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...

San Juan Solstice 50: A Beautiful Sufferfest

Finally heading above treeline in the morning

This weekend I travelled to Colorado with my super awesome friends Brad and Emily for the San Juan Solstice 50, which is a 50 mile race beginning in Lake City, Colorado through the San Juans.  The course sports around 13,000 feet of elevation gain and is entirely between 8500 and 13,000+ feet.  I knew this race would be challenging, but I feel like I basically trained for it. I mean, I got in some decent mileage and felt about as prepared as I get for races. I have done a race with comparable gain (Mt. Diablo 50) and finished under 16 hours in worse shape than I am now, so that was encouraging. I cannot, however, recall a time where I have ever tried to exert myself above 12,000 feet so that was the primary unknown.




Elevation profile

The race begins and ends in the park in downtown Lake City. The first few miles are on a gentle dirt road before jumping onto single track and heading up up and up to the top. The views that morning were nothing short of spectacular.  (Almost all these pictures are from the morning and don't necessarily correspond to most of this report.)  Anyhow, after about ten miles the course begins a long downhill descent that drops almost as low as the race began. I felt pretty good for the first 17 or so miles and ran downhill hard to make up for my poor climbing.  After the first major aid station that had drop-bags, however, the course heads up this interminable jeep road all the way back up to the top of the Continental Divide. Near the top of the Divide, there is a "townsite" (pic a ways down below) called Carson. After combatting heat and thin air to amble my way up there I couldn't imagine wanting to put anything up there much less mining and toiling and working up there. Nutty people.

 

Back to this never ending climb to Carson. It never ends. And it was hot. Eventually I rolled into the Carson aid station with 40 minutes before the cut-off (I think anyhow, unless my math was fuzzy) and collapsed into a chair and sat for probably too long (10 minutes) before continuing up to the tippy top of the Divide at 13,000+ feet. 

 

It was sort of shocking to me to get up there and see a maze of jeep roads, most of which appear to be open to motorized use.  It makes sense given the fact that people were mining up here not that long ago, but it was an odd sight. 

We made our way onto the Colorado Trail which, in that particular area, is largely driveable if you were so-inclined and it were legal (which I don't think it is on the actual Colorado Trail).

The terrain was perfectly runnable but I could do no better than probably 2 mph that high up. I felt pretty nauseous to be quite frank.

Adding insult to injury, the smoke from all the many Colorado fires rolled in, obscuring what I am sure were marvelous views. The only good thing was it was HOT and the smoke also obscured the sun and cooled things down a bit.

 

On the Divide I started getting passed by what seemed to be a lot of people. This lovely woman from Crested Butte tried to make conversation with me but with each exhaled word I felt a wave of nausea roll over me and my entire chest/sternum ached in protest. I loosened my pack completely to ease the restrictive feeling but there was only so much I was capable of doing up there.

 

Eventually the trail started winding down to the next aid station, I believe called "Divide" or some such. I felt absolutely spent. There were several people hanging out in the aid station and at that point my calories were entirely Mountain Dew calories. I think I was a little dehydrated because I couldn't chew/swallow food. Mountain Dew, which is gross, was my saviour.

 

 I took note of the sign telling me how far the next aid station was and the cut-off time. It was then 4:00 p.m. and I had 2 hours, until 6:00 p.m. to get to the next aid station 9 miles away.

Carson Townsite

I quickly headed out doing the math but unable to figure out what that pace would be. I am never very good at math anyhow, but math at 12,000 feet and 31 miles is even harder. I did know that when I do a run through my neighborhood, feeling fresh and on road, 9 miles takes me around an hour and a half. I decided to stop with trying to figure it out and just go.  Either I could do it or I would get pulled at the Slumgullion aid station at mile 40.

