your perspective remains constant that it becomes apparent there are little changes happening all the time, day by day.
I initially laid eyes on Tam from this particular perspective last February, when Ren and I first headed out to California. The moment I set foot inside the tiny rental unit we agreed to share, I just knew I had to become the fastest woman to run the ascent from bottom to top. I couldn’t live like this and not. The aforementioned view out the living room window, squarely facing the 2470 foot peak, was fit for the Queen of Mt. Tam. I just had to become her. Day by day.
I knew myself: I wouldn’t feel complete existing in this place until I ran under 37:03 on the 3.23-mile route (the record set by Bailey Kowalczyk in 2021). My first hard push was on May 21st, in the middle of my build for the 1500m at the Olympic Trials. I was notably not in ideal uphill shape, and I would characterize this first “attempt” as more of a training workout than a full-send effort. Even still, when I ran 38:45, it became clear this thing was going to be harder to pull off than I originally anticipated. I may have been naïve and a little over-confident, but I couldn’t recall another uphill segment I wanted that had taken me more than one hard push to secure.
To justify running it again just ten days later, on May 31st, I used the (valid) excuse “it’s good training for the VK at Broken Arrow”, which I had decided to compete in a few weeks later (see the vk & 1500 double). I still came up 24 seconds short, running 37:27. Realizing the Tam ascent wasn’t a piece-of-cake segment I could have if only I tried – that was what made it fun for me. It was under my skin in a way no segment had been before, and while I had a million other motivators driving my daily training and demanding my focus, it lurked in the back of my mind. It was on the season “to do” list, no doubt.
But then things got busy with Broken Arrow, the Olympic Trials, and competing through October on the Golden Trail World Series. I traveled often, raced frequently, spent some time back home in Wyoming, and whenever I was at the little rental in Mill Valley, I was keeping things low-key. A hard push with a competitive edge didn’t make sense. Until my season was over, that is.
When November rolled around, the last of my 2024 races done, I knew I was in uphill shape that would be lethal on Tam. Workouts were suggesting I was in a different stratosphere of fitness than the one I was in back in May. If there was ever going to be a time to snag the QOM, this was it.
On December 3rd, I hammered.
And as I touched the door of the fire lookout at the top of Tam, I caught a glimpse of “35:46” on the face of my watch – 1:17 faster than the record.
Day by day, I had earned the crown. I could finally rest.
the details
all images taken by Ryan Thrower - thank you!
