LB

No HURT Feelings

2011-02-13T14:20:00.000-08:00

This last weekend was Orcas 50K and 25K, which is by far my most favorite event of the year. Thanks to James Varner and Rainshadow Running, about 500 runners get together for socializing, eating, beer, a bonfire, fashion selecting and a bit of running. It was a great chance to see many people and show off my new HURT belt buckle. People congratulated me, but they were also upset on my behalf. In my last posting, I talked about the bandana incident—Meissner had a purple bandana tied to his pack and I held onto it as a way to keep me focused and on trail. We were seen by the course sweepers who misconstrued the situation and reported us to the race directors. In their eyes, I was either tied by or holding onto a rope and Sean was towing me. When I came into the aid station at mile 92 we were pulled aside by race director Jeff Huff who asked us what happened and informed me I was facing disqualification. Although I also wrote about the fact Jeff apologized, I don’t think I emphasized it enough. People told me they couldn’t understand why I’d been accused and why the race directors chose to tell me when they did. While I appreciate their indignation, it is wholly unnecessary. I want to clarify things and explain there are no hurt feelings (I’ll stop using that pun, I promise).

When Jeff Huff was told what the sweepers thought they saw, he wasn’t sure what to do. They, Jeff and John Salmonson never faced this sort of thing before and didn’t know how to handle it. There are rules against towing and certain kinds of assistance, but there aren’t any guidelines as to how to deal with violations or any defined consequences. They couldn’t simply ignore the accusation no matter who I am or how much they like me. They needed more information about what happened since all they had was the sweepers’ story. They needed to know my side as well as Sean’s. Should they wait until the finish line and talk to me while I was celebrating? Or should they warn me of what might happen before I finish? It was a difficult choice to make.

Let’s talk about possible scenarios. Scenario possibility one: they wait to talk to me at the finish. I continue the race without knowing anything might be wrong and potentially continue doing what might’ve been an illegal act. Then I finish, start to celebrate and wait to be handed my buckle. No buckle comes. Instead they pull Sean and me aside and tell me I might be disqualified. I’m tired, delirious, ready to no longer think about this race and all I want to do is lay down and go to sleep. But instead they’re telling me it’s possible none of my work mattered. Now they have to confer for who knows how long and I have no idea when they are going to decide. They have nothing to go on but our word versus the word of their sweepers. I could tell them what happened and plead my case, but they wouldn’t have any other evidence I deserved an official finish.

Scenario two (actual choice): they decide to warn me before my finish. They told me of the accusation at mile 92 and gave me the chance to tell them my side of the story. We showed them what we’d done and then I said I was going to continue. When I left the aid station I was determined to keep moving, yet knowing I could finish and it wouldn’t officially count was such a heavy thing to carry and it really slowed me down for awhile. It put my finish in jeopardy because I was pushing the cut-off time and couldn’t afford to lose much time. I pushed through, kept moving, sped back up and finished because I knew I was in the right. At the finish, Jeff talked to Sean and me again. He said the moment I stated I was continuing and turned away from him and kept going, he knew I was a true ultrarunner and had the aloha spirit he was looking for. He needed to hear my story and he needed that evidence so he could whether determine my finish should be legitimate.

I think they made the right choice. I can understand they needed to see how I would handle the news and that my subsequent actions would answer their questions. Had I cheated, I think I would’ve accepted defeat and quit right there. Yet I knew I’d done nothing wrong and showed them by going back out onto the course. Yes, their decision to talk to me during the race rather than after made the last miles that much more difficult to do because my spirit had taken a hard hit, but that’s what these races are all about. We fight for that finish line through everything that comes at us. I didn’t really need this race to be any tougher, but if I am indeed a true ultrarunner I’m going to fight even through emotional adversity. Hearing Jeff say I had the aloha spirit was almost as good as a buckle. I often question my motivation and whether I’m emotionally tough enough for this sport. It felt like being given the ultimate confirmation that I belong here, that I’m supposed to be doing this, physically and emotionally. I’m oddly grateful for the situation.

All of this calls into question what is and isn’t illegal for runners and pacers during a race. I think about when I paced Rich at Tahoe Rim 100 a couple of years ago. Because it was a USATF event, pacers weren’t allowed, but “safety runners” were okay as long as they stayed behind the runner at all times by a distance of 30 yards! Had anyone enforced that rule, every single runner using a pacer, including the winners would’ve been disqualified. I think about the numerous times someone handed me a gel from their own pack or how aid station workers put things in baggies and tell pacers to carry it for their runners. Is that muling? Pacers have steadied me on the trail when it looked like I was going to topple over. I’ve had my runners put their hand on my shoulder for awhile so they could close their eyes and walk for a bit. At Cascade Crest my pacer, Jamie had to pull me over a few big logs on the Trail From Hell. That’s all physical assistance, isn’t it? We’ve all done things like this, right? I’ve discussed some of these questions with many people and some have thought it should only matter for the winners. Is there a difference between those who are trying to win and those who are just trying to finish? Maybe, but where do you cross the line to determine the competitors and the mere finishers, top 5? Top 10? I don’t have the answers for any of these questions, but they’re something to think about and consider whenever one does a race. How much assistance can we feel justified in accepting and allowing?

I know they’re questions the HURT race directors are now considering. Jeff had explained how this was a learning experience for them and it showed them they needed to review their rules and guidelines so they’d be able to handle things better and differently in the future. He apologized for needing to use me as their learning experience. At the awards banquet it was very apparent Jeff and John wanted to let me know they were sorry and proud of me. I received multiple hugs and kisses on the cheeks from them. Sean and I were both given the documentary about the race. I got a big gift basket, another running shirt and the award for “which girl runner guys most want to see with tattoos on her body”—I’m most proud of that one! I love these guys and this whole community. It was a difficult situation, but it got worked out in the best way it could. Hopefully in the future they’ll be better prepared if something like it happens again. I fully accepted his apology and left feeling vindicated and completely satisfied with the entire experience. I bear them no ill will, so please everyone out there don’t feel you should for me.

HURT 2011

2011-01-25T15:20:00.001-08:00

This post is obscenely long. No apologies.