Up on the Continental Divide

  

 This segment was (thankfully) largely downhill so once we dropped below 12,000 feet and the air felt comparatively rich with oxygen I started running as hard as I could. I started passing some people who had long ago passed me, such as the Crested Butte chica. I approached this guy who seemed to be in a bad way and he told me he had given up. "There's no way we are going to make the cutoff" he said. I looked at my watch and saw we had about 5 miles to go and an hour to do so. "Don't give up!" I said and sprinted onward, miffed that this dude told me I couldn't do it. I sort of knew he was right but also viewed this as my meager opportunity to really race (in my own head that is). I was going to make the cut-off or collapse trying.

Smoke and Jeep Trails on the Continental Divide

I passed another guy who had earlier passed me and made an enthusiastic comment about how much better I looked. Feeling totally amped I sprinted down the super rocky steep road, practicing the downhill technique Emily told me about which involves just not worrying about falling and running fast (fast being relative of course).

Smoky on the Divide

I made it to the aid station with 3 minutes to spare. They filled my water and I took off, confident that I could cover the remaining 10 miles in 3 hours.  I knew roughly 6 of those miles were downhill or at least not uphill.  Or at least I thought I remembered that, I wasn't too sure.  My Garmin died by that point so I would just have to keep moving and hope for the best.  The next six miles was on a private ranch (Vickers' Ranch) and involved a climb through a beautiful huge Aspen grove.  It was super hard though and it was hot and I basically wanted to lay down and give up.  I would take a few steps, stop, whine to myself, feel nauseous and repeat.  It was pretty horrible, and in hindsight I wish I had a Garmin to remind me to keep a move on.  This is where I really probably messed up my race but I really felt incredibly bad.  This went on for what felt like forever and to make it worse, the course sweeps caught me and were on my heels with the clanking of the trail markers reminding me that I was the pathetic slow person the sweeps have to stay behind and probably wish they could pass.  They seemed really nice though.  I wish I felt better because I essentially looked at them in disgust and turned up my music to pretend they weren't there.  I finally began the descent and rolled into the last aid station where I was told I had an hour to go 4 miles.  No problem.


Yeah I was slow.  And 13,311 feet is high for me.  This is basically the last picture I take during the race, which given how snap happy I typically am should tell you something...

I felt like I sprinted all the downhill to the finish and either it wasn't quite an hour, was more like 5 miles or I was just slower than I thought (most likely) but I finished 12-15 minutes after the 16 hour cutoff.  Thus, I am an unofficial finisher, which is basically meaningless to me at this point.  I finished.  They kept the finish open, the timeclock going and Brad and Emily were there smiling and waiting for me with cold IPA.  

Brad and Emily at Royal Gorge en route back to Colorado Springs, trying to steal of view without
paying $25 each (ripoff)

On the whole, it was a fantastic weekend.  Hanging out with good friends on vacation is pretty awesome.  I ate a lot of junk food, drank some beer and had a great time.  Not an impressive finish time but I'm pleased with myself for making it across the finish line, even if it was practically hand-in-hand with the sweeps and I was the last racer to cross the finish line.  It was a tough race, and I am not a fast person.  That combination makes it ok to me that I barely eeked out an unofficial finish.  
 
P.S.  Emily did awesome finishing in 11 hours something, 4th woman overall and Brad finished in 13 hours, which was good considering he was not at all rested.  Also, I should note that this race is incredibly well organized with top notch volunteers.  I highly recommend it, especially if you like to suffer.

I want to run dogma over with my car.

As someone with a passing interest in nutrition and diet, I occassionally read Mark's Daily Apple, which is "primal eating" based but pretty balanced and reasonable in its approach (he actually analyzes whether certain foods are horribly unhealthy or not without strictly adhering to any arbitrary rules about whether they should or should not be healthy, which is what "Paleo" people seem to do).  Without going into the confusing details of these eating approaches, but by way of background, people who are into the fad "cave man" style of eating ("Paleo") also tend to be die-hard Crossfit junkies (another fad if you ask me) and generally prone to drinking all the Kool-Aid that goes with those dogmatic eating and workout philosophies.  Crossfit, which has a lot of really quick hard workouts (like, lift heavy weights as many times as possible in three minutes), is super anti-running.  This is one of the main reasons I quit.  I obviously love running and grew tired of people knocking my favorite activity, as if their ten minute workout makes them an elite athlete bound for eternal life.  I had sort of let all this go (deep breath) but noticed in a recent discussion on Mark's website some people commenting that "ultra running is not healthy" and some endurance athletes seeking advice "did not even look fit."  My annoyance with this specious point of view flared up as a result and today, while running (while I should have been resting), I contemplated whether running long and far is healthy and whether I really care.




