Wandering with a slingshot

Some girlfriends and I camped in Glacier National Park this weekend with the full intention of doing a respectably challenging hike/climb.  (We camped at Two Medicine and figured we'd climb a peak of our collective choosing depending on what time we woke up).  Rainy conditions, however, promised a lack of views and slippery rock.  None of us were interested in a hike through thick clouds or looked forward to being soaked to the bone.  None of us are particularly delicate or fragile, but the disappointment of another dreary day (we have many around here) deflated all of us and left us feeling pretty ambivalent. 

Goofy girls

One of the waterfalls along the St. Mary's Falls trail (THE St. Mary's Falls?)

So, without any structure or agenda, we instead ate and drank our way through the Park, stopping for a short and busy/popular hike to St. Mary's Falls.  We had pie at the Park Cafe, ate and drank at the Belton Chalet, shot rocks into the middle fork of the Flathead River with a slingshot we picked up en route (we stayed on the non-Park portion of the bridge as slingshots are illegal in National Parks), listened to a terrible reggae band, slept in our cars and began the next day with a swim in a nearby lake (despite initially planning to drive home Saturday night).   

it cleared up that evening and was beautiful

There is something liberating about simply setting out with no plan to do anything other than to  enjoy the day.  We genuinely had ridiculous amounts of fun spending an entire weekend doing things none of us would have ever, in a million years, actually deliberately planned.  In fact, I  would never have planned to set out with no plan.  Perhaps the best adventures are those that wouldn't even sound fun if described ahead of time.  Spontaneity is the rabbit hole leading to unknowable possibilities.  That said, spontaneity is not really in my nature.  Perhaps I should work on this....           





I ran a marathon (the Missoula Marathon)

Since road races are all about stats and splits and such (from my little timing printout):


Time = 4:00:43.2

1st Half = 1:59:06.1

2nd Half = 2:01:37.1

AG Position (35-39) = 25 of 101

Gender Position (F) = 112 of 559

Overall = 382 of 1176

The Missoula Marathon is an excellent little marathon. Runners World magazine deemed it the best marathon in America a few years back I think. It's fairly small still but well organized and logistically uncomplicated. You are bussed to the start in Frenchtown and run back into downtown Missoula. It could be a PR course depending on the person -- there is one somewhat significant hill (for a road marathon) and has 200 feet of net gain (and Missoula is at 3200 feet, which could be enough to mildly impair someone's performance if they live at sea level). There is coffee at the race start and excellent food/drink at the finish (watermelon popsicles and free beer!). Admittedly, I do enjoy road running in addition to trail running, which makes me somewhat unusual among my trail running friends.

This was just a "for fun" race for me. I did San Juan 50 two weeks ago, pulled a hamstring last weekend trying to water ski and neither recovered nor tapered. I was slothful in the last couple of weeks but did 6 hours of ski touring Wednesday (though not at high intensity or anything) and went into the race not sure if I might have to drop out at my friends Kevin and Katie's aid station at mile 11ish with hamstring troubles. I had beer and wine the day/night before. After all, it was a mini-vacation/girls' weekend.

me and Allison, photo courtesy of Allison

I chose to take a lot of Advil during the race rather than drop out -- my hamstring started bothering me at mile 4. I knew this was stupid but sometimes I can't help myself. (My hamstring feels fine now though my lower back feels bruised, hopefully it's not my kidneys, ha ha ha). I had part of a Mimosa (which was totally delicious actually, yay Kevin!) at my friends' aid station and nearly achieved my arbitrary goal of a sub-4 hour finish. I think that if I had skipped the Mimosa I might have finished 44 seconds faster. Of course, if I had run slightly faster I could have achieved it as well... Ultimately, it's a big "who cares" though I'd rather have the "3" than the "4" in my finish time.