When I signed up for HURT 2009 I was doing so as a way to get me through an injury. Big Horn 100 2008 left me with a fractured hip and I needed a goal to help me look forward to training. Still, I was woefully underprepared for HURT. I wasn’t strong enough and didn’t have enough experience to understand what I needed to do. I finished the 100K and thought I’d never return. As I lay in shock at the aid station, I was encouraged to attend the post-race banquet. I decided to go and talked with so many motivating people. It seemed everyone tried and failed at this race multiple times and kept coming back for more. I was inspired to do the same and seduced by the aloha spirit the HURT community possesses.

2010 I was much better prepared. I knew what I was in for and had put in the training. But damn it, three weeks before the race my foot started to hurt very badly during a training run. I imagined the worst, but my doctor and one of my crew, physical therapist Tonya Olson assured me it was only tendonitis. I didn’t run for three weeks except for a three mile test two days before the race. It hurt, but I thought I might be able to get through. However, by mile 60 my foot was so swollen it looked like it might burst out of my shoe. My pacer, Daniel Probst had to keep his arm out for me to hold so I wouldn’t crumble. Turns out, foot was broken and I have the lump to prove it. Another 100K in the bag.

2011 had to be it. Three years is a long time to think about something. As I explained in my last post, training wasn’t easy. I was dogged by injuries and fatigue, but I remained positive and determined. Arriving in Honolulu, I felt as ready as I could possibly be. I know this course, the weather, the people, the atmosphere. It helped I was surrounded by my best crew to date. I don’t want to take away from my previous crews. Jessica Mullen was fantastic in 2009. I thought I was lucky with Tonya and Daniel last year. But this year my crew seemed to grow and grow and was filled with people who I can’t believe I even know personally. I’m going to brag and blatantly name-drop now: Jeremy Henkel (only non-runner, but could kick your ass physically and philosophically), Chris Rennaker of Rogue Valley Runners, Montrail boys Sean Meissner and Gary Robbins (HURT course record holder), and Michelle Maislen (total bad ass sexy hot mama). Thank you, all of you, for everything!!

We got to the start, took pictures and traded hugs. Judy Carluccio, a training partner and previous finisher threatened me with physical harm if I ran a first loop faster than 5:30, so I sought out a few familiar people who might hold me to that pace. Sarah and her sister Mirian said they’d help me out and offered to put a tow rope on me to hold me back. (That statement will prove very ironic later.) I still took off, but didn’t go crazy. I ran to feel comfortable as I chatted with Gary Marr and Johnny Landeza. When on my own, I let my thoughts wander and before I knew it, loop one was done, pretty close to 5:30. Gary, in spite of being on crutches insisted on getting my drop bag. He warned me not to stop eating after I complained of the Clif Vanilla flavor (so gross!) and gave me my first power hug in the hopes the previous year’s tactic would work for me this year.

Side story—last year at the race briefing a few of us were discussing the little things that can give motivation. Gary mentioned receiving a hug at an aid station that gave him juice for hours. I half-jokingly suggested we hug every time we saw each other. Because of the lay-out of the course, I knew we’d see each other several times so figured Gary might hug me once and call it good. Instead he really did hug me every time he saw me. I stopped counting after 7 hugs and batted him away on his last attempt after he’d stated he was ahead of course record pace telling him he could hug me later. It seemed to work because he did indeed break the record. None of this is in his race report, but he assures me it will be amended to give me the props I am due.

Second loop was more of the same. I slowed down deliberately now that I’d banked some time. Though not horrible, the course was muddy and mucky. It was the most troublesome coming down Manoa Falls where there are big boulders that became slick and precarious. I got slower and slower on this section each lap and discovered I was faster going up here than down. I saw Chris and Sean, who were crewing both Amy Sproston and me at a couple of the aid stations where they were very helpful getting my bags and dealing with my Carbo Pro. As I was heading toward mile 40, I ran into Amy who looked worried. When she’d last switched her pack they’d forgotten to give her salt tabs, so I gave her a few of mine and told her she looked great. I continued on anxious to get to pick up my first of two pacers, Michelle.

Michelle and I have a reputation for our, um, interesting conversations. We embarrass people and have to censor ourselves in certain company. Otherwise, no topic is off limits. We don’t see nothing wrong with a little bump and grind, or at least talking about it. In prep for this race, we’d stopped talking much so we knew we’d be full of conversation. The tactic worked. There was a lot of giggling and a lot of wondering if certain things were overheard and what people possibly thought of us crazy girls. I was excited to show Michelle the course and knew she’d love the terrain. She’s no joke—mega adventure racer and 3rd female finisher of Plain 100 ever. I could tell she was enjoying it.

It was dark and I wore Alvin Crain’s heavy-duty Remington headlamp he’d so graciously loaned to me (in the hopes I would “see the light”). A few runners commented on its brightness and I appreciated how much it lit up the roots and rocks and other things. “Look!” I exclaimed to Michelle, “A kitty!” “Are you hallucinating?” she asked me. I was not. There was a little gray kitty staring at us through a fence, her eyes shining in our lights. We saw either her or another kitty just like it later. I swear it. Michelle swears it. Believe it, Meissner. The bugs and crickets were deafening and not pleasing Michelle’s ears. Otherwise, we continued to have a great time together. We hammed it up at the aid stations, made people laugh and trucked on. I noticed the ground was getting slicker and decided I needed a shoe change come mile 60. I adore my Montrail Masochists, but have always found them to lack traction which I desperately needed.

When we got back to the nature center, I sat for the first and only time the entire race in order to change my shoes (at least the only deliberate sit, not counting the times I slipped and fell on my butt or had to sit to slide down a rock). Michelle worked on my pack while Gary took off my shoes and helped me switch. Then we paused for a message from his sponsor. “These (Montrail) Rockridge will be better for you now as they have better traction and a wider toe box.” Well said, Gary. He started in on the casualty list. Amy dropped due to blistering and tibia issues. Ben Bruno had fully broken his ankle. Last year’s winner/course record holder Tracy Garneau dropped after falling on the evil rocks after Manoa Falls. Gary said it was carnage and people were dropping all over the place and then generously told me I looked better than anyone else out there. I liked him for that and squeezed him extra hard when he gave me my power hug. I was about to move onto mile 67, still feeling good whereas in years past this next seven miles had been my death march.

I was still in a good mood, but fatigue was setting in. Michelle was armed with gads of good stories. Her days in adventure racing provided some hilarity as well as inspiration. We went through Pauoa Flats and noticed a young runner wrapped up in a garbage bag asleep next to Cindy Goh. I’d seen him before and he’d looked strong. Now he looked thrown out with the trash. We hit Manoa Falls and the hated rocks. I lost so much time here and got frustrated. These seven miles had taken me 2.5 hours earlier in the run, but were now taking me four.