My bike enjoying the view on Saturday's bike ride on Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park

  As I thought this through, I thought about why I was even out for a 14 mile trail run when I am supposed to be tapering for a very difficult race next weekend.  And, why I was lining up for a difficult race when I have no hope of doing anything more impressive than making cut-offs and finishing.  (Evidently, some people think this is the pinnacle of pathetic-ness).  Just yesterday I was harassing my buddy Brad, who is also doing this difficult race next weekend, about his plans to run a ton all weekend.  "That isn't a taper!" I said.  Well, color me a hypocrite. 

The answer to the first question (why did I go out for a longish run?) is that the sun came out and I wanted to enjoy myself outside and catch some solitude and listen to tunes.  It has been miserable here and the sun was cause to frolick and celebrate.  The answer to the second question (why go to a race when I don't actually "race") is that the race is going to be pretty and I am going to have a ton of fun with my friends in Colorado.  The answer to the question about whether ultra-running or long distance running (doesn't have to be "ultra" to be hated by the Crossfit set) is healthy or not is that I don't really care.  I do all of these things because I derive pleasure from them.  The second glass of wine is never optimal from a health standpoint, but it tastes and feels good.  Running for a few hours when I should be resting may not be optimal from a racing standpoint (ha, like I "race" anyhow), but it sure felt good.  These people who worry about what is "optimally healthy" are boring and are likely humorless as well. 


Linda, Stormy and me at the end of the road (as far as it was open anyhow)

 I used to frequently read the Shape Magazine forums and they too had their collective dogma -- eat exactly 1800 calories/day and the key to satiety is mixing peanut butter, fiber one and cottage cheese.  HIIT was the thing to do, then it wasn't, then it was.  Frankly, all of these people are just kidding themselves anyhow if they think they really hold the key to optimal health.  These things change so quickly it's impossible to believe any "fad" approach is genuinely the "right" approach, if there is such a thing.  The Shape people seem so silly now, though secretly also wanting the ANSWER I tried that nasty combination (I do not recommend it though it is filling).  It seems to me that the REAL ANSWER is to live life for happiness (which includes not being a selfish jerk who makes others unhappy).  Running hasn't thus far caused me any harm, and I don't think it's hurting anyone else.  I doubt my failure to adequately taper will really make much difference in my power hike next weekend.  Whether I make cut-offs will be related to how I deal with the high elevation and my general fitness -- it's too late to do much about that.  I know I won't care that I am nothing more than an enthusiastic participant -- I generally don't.  I will be happy.  And that should be the question -- what will make me happy.  Because without good mental health, what good is physical health anyhow?  Buzz off dogmatic boring losers. :-)

No good title for this

If you haven't been reading this blog for too long you may not know about a certain incident that occurred in 2009 that has become cause for an annual remembrance run in Glacier National Park.  While it has become more of a celebration of friendship than anything else, it always serves as a bitter reminder of how a small error in judgment can literally bite you in the ass (or leg).  On that fateful June day, Tom, Callie and I planned to run in the Park, but Callie and I wanted to do a longer run than Tom.  There is a nice rolling/flattish trail that parallels Going to the Sun Road to Avalanche Campground -- you can then run to Avalanche Lake and back.  From Lake McDonald Lodge it's about 16 miles total, but there's a cut-in accessible from GTTS road that allows for a 10 mile version of the same run.  We devised a plan where we would meet at the cut-in and Tom would run 10 miles with Callie and me to Avalanche Lake.  We had two-way radios (since there is no cell reception in the Park) so that we could communicate.  When Callie and I arrived at the pre-determined meeting spot (fairly late I might add), Tom was nowhere to be seen.  We figured he either slept in or bailed.  He wasn't responding on the radio.  Ultimately, it was a beautiful sunny day and we had a great run and laughed and enjoyed ourselves.  Of course, later that night we learned that Tom had been bitten by a grizzly bear while out looking for us.  Unfortunately, he forgot both his radio and his bear spray.



