The earth moves regardless of how badly we want it to stop spinning; in that moment I will always be better off if I open up my soul and decide to move with it. Keep on running. One foot in front of the other.
Never stop loving, never stop living.
“We had done this thing we had set out to do, and instead of becoming larger because of the experience, we became smaller, more humble, more aware of how little we know: about the world in general, about ourselves specifically.” – Rich Benyo
If this image is too much for you, then consider that fair warning that the rest of this post will be raw as well. I originally told Spike that I wasn’t sure if I could blog the race, but it turns out it was a huge event in my life, and thanks to some of the best friends I could ever ask for, I ran an amazing race. It is in these races, as you break down, you become stronger, a process of rebuilding grows inside of you without you even knowing it. You must be broken by the world, to grow strength and grace and be who you want to become.
I set out to run Wasatch this time around because I volunteered at Ant Knolls aid station (mile 79), last year and caught the bug of nostalgia and inspiration. I was overcome joy when friends who were there for me the last time around immediately said they wanted to pace me after the lottery drawing in February. While it seems crazy from the outside these runs become a part of your soul, your character and sharing that space, that exposure with someone is sharing a piece of yourself. Training runs, races, hikes alike; we have good days and bad days, and just plain mundane days. Every time you go out you risk failure, you risk exposure, and you break yourself down; sometimes just physically, sometimes only mentally, every time though, you build a little bit of strength. With that exposure comes the views and the beauty and the reflection; the trail runs in your own backyard and the shared experience of a sunrise on this earth. For all the runs I’ve had, whether it be a huge failure or a short easy jaunt watching the puppy dog, I’m grateful for everyone of them that I’ve been able to share with friends and family.
This year my runs leading up to the race made me stronger. I didn’t set out to run specific things, I just set out to run and enjoy the year, enjoy my mountains and enjoy all the company I had. This summer I ran with a lot of weight off my shoulders, I can’t pin point it, but even being broken down I felt stronger. Despite having the worst taper of my life, I carried that strength through to Wasatch, to my first sunrise of the race.
Experience paid me well this time through, I climbed faster and with less effort than before. I quickly wound up with runners who were telling me they would finish in 24-26 hours, a time significantly faster than my 30 hour target. My brain said slow down, but my feet just found a rhythm and went with it. By mile 24, I was lacking in calories and nauseous due to the sun, but I felt great and kept clicking along. I just soaked in the views and eagerly ran to meet my friends at Big Mountain.
The sun in the next section beat me down, but Emina’s cheery spirits kept me moving as well as I could between bouts of nausea. The fall colors had come out to play for us creating a spectacular backdrop overlooking the valley. Eventually, we made it to Lamb’s canyon, where I picked up Jenny for round 2 at pacing this section. Greeted by wonderful friends and family, I was sent on my way.
Jenny grabbed on to my energy and worked like a slave driver to get me to Brighton as quickly as my feet could go. A stark difference to the long, cold night we walked through two years ago; we made incredible time, and despite the persistent nausea I still felt amazing. I surprised Jenny, and most certainly myself, when we walked into Brighton Lodge about a full hour before my optimistic projection. It was at this time that I began to wonder what my limits were, how far could I push? I was surrounded by people who loved and believed in me and there were some pretty fast numbers that seemed within reach. 20 minutes and a bit of coffee later, Kelly and I were out the door into the cold of night for the last big climb.
Fatigue began to set in as we made the climb to Point Supreme, one of my favorite places in the Wasatch. I kept moving, always one or two steps behind Kelly, there was a faint familiarity to this routine by now, and my body remembered exactly how to do it this time around. We sailed down through Ant Knolls, where I briefly caught up with the crew I volunteered with the year before. Getting back on our way, we moved purposefully through to Pole Line Pass, then taking a brief minute to let my stomach settle, we turned off our headlamps and soaked in the stars. I finally started to break, falling few times on the way down to Pot Bottom, I sat on my ass and wondered if that was all I had left. Kelly didn’t miss a step, she kept gently pushing me back up and kept me going. Climbing our last real climb, I finally started to find a rhythm again, amidst a constant fight with my digestive tract, as we kept running towards the second sunrise.
Like clockwork, the sun came up and brought some life back in to my soul. I swapped Kelly out for B and we proceeded to fly through the next 4 miles, with 5 miles to go the course flattened out and B kept me running as much as he could, challenging me to pass people and to move faster. I ran into the finish line in a time of 27:24; 6 hours faster that my previous time. I felt amazing, and strong; something I’m still in disbelief over, as I didn’t take in even 1/4 of the calories I should have. By all rational reasoning, I should have bonked, yet every step of that race, I gained something inside of me.