Once into mile 67 it hit me this is usually where I come to die. This time, I wasn’t going to die; I was going to continue on. Michelle was dealing with my bag and I found myself standing there in the middle of the aid station alone with this knowledge. I put my hands on my knees and had a meltdown. Thankfully, Judy was there and came right over. She knew exactly what I was going through having attempted this race a couple times before her own finish. I’d held a mental image I had of her from the previous year close to my heart. She had determination in her eyes as she’d taken this massive step up the trail. I knew she was going to finish and that image was inspirational. She cried with me and told me I still had plenty of time to get things done. I was exactly where I needed to be. I nodded and made sure we grabbed me some food (sushi rice chunks, oh yum, it’s those little things). I was in new HURT territory now as I took my steps out of the aid station.

Going up Manoa was drastically faster, but my motivation continued to wane. I asked Michelle to ply me with positive chatter. She batted away every whiny word of mine with phrases of strength and encouragement. She should be a therapist. Once we got back to Pauoa Flats I think she’d had enough of my negativity and insisted it was a pacer’s job to be in front and set the pace. I resisted at first, but succumbed to her better judgment. She put her little self in front of me and in her purple shorts and Hawaiian themed gaiters began trotting ahead of me with her adorable gait. My love of her melted every bad thought away and I began to smile at just how flippin’ cute she is when she runs. “You are so cute, Michelle,” I told her.

We made it to Jackass Ginger and moved right back out. Somehow, the boy we saw in the garbage bag caught up to us and asked if he could tuck in behind and follow our lead. We warned him of our goofiness, but he seemed glad to have company. Michelle took the task of adding another charge to her responsibilities with grace and rewarded the both of us with treats and cookies when we did good. We wuvs cookies. The kid’s name was Sean and he was a 24 year old in the Navy. At one point he asked me, “are you still in school or what?” I fell instantly in love with the young lad. He was moving quite well, but kept refusing my offers to let him go ahead. It was quiet for a little while so Michelle asked, “Have you ever licked green ants?” “That’s a very odd question,” I responded. I had and still have no idea where that question came from, but it seemed reasonable to Michelle to ask and put all of us into a fit of giggles for a while. Laughter makes you forget pain.

I was struggling internally. Michelle refused my request for a five minute nap and I’d stopped voicing any negative thoughts. I somehow thought that if they remained in my head rather than being vocalized, they wouldn’t get the chance to solidify. Secretly, I didn’t think I had another 20 miles in me. I’d only have eight hours to do that last loop and the previous two loops had each taken me that long. That meant I either had to speed up or maintain the same speed in order to make cut off. Anxiety was weighing on me, but the desire to finish was still there.

The entire world was waiting for me at mile 80. All thoughts of stopping were quickly drowned out by the noise and excitement of my whole crew. Amy had come back to the race to cheer people on. Michelle’s husband Fabian was there and ready to give us hugs. Chris and Meissner took my things and got us ready to go. Gary gave me my power hug and I asked if he would please meet me at the other aid stations. I saw Michelle talking with Meissner as they were preparing for the changing of the guards. My head was spinning and before I knew it I was being swept back out onto the course and heading back up hog’s back. I’d lost garbage bag Sean in all the craziness and later learned he’d only made it a few more miles before settling for the 100K credit. It was his first 100 mile attempt. I’m very impressed with the young boy.

I’d been carrying a ring Sarah Crosby-Helms loaned to me in my bag. His name is Hoary the Owl and I asked Meissner to wear the big fella. Each time I saw him it made me smile to see the clunky owl ring on Sean’s hand. We chatted excitedly about the day’s events and I explained what we would expect out on the trail. I’ll admit it did my heart good to see elite sponsored runner Sean slip on parts of the course. I was feeling stronger than I did on the previous loop, which is what I needed. Regardless, I slowed way down on those damn rocks at Manoa Falls. I assured Sean it would go faster on the way back up. Gary and Amy were waiting at the final bridge before the Paradise aid station. I ran by them and then heard loud clicking behind me. I looked back and realized Gary was keeping up with me on his crutches. I couldn’t have that and heard Chris yell, “She’s speeding up!” At Paradise I hugged everyone, including Judy and moved rapidly out of there before she and I had another crying fest.

After Manoa Falls I was starting to fall asleep on my feet. We tied a bandana to Sean’s pack and I would hold onto it to regain my focus for a moment or two then let go once I’d caught my breath. I didn’t have much time left and I was stressing out. Sean and I got through Pauoa Flats and headed towards Five Minute Hill (poorly named). I want to point out this is the only year I did not sit and slide down this steep hill, but instead stayed on my feet each time. *Applause* I started to mentally lose it. Or mentally focus, I’m not sure. Words became incoherent and noises were mostly cuss words and grunts of aggravation. I yelled “I hate this” over and over. I felt like I’d gone carnal and all the while Sean cheered me on and said he was going to stay behind me since it seemed to be working. He may have thought I’d gone cocobananas, which was pretty likely, but I think he understood I needed to be this way. I mustered all the strength I had left realizing my legs still felt good and only my feet actually hurt. I superman-ed at one point, or I’d like to think I Wonder Woman-ed, and landed almost fully face down. Sean didn’t make a big deal of it because he knew I’d burst into tears. I got back up and kept going.

All I wanted to do at Jackass Ginger was check in, grab food and water, and go back out. No hugs this time because I was running out of time. I traversed the rocks across the creek less gracefully than ever. Gary was waiting by the water and I’m not sure I even said a word to him. I glanced in his direction but kept up the hill to check in. I went to grab some food when Jeff Huff called Sean and me into the tent and offered me a chair. I refused to sit.

I’ve debated writing about this part, but it was such a crucial point in my race. I also I hope it might bring about some consideration by runners and race directors alike. Sean and I had been seen by a sweeper when I was holding the bandana. In the sweeper’s eyes, I’d been either tied by or holding onto a rope and it appeared Sean was towing me. We both looked at Jeff in disbelief as he said these things. I was being accused of cheating and faced disqualification. I couldn’t believe it. I showed Jeff exactly what Sean and I did, how there was no tension, just focus. Jeff nodded and gave me the choice of dropping there at mile 92 or continuing on even though there was a chance it wouldn’t count. I looked at him and said I was going on. “I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong,” I said with complete confidence.