Total stupidity

Above is a snapshot of my blog entry from that day written before I talked to Tom from the hospital.  As we left the trail we saw that it was closed due to bear danger, and obviously we thought nothing of it.  I mean, my "spidey sense" is obviously bullet proof and we were really good at identifying tracks.  Yup those are black bear tracks.  Nope, no sign of grizzly bears.  And, we did find out why it was closed.  And it was our collective fault.  (Do you like the foreshadowing about being "that girl?"  To this day, Tom gets to be "that guy."  He is good humored about it but it's still pretty embarrassing).  Certainly, we take these things a bit more seriously these days.  Yesterday was our annual group run along that same route. Now, we don't let anyone be solo.... I perform my poem (written by me and Ted together) "Bear Oh Bear" and Tom gets choked up that his friends are willing to go run in the pouring rain then snow to help be part of the ongoing healing process and friendship that ultimately makes it less bad to be mauled by a grizzly bear.

One minor but relevant lesson that I have learned from all this is that if you are engaged in an activity that is already subject to criticism, such as trail running in bear country, you'd better be careful to not give ammunition to your detractors.  Tom's incident, though he was actually standing on the trail not running when the bears became interested in him, has been used extensively as a great example of why trail running should basically be illegal and how trail runners are "wrong headed."  In these here parts there is a fair amount of dogmatic debate over "right" and "wrong" ways to enjoy nature and recreate, and this didn't help the trail runner's cause too much.  Of course, the worst bear incidents in the Park have been hikers, and more recently a guy hiking had a Tom-like incident.  It's tough to analyze how much risk is acceptable or appropriate and there is only mitigation of risk -- no total avoidance.  Sometimes these things are just dumb luck.  I still believe that recreating in grizzly habitat is just shades of risk and the factors involved are more numerous and complicated than running v. walking.  Ultimately, it's probably safer to get out there, enjoy nature and get some exercise than eat Cheetos all day and watch TV.

California Uber Alles

Jill in the Cloud on Black Mountain

This weekend I finally went to visit Jill in her new (relatively new) home in California.  I've felt like a slacker friend, having never really been out to see her since she moved to be near her Swiss beau Beat (he grew up in Germany, and exhibits the occassional German tendency towards order and all that, hence the hilarity of the Dead Kennedys song title).

Jill showing me something?



I arrived on Friday afternoon and she showed me one of her local haunts, which is Black Mountain, the mountain for which "Mountain View" is evidently named.  Because you can see Black Mountain.  Very near to where Jill lives is a fairly extensive system of trails and fire roads that allow for endless trail stuff (walking, running, biking on the bike legal portions).  Very nice.

Pic by Jill - Pt. Reyes National Seashore

 On Saturday we picked up Jill's friend Leah and drove to the Pt. Reyes National Seashore where we did a half marathon distance hike.  We enjoyed spectacular views of the Pacific and I enjoyed the beautiful hilly California coastline.  There is no shortage of spectacular views out there.  Nor is there a shortage of delicious pastries -- I slowly devoured a bear claw as my trail food.

 On Sunday we ran the "Skyline to Sea" trail, which starts up in the Santa Cruz mountains and ends at the sea.  We didn't follow the formal trail precisely, but did go through an incredible Redwood forest.  I kept my eyes peeled for Ewoks.