I have the most amazing crew, friends and family for supporting me, for believing me, for challenging me, and for pushing me. With any large feat like this, your body and mind will break down and I am again broken. I am at a loss with what was the most significant relationship in my life right now, perhaps the one which has seen me the most exposed and broken, as well as inspired and strong. I gave myself to that but I wasn’t strong enough, it wasn’t strong enough to survive. I am bewildered, as the world I knew is vast and different than I once thought; yet I am grateful I am surrounded by amazing people and friends. I will be stronger and a better person because of it. The world I emerged out of Wasatch from is different than I expected, yet beautiful and challenging and waiting for me.
As Mike Place commented, “Wasatch isn’t special by accident.” So once again, hats off to the race, all the volunteers and even Matthew Van Horn who made all of our days with his special appearances along the course. I hope this race can stay small and special.
Ali, Adele, Emina, Jenny, Kelly, B, seriously I could have done it with out you, but it certainly would have sucked a lot. Thank you for being in my life and for everything.
Wowasatch has some spectacular photos from the race, for your viewing pleasure.
More of my edited photos can be found here
This blog is long overdue for another report from its token flatlander (me). Also, this report will be on a particularly flat but fun adventure. As many of you know, several years ago before I moved from California to become gainfully employed in the state of Florida, I had a California bucket list. On this list were a number of adventures to do before moving that ranged in time commitment and difficulty, including another weekend of climbing in Joshua Tree, another weekend or two of skiing in Mammoth, and biking the California coast. Now, I do not find myself moving, but I do have a good friend, named Jenn, who is leaving the flat state of Florida for the much more mountainous New Hampshire. In light of this, I suspect that I would only be negligent in my friend duties if I did not aid in the facilitation of, or at least join on, a Florida Bucket List Bike Adventure: Biking the Florida Keys. What follows is my version of what happened along the final ~133 miles of US Highway 1 as it travels from Homestead, FL to Key West.
The first part of any good adventure is planning, and I can only tip my hat (or bike helmet) to Jenn for ensuring we had a place to stay on the first night (really the first two nights, but I am getting ahead of myself) with a UF field crew that is currently performing research in the Everglades. The nice thing about starting an adventure with a field crew, is that you get to feel like you are sleeping in. The field crew was up and out of the house before dawn, making waking up just before sunrise seem both relaxing and a bit decadent. After, packing up we were pedaling down the road around 7:45am, carefully timed for the 8am opening of a fruit stand (Robert Is Here) that has amazing smoothies.
After filling up on tropical fruit smoothies it was time to get on the road. After some failed shortcuts we found ourselves heading south on US 1 towards Key Largo. Everything was going great, until. . .
Actually, I think I need to take a break to tell you a little bit about my traveling companion. So far all you know about Jenn is that she is moving to New Hampshire, and presumably likes to ride bikes. However, I think it is important to know a bit more about her. Jenn is an expert ecologist, climate change-ologist, ornithologist, botanist, marine biologist, and a few more –ists and –ologists all combined into one. Why is this important? Well it means that as an engineer and a non-ologist I can assume that she knows everything there is to know about the natural world. Just like she might (wrongly) assume that I know about all things materials.
. . . Back to the story, everything was going along great, Jenn was answering all of my my questions about the everglades. I was learning, I was looking at the scenery, but I was not carefully looking at the road. All of a sudden I saw a sharp metal piece in the bike lane and was forced to run over it, I was pretty sure this wasn’t going to end well and this feeling was confirmed by the “psssssshhhhhhhh” sound of a tire going flat. We quickly pulled over and started working to change the flat. At this point, I was not thrilled to remember that the tires on my road bike (Oscar Rrramon) were incredibly new, and therefore more difficult to get off the wheel. As I was wrestling with the tire, a guy had pulled over and was heading towards us asking if we needed help. I of course was feeling proud, I know how to change a flat and can generally get it done rather quickly. However, not wanting to seem too proud, I allowed this gentleman to help. We proceeded to learn his name was Alfonso and that he is a cyclist and always carries bike gear in his car in the hopes of being able to help someone. Apparently, we were the first time he has actually come across someone he could “help”, despite carrying this gear with him for years. I don’t want to drag on too long about our visit with Alfonso, but what should have been a helpful and quick repair job, soon became neither quick nor helpful. I will summarize by saying that after Alfonso wasted two of my tubes causing pinch flats, and wasted one of Jenn’s CO2 cartridges I took over again, and soon after we were back in business. Interestingly, I thought this was going to be the “downer” for the day and maybe for the trip, but I did not yet know what was in store. Even more interestingly, this visit by Alfonso that depleted my tube reserves would lead to one of the most positive contributions of the trip through a necessary visit to a bike store in Tavernier (more on this later).