I left the aid station in a much different mindset. I felt like my race was killed. I refused to let Chris take a picture and stumbled back down to the creek. Gary was cheering, but could see something was wrong. I told him what’d happened. He grabbed my shoulders and looked me in my eyes, “this is a culmination of 3 years work.” I knew he was right. I knew I had to keep trying, but I was deflated and heartbroken. I sloshed back through the creek desperately trying to find the fire I’d had only ten minutes ago.

I feel lucky I was surrounded by such incredible people at this point. Gary’s words stayed with me. Monica Scholz, veteran HURT runner, previous multiple time winner and immensely strong woman listened to me explain what happened. She looked as I demonstrated what Sean and I did and she assured me I’d done nothing wrong. Her words of encouragement as someone I know who loves this race and community meant so much. She gave me some peppermints and sent me on. Every time I mentioned how my heart had been hurt, Sean told me to forget about it and focus on what I needed to do. He wouldn’t let me stay down. He was perfect. I kept thinking how I wished Sean could’ve towed me because I’d probably already be done. Didn’t they know who he was? We got closer to Five Minute Hill (such a stupid name!) and I finally said, “You know what, they can kiss my grits (yes, I actually said this). I love this race, I love this community. I would never knowingly cheat and disrespect any of this.” The fire was back and though I didn’t return to the primal version of me, I was ready to chew up and spit out these final miles. I told Sean to keep me fed and we delighted in Monica’s peppermints.

We were doing so well on time. We went up the gigantic thigh high muddy steps and crossed the road. From here I knew I had less than an hour. My feet hurt very badly and I’d felt a blister explode. I decided to cruise a little and push less, “At this point I could sit and scoot and still make it in time!” Realizing I never had to see any of this course ever again, I said goodbyes and F yous to many of the rocks and roots.

Maybe just over a mile away from the nature center, I saw Jeremy coming up the trail in his slippas. He had a message: “You are not disqualified!” Cheers and applause!!! We sped up, or at least I think we sped up. I felt some rejuvenation and enormous relief. Monica and her pace-e passed us about this time and I shouted the good news. Monica handed me some more peppermints and reminded me I had someone to kiss. I laughed knowing I was finally going to kiss that damn sign at the finish line. Just a little way to go and Sean was still enjoying the views on the course. He pointed to the last stream and said, “That’s pretty.” “I’m over it,” I replied and crossed the last bridge for the final time.

I turned the last few corners and heard everyone cheering. I know I high-fived people, I’m sure I said some things, but all I cared about was getting to that sign. I kissed it, turned around and crumbled to the ground and started to cry. Sean lifted me back up to help me to a bench. I couldn’t stop crying. Someone handed me my finishers’ shirt and buckle. I looked up at everyone around me and saw it had started pouring rain. It had waited for me to finish.

Gary claims I cried for 90 minutes. I’m pretty sure it was longer. I was eventually lifted and carried to a table to lay down and calm my breathing. Someone drilled a hole in one of my toenails while I clenched Jeremy’s hand and Chris held me in place. Chris stayed with me for awhile, helping to keep me calm. He’d put an orchid behind my ear and explained orchid translates to testicle in Greek. Very important information.

Soon, Jeff asked everyone to clear so he could discuss their decision with Sean and me. He said they knew how important this race was to me and understood I would never knowingly cheat or do anything egregiously wrong. There is a rule, but it’s not a defined rule and it lacks a defined consequence. Unfortunately for all of us, they had to learn a lesson through me. They’ll go back and figure out better definitions and better ways to handle such a situation. He apologized for laying such a heavy thing on me at mile 92, knowing he’d put my finish in jeopardy. I whole-heartedly told him how much I love HURT and the entire community. I was grateful for the decision and for the understanding of what had happened. We hugged and he told me he was proud of me.

The rest is just more of me crying and being carried around. Jeremy got me up all million stairs at his house. Gary passed out on the floor while I sniffled and drooled on the futon. Everyone else went out for drinks and eventually Gary got up and made me some stir-fry which I think took me hours to consume. Jeremy put on my favorite movie, UP which was still on when the gang returned. I fell asleep listening to Meissner giggle at the cartoon. Even through the nightmares I had that night of the roots and rocks that are still burned into my memory, I felt a final sense of accomplishment and peace. HURT is done. I never have to do it again. I mean it, too. Never again.

I HURT

2010-12-22T18:49:00.000-08:00

I’m getting close to the end of my training for HURT. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a taper quite so much. I feel strong and prepared, but I’m tired and perma-sore. Other 100 mile veterans tell me it means I’m ready. I really, really want to believe them. This is my 3rd attempt at this race. I’ve managed the 100K in the last two years, but this year the 100K cop-out isn’t even an option. Not that I want it to be an option. I want to finish this damn race, all 100 miles of it. My one goal for this year’s training was to stay healthy. It has not been easy. Not at all.

I had a fatty summer of running. It started off with pacing Alisa Springman for 38 miles at Western and built from there. There were weekends to Winthrop, a day in Yosemite, and a “fun run” with the Skagit Valley Runners. Then things got a little out of control. I had an unexpected 60 mil es in Colorado and the killer Speedgoat 50K about a week later. I ran Waldo 100K and swept 25 miles of Cascade Crest the following weekend. Then I paced at two different 100s on consecutive weekends—Rich White for 38 miles at Wasatch and Alvin Crain for 30+ miles at Pine to Palm. I just about froze myself solid during the first and just about drowned during the second. Throw in a week of running in Moab between those two pacing duties where I got severely dehydrated and the result equals me exhausted and falling apart.

It took another weekend of running in Winthrop to realize things were not right. I could barely manage to keep up with Varner, et al during a whopping 4 mile run and running the unofficial Winthrop half marathon the next day took much longer than it should. I had both Alison Hanks and Candice Burt work on me and jam their elbows into my psoas and glutes that weekend to no avail. Frustration.