 We met up with some other friends a little more than half way and it was sort of me and Jill keeping up with the exuberant boys.  I had a weird episode where I was telling Jill I was having trouble keeping up (I believe I was complaining that it wasn't a "fun pace," whatever that means) and my entire throat closed up for less than 20 seconds and I couldn't breathe or talk.  It wasn't asthma (which I have) and it wasn't like anything I've ever experienced.  Once I relaxed, aided by the realization that Jill was a tad concerned, I was totally fine.  Weird, huh?  I think it might have been triggered by the slow acid upheaval of my breakfast all morning?  Dunno.  Anyhow, I lived and it was good.  Or, I have some sort of psychiatric disorder triggered by unfun paces.

Pic by Jill

 When the week was all said and done, I'd run about 80 miles.  The last time I had an 80 mile week was the first time I trained for Western States, or really the last time I trained for anything.  That was several years ago.  I feels sort of good to get some miles in.  Of course, now I'm sore and tired... but really the best part is that I got to spend some quality Jill time and catch up a bit.

Pic by Beat

pic by Jill

Anyhow, it was a great weekend of sun, running and Jill and Beat.  Thanks Jill.  Thill.  I also had the chance to catch up briefly with my friend Rachel, who was my roomate in college for a year and Euro-travel-buddy when I studied in France.  It was so great to see her -- haven't had the opportunity for a couple years now.  I didn't get to do everything I'd like to do, which obviously means I will have to go back soon.

Eleven Miles to Paradise (and musings about my paradise)

Me and Allison, near the end of the run

This weekend my friend Allison and I went to the Paradise Valley of Montana for an 11 mile race called "11 Miles to Paradise."  It follows lovely single track along the Clark Fork River, which is truly beautiful country.  We made a girls' weekend of it, drinking lots of beer at Quinn's Hot Springs Resort on Saturday night.  It was a lot of fun and great to hang out with Alli, who has moved to Helena for work and I don't get to see as often as I would like.  Unfortunately the beer consumption made for a somewhat uncomfortable run, but we managed to finish and I enjoyed myself.

I don't like wet feet, ok?

My friend Dave just blogged about another blog and I am going to blog about Dave's blog of the blog.  Awesome, right?  Except rather than go into a detailed explanation of the genesis of these following comments, I'll just get to the point.  You may notice that Danni & Ted's Adventures is primarily about Danni's adventures.  In large part this is because Ted doesn't actually write blog posts -- if he did you'd know what he was up to - but obviously my running and such doesn't normally involve Ted.  While I'm sure it would be fun if he wanted to do all the same stuff I do (if it didn't just create conflict), it's really fun nonetheless and I probably better appreciate my Ted time.  We don't have to do everything together all the time.  Really.

I enjoy the opportunity to go have fun with my friends, and appreciate how supportive Ted is of my activities and social-butterfly inclinations.  I also value my time with Ted, even if that time is never spent running (in the proverbial chase, Ted would rather be caught than run -- and that might be only a slight exaggeration).  We are coming up on our tenth wedding anniversary in August, and I've been reflecting more and more on what makes our marriage so incredibly awesome (except for the rare occassions where we quarrel, the rarity of which really just makes me better appreciate the awesomeness).  I think while there are some inequities in terms of who does the housework and all that (i.e. Ted does almost all of it, which I truly am trying to be better about) we, on the whole, balance each other and work well together so that ultimately we can still truly enjoy each others' company (I enjoy his at least).  Ying and yang my friends.

So really, Paradise?  (See, I am trying to tie this all together in a theme somehow).  Paradise is the fact that I can enjoy time with friends, enjoy doing things I enjoy doing, and then enjoy being with Ted and have it all.  Life is grand.  Thanks Ted.  I sure love that man.

Don't Fence Me In

I finally had the opportunity to run the "Don't Fence Me In" 30k put on by/for the Prickly Pear Land Trust in Helena, Montana.  This run is about 19.1 miles with more than 4,000 of total elevation gain.  Helena has an extensive trail system that begins in the downtown basically, which is really cool and unique. 