With the flat finally repaired, and some advice from Alfonso on a bike shop in Tavernier to replenish supplies we were back in the saddle and pedaling south once again. A road sign informed us that we had 15 miles to go until Key Largo, or in more useful terms approximately an hour of biking lay ahead of us before we were officially on the keys.
With all of our early delays we decided to stop and have lunch in Key Largo, finding a restaurant with a view. After lunch, we came to what I think was the biggest downer of the whole trip. The bike path between Key Largo and Tavernier was a combination of non-existent, under construction, or constantly crossing busy driveways for restaurants and shops. As a result, the riding didn’t feel very relaxed at all and was some of the more stressful riding I have experienced (but still not as bad as biking across LA). Once in Tavernier, we stopped at the bike shop that Alfonso had mentioned to pick up new tubes and a fresh CO2 cannister. The guy working at the shop is an avid cyclist, and as soon as he realized we were biking the keys brought out a map and highlighted in detail where we should stop along the way, and more importantly on which side of the road to look for the bike path for the remainder of the ride. Although, we had the adventure cycling map this map would prove itself way more useful. We were also assured that we had ridden through the worst of it and that it would get better soon. I was reluctant to believe this, but soon after leaving the shop we were rewarded with an improved bike lane that spit us onto a secluded service road that took us 6-7 miles further down the road.
The advice we also got from the bike shop was to turn left just past the Hurricane Monument to get to a beautiful beach. We were certainly not disappointed with this advice, and spent time taking photos of our bikes with palm trees and eating snacks with a view. (I should also point out that I accidentally road my bike onto the sand, and in trying to get somewhere safe to put down a speedplay cleated shoe ended up falling over, whoops!)
After our snack break it was back on the road to Islamadora Key, where we took a brief stop to check out the fish other people were bringing in, of course asking the fishermen if we could just say we caught the fish. This is also the location that I nearly lost my travel companion to a great white shark!
After, Jenn escaped the shark attack we continued from Islamadora Key all the way to Marathon following bike paths and enjoying looking left to see the Atlantic Ocean and looking right to see the Florida Bay. After pedaling over 87 miles we reached our hotel in Marathon (coordinated by Jenn), and transitioned quickly into swimsuits for a dip in the pool, followed by showering and eating all the food the restaurants of Marathon had to offer. Did you say dessert? Yes please!!
We chose to stay at the southern end of Marathon to be able to get an early start across 7-mile bridge. Both of us had heard that this would be one of the scarier parts of the ride, as you are stuck riding on the shoulder (albeit fairly wide) for 7 miles (turns out the name of the bridge is important) until reaching the other side. Before venturing across the bridge we rode to the Stuffed Pig for what may well have been the best meal of the entire trip (yes, I am biased towards meals that include eggs). After filling up on benedicts, more seafood and high-fructose corn syrup (aka coke) we were off across 7-mile bridge.
One of the other nice things about this day is that the mile markers are counting down to 0. Although they were doing this yesterday as well now the signs displayed numbers like 47 or 39, which seemed more and more doable in terms of biking to our destination of Key West. After crossing the 7 mile bridge, which I found to be way more pleasant than the ride from Key Largo to Tavernier we stopped at Bahia Honda State Park to look around. There, we saw the remainder of a railroad bridge that was partially destroyed in a hurricane on Labor Day in 1935 and a great egret primping itself for the day. On a side note, while using the google to fact check the date of this hurricane, I learned that this also correlates to a zombie attack at Key West.
The ride into Key West was particularly scenic with winds mostly in our favor. We biked past Key Deer and Marsh Rabbit Habitat, but despite our calling them did not see either. However, we did see a crazy monitor of some sort climbing a tree, just a reminder of the uniqueness of the Keys.
With about 15 miles to go we stopped for some (iced) coffee and tea and sugary treats from Baby’s Coffee, another great suggestion from the bike shop in Tavernier. After our snack and about 10 more miles of pedaling we had crossed into Key West and were narrowing in on Milepost 0. Milepost 0, although a necessary photo-op was itself a bit anticlimactic. It was just on a street corner, not even at the end of a street. Of course to get to this street corner we passed Hemmingway’s house and the Audobon house. Sadly, I did not see any of Hemmingway’s polydactyl (six-toed) cats as we passed by, but did return later in the evening to see a few cats over the fence. I was not able to count their toes though.