In 2008 I had a disastrous first 100 miles at Big Horn and ended up with a stress fracture on my left femoral head. It took months to heal and I’ve had hip problems ever since. Last year, I dropped from White River 50 due to psoas, hip attachment, gluteal medius… issues. With chiropractic help from Elite Sports and Spine and some massage, I was able to get through Cascade Crest. Things were better-ish. After all the running this summer, these hip issues seriously flared again. For awhile there, every run caused me to tighten up. My back would seize, both hips would feel solid, and my hamstrings burned. After a couple of weeks taking it easy and not running, I still couldn’t get back into it and I started to believe it was more mental. I’m tired of being injured and the thought of continuing to run through injury was holding me back, but it felt an unnecessary hold up. I needed to break through.

Enter Devon. Devon won the national 50 miles championships the weekend before I flew down to San Fran to visit and run with her every day. I love Dev. She never lets me feel slow compared to her super speed. I told her what was going on and asked her to help me and help me she did. She wasn’t a task master, she simply took me running and when I would fade or whine, she’d gently suggest I go a little farther. It was that easy. I mean, as easy as it is keeping up with those long legs, but it got me the results I wanted. I also earned a free session of Active Release Techniques (ART) by assisting with a video her sponsor Psoas Massage was making. A few days of running with Devon and one sesh of getting my hip ripped apart by one of the therapists and my mind was back where it needed to be—I felt like a runner again.

The ART session reminded me I should go back to Elite Sports and Fitness. I made an appointment with Dr Jeff Schwan and he’s been diligently putting me back together for a couple of months now. He’s thankfully focusing on my right knee as well. Somehow I forget it’s also bothering me. It compensates for my hip and takes some abuse. Things seemed to be coming back together; however, about a month ago….

Sisters Belated Halloween Party. A group of runners got together at Sean Meissner’s house for a weekend of running, costumes and general debauchery. I was stoked, although nervous because pretty much everyone at the party was a speedster and I’m a solid mid-pack runner. I’ve run with Sean and Amy Sproston before who’ve been great with me, but I was less familiar with everyone else and it always stinks to be the one person holding everyone up. Yet, it would turn out to be a nonissue. I hurt my back. Or rather, someone else hurt my back. It’s embarrassing, but hell, there were jello shots involved. Dear, sweet Chris is almost a foot taller than me and 50-60 pounds heavier. We were in Sean’s kitchen standing on a wet floor. Chris, with his tallness, picked me up to hug me and slipped on the floor and brought us both down. Lucky for Chris, I broke his fall. Not so lucky for me. At the time, I was worried about the fact I’d hit my head, but it was my back that was the true problem. When I woke up the next morning, I could barely move. It was clear there wouldn’t be any running for me that weekend. I hiked and it felt better when it warmed up, but any period of non-movement caused it to stiffen. I couldn’t bend down, had trouble getting dressed and lifting my right leg was painful. It hurt to the touch and I hobbled around like a little old lady. Chris of course feels horribly horrible and continues to apologize and ask how things are improving. He came out of the fall unscathed though he claims he bruised his heart when he realized what he’d done. (insert “Aw” noises)

I saw Dr Jeff the following Tuesday and he said I had lumbar strain and whiplash and that it appeared as if I’d been in a car crash. I cried on his table as he tried to adjust me and massage out the spasm-ing muscle with some menthol cream. Jeff taped me up with kinseo tape, so my back had pretty pink stripes. He told me to use a heating pad to loosen the muscle so I went home and did so. Oh, it felt so nice and warm, but never too warm. Later that night, being the good little patient, I started my prescribed stretching. I noticed the tape on my back was irritating me, so I pulled a bit off and took skin with it. Holy stinging hell. I left the rest of it alone figuring I should leave its removal to a professional. I decided the tape and heating pad was not a good combo, so skipped its use for the next couple of days. Wednesday, my skin was itchy under the tape and I couldn’t wait to get Jeff to take it off. Thursday morning I woke to go to my appointment and felt my back. Blisters. There were blisters under the tape, a good cluster of dime-sized blisters. What the eff? I felt like such a wreck. Jeff performed some minor surgery and it took a good week to heal everything up. Jeff says the remaining scars resemble the Hawaiian Islands. I take that as a good sign somehow.

I see Jeff weekly and do as he says. He’s pleased with my progress as he continues to work on my back, hip, knee and IT bands doing ART and graston techniques. All the bruises and scratches from trail running and his therapies are starting to make my legs resemble a 3rd grade kid’s, but it’s all working. And if I can quit falling on slippery bridges while out running which just aggravates things and if Chris holds to his promise not to pick me up again until after HURT, I should be good to go come race day. Things are going to be okay. I’ll probably fall apart after it’s all done, but that’s fine. I know where to go to get put back together again. HURT is going to hurt, but I’m ready for it.

Honey and Eggs

2010-11-23T14:20:00.000-08:00

My friend Devon just sent me this blog. It’s a very good read and very hard hitting. My thoughts go out to her and I can't imagine the struggle she went through to come to her decision, but commend her for doing what was best for her body. It hurts my heart that vegans would threaten a vegan whose gone non-vegan. Doesn't that seem like a non-vegan thing to do? Devon went through something similar a few years ago. I don’t know what I would do or how I would react if health reasons meant I had to eat meat. I'm thankful being vegan for 8 years hasn't thrown me out of whack. My blood work is always very healthy and the most my doc has ever suggested is I take vitamin D supplements and even then he says it's because of where I live, not what I eat.

I've been reflecting a lot on what my "vegan" ways even mean. I think it's less meaningful and more cosmetic than most vegans would ever want to admit. The blogger goes much more into depth to illustrate this than I will here. For me, it really is as simple as not wanting to eat an animal that was once walking around, breathing and possibly had thoughts and emotions. That's really all. It’s nice to believe I've saved lives and made some huge environmental impact, but really? I'm one little person who only consumes so much. How much of a difference can I really make?

It's too bad people feel the need to judge others by what they eat. I have maybe one vegan friend and a few vegetarians, but everyone else eats meat. I've always made it a point to let people know my beliefs are my beliefs and to not impose them on anyone. I feel rare in the vegan community though because I don't and won't vegangelize and I’m open-minded to other food philosophies. I thought The China Study was a crappy book and think paleo might be a better way to go. I was there when Devon took her first bite of cheese after being vegan for a while. She looked at me with a face that said, “Please don’t hate me for doing this” and I didn’t. It felt like what she needed to do and I understood that. I'm also afraid to admit to my one vegan friend that I loves me some honey and I don't tell people (until now!) about my day of not being vegan in San Francisco because vegans and even non-vegans will judge me. I grew up Catholic. I’ve lived with enough guilt without people making me feel bad because I want a pb & honey sammich so I refuse to do it to anyone else.