The day was perfect, with cool morning temperatures and clear skies.  I was feeling pretty sluggish after a long difficult week (work and travel wise) so I had no expectations other than to enjoy the day outside.  I certainly enjoyed the day outside, though the course was pretty tough with relentless up and down.  There really wasn't anything flat to speak of.  It was pretty apparent that I'm not in tip top shape... in fact I'm really not feeling so hot these days.

The course is beautiful though with a mix of forest and meadow, mostly on buff singletrack.  The competition seemed pretty fierce with none of my super fast friends even coming in top three in their respective genders (and by fast I mean people who have been known to win or place high at major trail races).  That made me feel better about eeking in somewhere near the back of the pack in 4:22 (somewhere between a 13:30 and 14:00 average pace).  Or maybe I'm just making excuses for myself.  I did spend the majority of the race contemplating what a suffer-fest San Juan Solstice 50 will be if I don't get my act together in short order.  San Juan Solstice has more than 13,000 feet of gain at high altitude, climbing north of 13,000 feet.  This alone might kill me.  So, in a fit of terror I also ran 22 miles on Sunday to bring my week up to 57 miles, a hefty jump from the 15ish/week I've been phoning in.... I think more than miles I need to do hill repeats though.  Does anyone have suggestions for an effective hill workout?  SJ 50 is June 23 so I have about 4-5 training weeks.  Or is it hopeless?

This is a horrible picture of me and my pasty chubby legs but as you can see maybe I also took a hard fall during the race on a fast downhill.  I need to watch where I'm going it seems. 

Finally, last week I visited my Grandmother in the Daytona area and got in a few 8ish mile runs on the beach.  One day it was 95.  I started off being grumpy about the heat but found that if I relaxed a little and opened my mind it wasn't so bad.  In fact it was pretty awesome.  The beach is neato.

Malaise

I has it. Rather than drinking a glass of red, I should be doing more household tasks or at least running or walking. Instead the past several days have felt like that terrible half awake half asleep feeling that sometimes happens during an ill-advised late afternoon nap. I am trying to bear in mind that just last Sunday I returned home after being gone for a week - a huge trial punctuated by a 12 hour adventure race. I reserved the weekend to do things like finally organize and put away ski gear (climbing skins still in the backpack I used more than a month ago is not good!) and do some life maintenance stuff. We did get a few things done but I feel a combination of too tired to do more and anxiety over the not put away gear and tasks that occurred to me as I was putting away laundry. I am a disorganized slob. I haven't gotten much exercise this week. I have been eating ice cream and drinking beer. I have been sleeping too much (which perpetuates the cycle no doubt). If I were Jill Homer I would climb a mountain or do an overnight run to force it out of me. Instead I will keep sipping this red and hope I find the motivation to put my gear away tomorrow.

Grizzlyman Adventure Race

courtesy of GMAR (me and Brian Miller paddling the easier of the Class III rapids on the Blackfoot River)

I've become an incredibly lazy blogger.  And, I think I will first muse briefly about something other than GMAR.  I had a big jury trial this month (the first where I was "first chair") and it ate every ounce of my brain and body.  It was a tougher test of endurance than any race I've ever done.  You work hard all day, devoting every neuron to fighting the good fight, end the day, prepare for the next and do it all over again.  This was only a four day trial.  Being a runner was my saving grace.  I was able to get up in the morning, shake out the cobwebs, work some problems and jump back in the fray.  Ultimately, I won my trial (with the help of a super fabulous underling), which was a huge relief, but more importantly I realized what I already knew, which is that many things are harder, more important and more satisfying than dragging a sled in the snow or frolicking in the woods for hours on end.  Duh. 

Back to the frivolous stuff.  Yes.  Grizzlyman Adventure Race.  This is a 12 hour event where you map checkpoints on a map and go find them.  At some point you must be on your feet, on a bike and in a boat.  Our goal was to win the co-ed division and qualify for nationals but we were beaten by a couple from Seattle whose strategy was smarter than ours it appears.  Mind you, I did none of the strategizing or navigating, and essentially came along for the ride.  In fact, Friday night while my team-mates Brian and Peter did all the hard work, I went to sleep.  (See the preceding paragraph).  On the heels of my week of insanity, I just needed and wanted to play in the woods.  And play I did.  It was fun.  I definitely want to do it again and enjoyed my first "adventure race."  I am grateful to be a runner.