The other interesting thing I learned about Milepost 0, is that although it is the end of US 1 South, when you approach it on US 1 South you are actually going north. This may seem to you like a simple curiosity, but continuing straight after US 1 South ends does not in fact take you to the southernmost point in the Continental US. Whoops! Fortunately, this only cost us about a mile of additional riding, and soon we were heading south again, back past the polydactyl cats to the southernmost point in the continental US. Here, we met a guy who had just finished riding from San Diego (who wants to join me?), took a few photos, and headed to our hotel.
One thing we learned during this trip, is that the Keys are not cheap, at least not during spring break time. As such, I used frequent flier miles (a lot of them) to book a room at a fancy resort. You know those $400+ per night places that other people seem to stay at. Well, clearly the guy at the front desk was good at pegging bike tourists and the fact that our desire to jump in the ocean would be greater than our desire to complain about a room. However, I am sure that what we got was not in fact a standard room at the Waldorf Astoria resort. Unless, their standard rooms are all windowless. Ah well, we didn’t spend much time in the room, and were instead either sipping pina coladas on the beach or wandering the town in search of food and sites.
Like all good things, this trip came to an end. The last morning we climbed onto our bikes one last time and biked three miles to the Key West airport, where we picked up a rental car to head back to Homestead and then home. This concludes another great adventure in the books, and a good Florida send-off for Jenn.
I went to Squamish for this. I still got to witness that. I even got to spend a day with good friends in Vancouver. I didn’t get injured, I didn’t lose anything or miss a flight. All in all, it was a success. Except I didn’t run 50 miles.
Two weeks before the race, I had a great time at Speedgoat; you know, the race I ran and said I’d never do again, then proceeded to run twice more. Then I went to Starlight and had a good easy recovering week. I came home with a bit of a sinus headache and proceeded to not sleep very much the whole week. I debated canceling the trip; all I wanted to do was sleep in and have a nice day at home in the mountains. I went anyways, figuring it would help me relax. Due to a room debacle, I, and several other people, were without rooms that had been booked. I found a couch to sleep on… at midnight. I was up at 3:45 in the morning. Again, not much sleep. I had always been told to get my “Vitamin S” when I was sick. Apparently you need it for real life too.
Amazingly awake at the start of the race, I decided to go for it. I ran the first 6 miles, pretty fast, 49 minutes, watching the sunrise, enjoying the momentum; but I was tired, aching, my body was begging for sleep. Mile 8, we hit single track. It was fantastic; you can see pictures here. I kept moving. By Mile 10 I was done. My muscles hurt. My bones hurt. My joints hurt. My body hurt. I kept moving. Just to get a little more trail time. My body started to feel like it was actively breaking down. I kept running, at a decent clip, but I felt like I was doing too much damage. I was done. I dropped at Mile 17. Then I took a 5 hour nap.
Inside, you always know it, but you ignore it. I came off running a new PR at Speedgoat, felt well trained and that I had faith in the miles. But I didn’t take care of myself off the trails. Sometimes you need some Vitamin S. I started that race 6 feet deep in a hole, that I was never climbing out of. Life happens, all in all it wasn’t a bad weekend.
I really like how the Adulting blog does song and chore pairings to make things like cleaning less awful, and I think this is an idea that can be applied to many things in life. So, for your listening pleasure, today’s song + unpleasant task pairing is Terrible Visit to the Orthopedic Surgeon + P.O.S. – Get Down.
Supposedly, I’m training for a half ironman. What possessed me to do this after not having done a triathlon in something like 5 years, I have no idea. But, 19 days from now, I will be lining up at the Boulder Reservoir to do this thing. This race plays to none of my strengths: the swim is in a nice, calm, warm lake, the (road) bike course is flat with views of Kansas, and the run is extremely flat, hot, and sunny (but thankfully on dirt). I think the reason I haven’t been motivated to write anything in this blog lately is because training for this race has been so… civilized. I go swim laps in the pool, and ride around on bike paths, and run the flattest, most boring places I can find. Part of this is to train myself not just for the physical aspect of the race, but for the mental aspects. Specifically, the boredom. Don’t get me wrong- I am absolutely looking forward to the race and enjoying the training immensely. But I realize that after maybe 5 or 6 or 7 hours of monotony, I will need to mental fortitude to keep going, and so I am trying to force myself to seek that out in training, too.