Much like the blogger was saying, it's more important to be local and organic than it is to be plant-based. People should simply be thoughtful about their food. I once overheard a friend at the meat counter ask what the animals were fed and it made me happy. Another friend does this whole sort of penance thing and will kill chickens and turkeys at an organic farm because he believes he should be willing to do something like that if he wants to consume it. It keeps him connected to his food source and I find it admirable. I think that's all I really hope for--that people are mindful of what they consume and choose local, organic, sustainable foods when they can, but also remember to consider their own health.

Meat of any kind will probably never be on my menu. Probably not dairy either. That day in San Francisco (tres leches cake at Tartine! Yum!) and the resulting stomach cramps that woke me in the middle of the night reminded me of that. I do think about eggs. As I train more and harder, I find my energy level waning and wonder if the added and different protein would be beneficial. I might do and I might not. But I will make a thoughtful choice and I would kindly ask not to be judged as anything but someone who cares about animals, the planet and herself.

Pacing and Crewing

2010-10-29T13:08:00.000-07:00

I love to pace and crew. I love it much more than I love actual racing. This year in particular I’ve had the chance to help out several times at races and speed record attempts. It’s been pretty incredible, sometimes terrible, but it’s what I love to do.

I paced for the first time in 2007 for Rich White at Cascade Crest 100. I met him in the middle of the night at Kachess Lake and brought him in. It was my first exposure to that distance and what it took to organize and help someone complete their goal. I didn’t have to do too much. Rich was a truck and never stopped moving, except for maybe one time. He came to a tree root that had made a natural foot high step and he stopped and contemplated how he was going to get down what probably looked like Mt. Rainier to him. I put my hand on his back and said, “It’s just a step” and he stepped down and kept going. I ended up unofficially pacing for Jamie Keizer at the same time and got to be there to watch them cross the finish line together.

My first real crewing experience was for Devon Crosby -Helms at Vermont 100, 2008. It was unbelievably easy. Devon was super organized (to be expected from my twin librarian) and always knew exactly what she wanted from one aid station to the next. All we had to do was trade her used pack and bottles for new ones, then refill things using the lists she’d made of what she’d want and when. She was predictable, patient, efficient and very grateful. Such a breeze!

I’ve been hooked since. It hasn’t always been so easy as Rich and Devon, but I’ve come to find a satisfaction in every experience. On a basic level, pacing and crewing is a great way to get miles and to see a race course without having to pay the race entry fee. Generally, you go a slower pace so it’s easier on your body, although it can still take its toll when the miles are longer. On a higher level, it’s inspiring to be a part of someone’s goal. I love this sport of trail and ultra running and can understand how important that finish line can be. Helping someone get there, watching their process as they go through lows and highs and fight through so much really gets to me. I think I’ve often cried more at the end due to pride for my runners than they have for themselves. I put these images into my brain and use them as motivation when I’m running my own races. It’s amazing. Being so close to that reminds me what human beings can do mentally, physically and emotionally.

I have so many stories: Alvin Crain and I singing “I like down hills and I cannot lie!” and him making me laugh so hard I really did fall off the trail. Jess Mullen’s one liners like “Sugar makes me want to vomit” and “I’m so proud of my legs.” Pouring an entire bag of ice over Devon as she sat in the tub post-race. Jamie K. thinking she saw a semi truck on the trail. Listening to Meghan Z. and Adam Gifford debate which element is the best one on the periodic table. Becoming buddies with Rich White Sr. and him calling me babe. Meeting a shepherd in the middle of Colorado and playing with his puppy. I could write a book and maybe I will someday.

It isn’t all trails lined with candy and roses though. I’ve been so frozen my joints hurt for days afterward. I’ve been rained on so hard I could still see the raindrops for hours after the downpour stopped. I’ve given away the clothes I’m wearing and suffered rain and wind in a short sleeve shirt. I’ve had things thrown at me. I’ve had to deal with panicked runners who wouldn’t listen to me. I’ve told a runner he was looking good while I was secretly trying not to throw up from altitude sickness. I’ve given away all my food and then been dropped and left alone without food, water or a map for what felt like forever. I’ve been yelled at, snapped at, lectured, and scolded. I’ve cried silent tears of frustration and pain. It’s part of the deal and I deal with it.

Catherine Horton gave me some sage advice—the runner has to take care of himself. As a crew person, you are there to assist and encourage, not to be their servant and commanded about. The runner needs to know what s/he wants and give you the chance to give it to him/her. There needs to be a basic plan and if there is a deviation from the plan, the crew person needs to be ready to adjust, but the runner also needs to be patient through the adjustment. A moment’s pause can mean a huge difference, usually for the better.

When those times have been tough, it’s been important to remember these races are not about me, but about my runner. That’s why those tears are silent and I don’t mention I was trying not to throw up until well after the run. Getting my feelings hurt or complaining isn’t helpful. There’s a grace period for the runner to be less than wonderful. It depends on the length of the run/race, but I usually give at least the day before, the day after and the duration of the race. This gives the runner some leeway to be bitchy, cranky and rude. There are still boundaries, of course, but this grace period is why I’ve managed to maintain some friendships post-event. We aren’t always at our best in the middle of a cold night after tons of miles and climbing. It’s good for all parties involved to be forgiving.

I don’t think I’m the best at this—there can only be one Steve Stoyles, but I show up ready for anything as best I can. I like to discuss with my runner what kind of encouragement works best, what their goals are, and what their favorite foods/treats might be. If I can surprise them with something along the way, like a good chocolate chip cookie, PB Puffins, or that burger and Coke (not Pepsi, Alissa!), then it can be a great motivator. I try to be somewhat familiar with the course and cut off times. I’m ready with stories, from my own to the plots of books I’m reading to full recitations of children’s stories. I’ll sing, although I never know if this is helpful or not…. And I’ll be quiet when asked or if I can sense the runner needs some time to settle. I’ve learned (the hard way) to bring extra clothes and food for myself and the runner. I carry their camera and take pictures. I run up ahead (and sometimes back if they’ve forgotten something) to aid stations to get their drop bags and grab the things they need. And I’m ready to spout as many “good jobs,” “nice works,” “you look goods,” and “you can do its” as necessary. Believe me when I say pacing and crewing can be just as exhausting as running the actual race. There’s a lot to do.