I am pleased with my nearly even splits and my finish time considering the heat, my lack of preparation and the fact that I was bloated and un-svelte on race day (to the tune of at least 5-7 pounds above my normal weight this month). I have previously mentioned my desire to do focused marathon training and try to run a PR/sub 3:30 marathon. So, this has me wondering how much work it would take to shave off 30 minutes by December (I think I'd consider CIM). I think if I really focused on the track, pace runs, tempo runs and all that stuff and took good care of myself I'd have a (slim) chance. That said, this was a reminder of how stressful marathons can be. I mean, having to constantly worry about every stupid split and having to keep running the WHOLE TIME! without getting to lollygag, walk, pig out at candy buffet tables and such is sort of less fun than ultras (or my approach to them anyhow). I'm just not sure if I can really rally to do the whole marathon training thing again. Ever. At the same time, it's sort of nice to do races where I can easily finish respectably instead of last, if at all, as in trail ultras (hmmm maybe if I took the same mental approach as I do in marathons I wouldn't be last?).

As of right now I am not signed up for anything at all for the rest of the year and am not sure what I want to do next, if anything, in terms of running. At present I am totally unmotivated to register for anything, therefore I am going to just be like a normal person and hike and enjoy the summer without an eye towards training for anything. (To the extent that I ever really train, ha). I wish I felt the desire to focus on something but nothing interests me right now. Undoubtedly something will catch my eye.

On Wussitude




photo credit -- Amber

 

I imagine I've mentioned this here before, but I have a visceral and definitely irrational (i.e. beyond that which is necessary for self-preservation) fear of heights.  Typically it comes on rather suddenly and involuntarily and makes the world stop for what seems like hours while I assess how I am going to extricate myself from whatever situation I've purposefully gotten myself into.   So, one might wonder, why I am so bound and determined to become more of a mountaineer on and off my skis when virtually every time I set out, no matter how mellow the adventure, I find myself slightly panicked at some point.




photo credit -- Amber

 

Take, for example, July 4, 2012.  Amber and I decided to return to Logan Pass in Glacier National Park for one more day of skiing.  We weren't entirely sure what we would do but climbing Mount Oberlin, the easiest climb in the Park, was on our list.  We started to approach from the saddle between Mount Oberlin and Mount Clements, but realized that the snow conditions weren't quite good enough to use skis and were sketchy enough to not make for a good route without skis.  We didn't really have time to complete our mission but thought we'd get up on the saddle and at least check out the views.  We were boot packing up the snow, which was fine actually, but for whatever reason I decided I would head over to a patch of scree and make my life easier.  The scree was sort of muddy and slick and the skis on my back caused some balance issues (and I was getting a little tired) and I had a freakout moment.  I couldn't go down the scree without falling and the snow close to the scree was thin and slippery -- not conducive to boot packing. 




photo credit - Amber

 

As you can see from this picture, above, the slope isn't actually that steep and you can see visually that I was probably not going to fall and tumble down the scree.  So why did I feel that way?  I am reminded of a hike I did last summer off trail and there's photographic evidence of me clinging to the cliff side while my friend Brad walked right beside me.  Yes people, there was enough room for two across and there I was acting like I was precariously balancing on a tightrope.  I wonder if people like me should, perhaps, stick to the ski slopes and trails.  The impaired ability to rationally assess actual risk is not compatible with this type of adventuring.




that is Amber

 Then I remember the freakout I had the first time I took the chair up Big Mountain to the summit and then my panic descending the easiest downhill route from the summit. Or, it seems that in just 2009 I was on the "magic carpet ride" and working on my pizza v. french fries.  I am now comfortable on the chair and find that route down quite easy and without challenge. I am convinced that experience will allow me to do more and more without getting that icky adrenaline rush and those deer-in-the-headlights moments of "oh no this is scary what am I going to do now?" And to be fair, on Wednesday I was fully aware that the worst case scenario if I slipped on the scree was that I would get a little bloodied on the rocks (or my skis on my pack) but would not likely go very far. So why this caused anxiety I do not know.

I envy people who do not experience this reaction to heights. I wonder how normal or abnormal this is? I wonder if some day I will be able to handle exposure without any adrenaline and with the type of calm confidence some of my friends, like Amber, consistently exhibit. I consistently debate whether I'm just punishing myself by continually putting myself in these situations or whether I am doing myself a favor by increasing my opportunities to go fun cool places in the great outdoors. I also wonder why I am so bent on engaging in this stuff -- though I think the answer is that my friends do it so obviously I want to as well.

If anyone out there is a reformed wuss, I'd love to hear how you have conquered your affliction.

A Summer Day in Montana

Around noon (ignore the poor form)

Around 9 p.m.

wouldn't want to be in that water though...