Not that I’ve been doing a good job of that. I have this training program that I am supposedly following, and every day or couple of days I look and see what I should be doing, and then most of the time I go do something else. I decided early on that I can only handle two swims per week before going back and forth and back and forth and back and forth would drive me crazy. The program initially called for 3/week and now and absolutely insane 4/week. But, with the running and biking, I should be able to do it. That’s why, whenever I find myself mountain biking or running up some steep, rocky trail, I feel like I am cheating. It’s like I’m on the Atkins diet, and the trails are a giant loaf of bread calling to me. I give in a lot, but knowing that I should be running some flat trail in Denver when I’m actually looking out over a 13,000 ft pass makes it just that much more enjoyable.
For example, last weekend I was supposed to ride 50 miles and run 12. So of course, I mountain biked 8.5 mi (seriously) and ran up Chimney Gulch (7 mi, 1600 ft of gain). Because there were sunflowers and I didn’t want to have to drive to somewhere flat and anyway, Kristin had to go adopt a puppy, so she couldn’t spend all day on a bike. And I had to take a nap and then go play with her new puppy. The way I justify this to myself is that the race I’m “training” for is only one day, and the training is my whole summer. Now which one seems more important?
So of course, when Kristin and Darren invited us to spend the 4th of July weekend in Buena Vista, I was like hell yeah, screw the training program, let’s go play in the mountains. Hiking is totally the same as swimming, biking, and running. Bushwhacking to some unnamed passes and peaks and hiking up to alpine lakes with my friends and dogs is good for the soul, if not good for the prospects of me finishing a race in 19 days. And as long as I spend approximately the right number of hours exercising, it’s all the same… right?
And hot yoga followed by a trail run counts as a brick, right? It feels like getting hit by a brick, so it must be good. Today, I went trail running at White Ranch, which is not exactly flat and not exactly smooth, for 6 miles. Which in my mind counts for my 8 mile run this week, since it takes about the same amount of time. Plus, it was good heat training because I went at 3PM and choose White Ranch because it’s sunny and exposed, which I need to get used to for the race. But then I decided I should probably try not to kill Boris (and I can’t possibly go running without a dog), so I chose the trail listed as “shady, with views of Denver” on the way up- knowing that’s an oxymoron, and choosing to believe the “shady” part for Boris’s sake even though part of my brain knew nothing on the east side of White Ranch is shady. Indeed, it was more on the “views of Denver” side of things, but Boris didn’t get heatstroke, and we didn’t see any rattlesnakes, and it was good heat training, I guess. But mostly it was steep and rocky and loose, and only mildly runnable, and tons of fun. We’ll see how the half ironman goes, but for now, I’m savoring the guilty pleasures.
It’s spring and the snow has been melting away in these parts which means there is tons of opportunity to end up with a small epic adventure day (or a big one…). Since it was a three day weekend and we have one more day to squeeze in the ridiculous amount of painting that took place, I convinced B to give up house work for the morning so we could venture outside of our usual circle and go for an adventure run down in American Fork Canyon. I was tempted by some facespace photos people had been posting of the Ridge Trail on the Wasatch 100 course and the views did not disappoint. After a small effort to get up towards Mill Canyon, we changed our minds and headed away from the dirt bikers and picked out a route to go loop around Box Elder Peak.
Possibly by being over ambitious, and potentially by not looking at the map and the peak in front of us that carefully, we decided to bite off more than we could chew, with the outline in blue being the intended loop with a smaller “bailout” option from the top of the ridge. It was Sunday, we had all day to do our 3 hour run, and it was beautiful, so off we went!A lot of steep, steep, steep and some of my whining about the steepness later, we found some snow and Tele was in heaven! I took a chance to catch my breath while we had some scenic stretching; when I run with B I am perpetually behind. With his leg length, even power hiking is twice my speed, I have no chance of keeping up.
And up, up, up we went to the ridge line above.
To the saddle looking out towards the Pfeifferhorn.
From there on out, it was a sloooooooow go. Post-holing through snowfields along the ridge, looking at time (90 min for what we thought was less than 3 miles) and our water supply and the puppy, and the snow; we decided to cut the loop short to the bail out loop and cut across into White Canyon. From afar, we thought we saw the trail cut out clearly, but when we got closer, we ended up sinking and post-holing across what may have been no more than half a mile of snow. After losing the trail several times and some serious debate about following the drainage out versus trying to find the trail through the trees, Tele pulled the plug for us. Turns out mountain dog is a scared mountain dog and wanted nothing to do with scrambling down loose rock; she kept climbing upwards and, thankfully in hindsight, we reversed route and called it a day. Funny thing about human nature is, that even though we spent 2 hours fighting through snow, figuring out how bad of an idea it was to try and short cut down, most of the way fighting back to the trail down, we were still looking for short cuts.
Our route and eventual scratch point in pink, it looks like we made it really far…