Brew, Basketball and Buddies

Last weekend I went to Kansas City to visit my family and to do a relay from Kansas City to Lawrence (my hometowns) that appropriately went from brewery to brewery (my favorite thing!). 

Boulevard Brewery -- Kansas City, MO

 It was really hot.  The temperatures were at least in the mid 80s and there was definitely some humidity.  Coming from northwestern Montana this was brutal.  It was brutal for the KC folks too though since it's unseasonably warm for this time of year.  My team was a lot of fun though and included my dad, step-mom and a bunch of their good friends.

Our first runner, Luke, is a Division I cross-country runner who is ineligible this semester.  He did the first two legs, over 9 miles, in about 54 minutes.  We were late to the transition -- he waited 5 minutes before we even started leg 3.  We knew we wouldn't be keeping that pace so it didn't especially matter.

Frank destroys legs 3 and 4

 Frank took the next two legs and really did well.  I have no idea what his pace was but it seemed good.  We were able to beat him to the transition, which we all viewed as a success.

Mary Alice and John

 Next, a couple of our guys John and Bill split one leg.  How it is that some of us ran two legs while others split a leg, I have no idea.  My father was the team secretary and evidently approved this dubious arrangement.  Thankfully, both Bill and John survived their half legs and we beat them to the transition.

Mary Alice

 Mary Alice ran the next two legs.  She used to run with my step-mom before my step-mom developed a hole in her knee.  She is beyond question a woman who takes her running seriously.  And she does not let her "masters" status serve as an excuse to ramp down the effort.  She blazed through her legs looking perky and cheery the whole time.  Remarkable.

Danni between legs and Mary Alice

 I ran the next two legs.  Both were hilly and hot.  The first was 4 miles and I was pleased, despite having watched basketball with my family and drank my share of beer (and wine) the night before, to be able to maintain a roughly 8:40 average pace for the first of my two legs.  The second leg I think I ran closer to 9s or slower, but that was fine.  I was so hot I started to feel cold.  At one point I got shivers and thought at first I was overcome by the awesomeness of returning to my country roads of Kansas -- but I then realized it was some sort of heat induced malady.  Oh well :-)

 My stepmom Barb and my dad did the last leg to the finish.  I elected to join them because I thought it would be this wonderfully nostalgic and beautiful thing to run where I used to run AND be with my parents.  I'm sure it would have felt this way if I weren't so incredibly exhausted and unable to keep up with them.  I quickly regretted joining them for the last leg but managed to get to the finish line and the finish beer in one tired sweaty piece.  Fun was had by all I can safely say.  And, we finished something like 60th out of 300+ with our handicaps adjusted.

 Monday night my brother Dave and I went back to Lawrence to watch the Jayhawks play Kentucky.  It was no shock that they lost, and it was just as well since my mother-in-law is a diehard Kentucky fan and might have held it against me if the Jayhawks won (hahaha).  It was great fun spending time in Lawrence with Dave.

sister and brother

old friends

Joining us was my friend Jesse.  I first met Jesse in the 4th grade and then we became close friends sometime around junior high when all of life was high drama and we leaned heavily on our "group" for support and survival during this tumultuous stage of life (that I wouldn't want to relive for anything).  I think I last saw him around college or thereafter but when I went off to law school I lost touch with nearly everyone -- he was living in Japan in recent years.  It was so incredibly fun to hang out with Jesse - he came to watch the game even though he had to bike to the weird sports bar and doesn't particularly love basketball.  The amazing thing is that for me at least being around old friends feels really natural, even if I haven't seen them in a long time.  Don't know if everyone feels that way.

Anyway, a great weekend that ended too quickly.  Time to buckle down for work.  "See you" in a couple weeks.