Ultimately, what is it I want from doing this? Just some appreciation. My runner at Western gave me her finisher’s medal (don’t worry, she kept her buckle!). I’ve gotten some cute t-shirts out of these deals. Ooh, and Alvin gave me the headlamp he won—that was sweet. Yet I don’t do this for the tangible things. I have no ulterior motives and am really confused when people think otherwise. What else could I get from doing this, but extraordinary experiences? I’ve been to the best places and seen people do the greatest things. All I want in return is some acknowledgement (not necessarily publicly) and a genuine hug of gratitude. It’s an honor to help someone achieve their goal. I love being a part of it.

Food, One Day at a Time

2010-04-06T13:03:00.000-07:00

In my last posting, I included a breakdown of my nutrition for the day and it turned out I had eaten just under 2000 calories. I received a number of responses telling me this was way too low for me. Yes, I do know that, but this one was single day in the grand scheme of my life. The very next day I ate much of the same, but added soy yogurt and went back to my two, yes, two healthy bowls of cereal before bed. The point of the whole food for a whole day was to see how it would work for a day and to see if it was something I would want to continue in a reasonable manner. I've stuck mostly to it, but I'd say I'm closer to 80 - 90% whole, with some liberties for added calories and purely because there are some foods I just want to eat.

I really enjoyed eating this way. I'm enjoying it now. I like how it makes me feel and the energy I seem to have. My body isn't wasting energy processing processed foods but is efficiently working on simple foods allowing my body to use its energy elsewhere. But I'm not planning to go all crazy on this. If I started eating so little every day, then that's when one should worry. I want to be healthy and continue having a healthy mindset about what I eat. I've been unhealthy about my eating before and I never want to go back there again.

Warning: shit's about to get real. In 2002, I would say I was anorexic. Thankfully, it was a short lived bout, yet it happened. I restricted my calories like I can't even believe now. Currently, I stay between 120-125 pounds. At the time of my anorexia, I was 105...with shoes on. I looked awful and felt awful. I think about my daily diet and can't understand how I even functioned. The place I worked had lots of food in the cupboards and fridge for us to eat, so my intake began there and was well thought out for my entire day. I can still remember it.

Breakfast: 1 Clif or Luna bar, whichever was available and had the fewest calories.

Snack: 1 piece of fruit.

Lunchtime: I would either go for a run or walk to the market and get some fresh dates to eat from a fruit stand and maybe a meringue or some bread at the bakery.

Snack: 1 small bowl of veggies.

Run or work out.

Dinner: I concocted who knows what and always made sure it was less than 400 calories, the lower the better.

Dessert: one small bowl of cereal or a yogurt.

I subsisted on coffee and tea. I used sleeping pills to help me fall asleep through my hunger pains and then got up with coffee and caffeine pills. I was obsessed with food. I could barely think of anything else. I spent hours on the computer looking up recipes and figuring out how to reduce calories and fat grams. I browsed pro-ana sites. I watched Food Network like it was porn. My eyes always felt blurry and glazed. I was weak and tired and cranky. And I thought I liked it. Feeling hungry was a sign of success. That hunger headache meant it was working.

People started saying things to me and I had to come up with excuses. I was fine. I ate more than they knew. I just didn't want to fall into the typical American way of overabundance (as if anorexia was activism). Oddly, guys seemed to enjoy it...or more likely I was dating the wrong guys. Yet even the concern was reinforcement telling me that I was getting skinnier and it was still working.

Then I ran my first marathon. I had no clue what I was doing and so didn't understand the idea of needing to eat during the race...not that it would've made much difference. I doubt I would've let myself consume much. I stuck with water rather than the sports drink because I didn't want the calories. The only thing I ate for the entire 26.2 was a large tootsie roll. I have no idea how I made it through without falling completely apart during it. After I finished, I weighed myself at the gym and was elated to find I was only 103. But then I did start falling apart. I was wasted the entire drive home. I actually did want to eat, but I couldn't. Everything hurt. Food made my stomach cramp and I couldn't digest it and I got sick. Even with my sick sick brain, I knew this wasn't good.

But I continued to try to stick with it for awhile. I ran more and started to actually train for marathoning. I was so tired and absolutely starving. I found myself starting to binge. I would go out only at night to a grocery store and buy big cookies and start eating them on the way home. I would feel so high and dizzy and would want more and would go get more and eat and eat until it felt like the food was all the way up into my throat. I would be so sick the next day and happy to find I didn't even feel like eating. I tried not to follow this pattern because of how guilty I felt when I ate and how sick it always made me feel, but it continued for weeks.

I was miserable. I knew my obsession with food and losing weight had taken over. I wanted to die. One night after going to the gym, I drove home and parked in my apartment's garage. I looked over at my gym bag which held nothing more than a book and small towel. I thought about how I had to climb two flights of stairs to get to my studio (I refused to use the elevator). I started to cry. It was too hard. I didn't have enough energy to lift my little bag and go up two flights of stairs. That was when I knew things needed to change.

This, thank goodness, lasted less than a year, but it took me a long, long time to work my way back out. I did it on my own, without therapy or really talking about it much with friends. I knew I wanted to run and be healthy and so I knew I needed to feed myself. I slowly crept back up in weight and started to remember how to love food again without the guilt.

I did read part of the book Intuitive Eating. It has such a simple idea. We forget how to eat. We spend so much time worried about weight, about calories and fat grams and carbs, that we stop using hunger as our reason to eat. When most of us were kids, we ate food when we were hungry and stopped when we were done. I remember that. I remember not finishing a soda because it made me too full. I remember pushing my plate away because I didn't want to eat the rest. My tummy was full of food, so why eat the rest? Some where along the line we stop doing this. We clean our plates. We put way too much on that plate or we deliberately don't put enough on it. In Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food, he discusses out we are too concerned about the nutrients and not concerned enough about the actual food so we end up eating processed food-like stuff with their health claims (Froot Loops now has more Fiber!) instead of simply eating simple food. We end up eating too much of the wrong things and don't remember what real food is any more. It's confusing and distorted and it's thrown us out of whack.

I started to try to eat healthy foods that I want to eat. I haven't always been great at it. I lose sight of my own health and fall into the Western diet. My weight has fluctuated. I spent a couple of years due to travel and injury much heavier than I'm comfortable. I was 135+ two years ago and it didn't feel good. So about a year and a half ago I started to just pay attention again to what I ate. I didn't count calories, but I switched to eating more fruits and veggies and fewer crackers and snacky foods that had snuck into my diet. I ate if I was hungry and stopped or didn't start if I wasn't. I felt better and the weight melted back off.

It's still tough for me to know what my body is telling me. A lot of people say to me "I never weigh myself" as though that's their evidence they aren't concerned about their weight. But you know what, I do weigh myself a couple times per week. I don't want to ever get back up to 135 again, but even more so I don't want to drop. I used to believe I eat my emotions, but I'm learning I starve them. When I'm blue or stressed or busy, I tend not to eat and my weight plummets. Last fall was rough for me and I ended up at the doctor. I stepped on the scale fully clothed and was only 117. No wonder I'd been feeling depleted and so tired! I upped my food intake and started feeling better soon after. I need that little extra help to keep me on track and I find it is helping me recognize my body's clues. Just a couple of weeks ago when Matt was in town I told him I felt like I was wasting away a bit. He was skeptical, but I weighed myself and sure enough I'd dropped 3 pounds in the week he was here. So I'm slowly but surely learning. Maybe someday I won't need that scale to help me know where I am, but as long as I don't start obsessing about the actual number and am using purely as a health indicator, it's going to remain a tool.

All of this is simply to say that I want to remain healthy and that one day of doing something that isn't ideal isn't going to ruin me. One day of under eating does not represent a trend. I've been through that trend and I never ever want to feel that way again. Nor do I want to end up orthorexic and obsessed with eating nothing but healthy, whole foods. If I want a bowl of puffins or two then I'm going to eat them. And if one day I eat half a tub of Trader Joe's Schoolbook cookies (nom nom nom!) then so be it. One day will not make me blow up. Matt and I are about to do a week's worth of eating from the book Thrive. I think it'll be a fun experiment, but it doesn't mean I'm going to eat that way forever. We'll see. I'm going to do the best that I can, but I'm doing this one day at a time.

Eating Whole Foods

2010-03-29T18:39:00.000-07:00

One whole day of whole foods and it was pretty much what I expected. It was easy and enjoyable and also brought about some interesting conversations and reflections.

I started out my day at the gym where I ran into my doctor, Adrian Call. I'm very lucky to have him as my doc. He's an avid marathon runner and race director and completely understands me as a woman and athlete. He came over to say hi and I couldn't wait to tell him what my day would hold. After explaining the challenge, he seemed interested and encouraging and began to share some of his own stories. Inherent to being a family practitioner, he spends his day talking to his patients about becoming healthier. All day he talks to them about diet and exercise and he's routinely met with resistance and incredulity. What he finds remarkable is how people like him and me, people who exercise daily and watch we eat are now considered abnormal by the general populace. We are looked upon as though we are crazy or odd and his patients often act as though these concepts are too difficult to grasp. They seem to think making healthy changes would be much harder than what they are already doing--which are things that are making them sick and causing them to be in his office in the first place. He told me a couple of things he shares with his patients to try to get them to consider their diets: If you have to open a package of any kind--a box, a wrapper, a can--chances are it's not good for you. If you don't recognize the ingredients, chances are it's not good for you. A serving of cornflakes has more salt than a serving of salted potato chips and even though Cheerios are made from oats, it's so much better to eat actual oats. He wished me well and told me to at least take my vitamin D and was on his way.

I thought about our conversation all day. I've always met with disbelief from people when they find out I'm vegan or don't want to have a piece of birthday cake at the almost weekly potluck at work. People can't comprehend the work outs I do, how much I run and that I actually find it enjoyable. I'm asked so often how I do it. How do you get yourself to run so much? What do you eat all day? Where do you get your protein if you don't eat meat? What I have trouble with is why this so mysterious for people. Maybe it shouldn't amaze me but I can't help it when people don't know about basic things like portion sizes, how much to exercise and what is and isn't a healthy food. I spoke about this challenge today and explained to someone if she tried it out, even a little bit each day, it might help her lose weight. She actually asked me if I'd write out a list of whole foods for her because she didn't think she'd be able to figure out what they were on her own. Even after I said to stick to the produce and bulk sections and I told her what I'd eaten that day, she was dubious and said she needed more guidance. We're almost exactly the same age and grew up fairly close to one another, so I can't say it's because she grew up too differently than me. She's a smart woman, but somehow this is too complicated for her. It's discouraging because I know she represents more people than I represent in this society. Yet I'm encouraged because she was at least interested and I will write a list out for her if it'll help.

As for the actual day, it really did go great! I'll admit I sort of expected to be hit with major hunger at some point, but it never came. I felt quite satisfied and very energetic. I didn't have any cravings, but rather just looked forward to what I'd packed for the day. One thing that made me very happy was how little waste I produced. Apparently, everyone in the US makes about 4.5 pounds of garbage every day. I don't think I even came close to that today. All together I had a banana peel, some rind from my melon and pineapple, an apple core and stems from my grapes--all of which is compostable. Then there were a few stickers off my apple, zucchini and squash and two tea bags and their wrappers. That's barely anything. Every bag or container can be reused when I buy more produce or bulk products, so I'm not wasting those. It's bonus effect of eating this way to be able to reduce what ends up in a landfill or would've needed energy to be produced in the first place. No wrappers, no cans, no boxes, no packages. Love it.

Here's what I ate:

Pre-work out snack: banana

Post-work out, quick snack to tide me over until I could make breakfast: two celery stalks with almond butter and peanut butter chopped into bit-sized pieces. Quite delightful!

Real breakfast: oatmeal with raisins, almonds and cinnamon.

Lunch: lentil salad with spinach, zucchini, squash and mushrooms. apple.

Snack: pineapple, cantaloupe and grapes.

Dinner: quinoa with edamame and roasted sweet potato.

Dessert: rhubarb and strawberries baked with a little sugar.

Drinks: coffee, water, green tea, yerba mate.

My breakdown for the day was just under 2000 calories, about 47 grams of fat and 66.5 grams of protein. Pretty good. Nutritionally, I was overall very good, but low in calcium and vitamins E and D--only 1% which Doc Call warned me about and why he advised I continue my supplement.

I hope to sustain this longer. I feel very good, inside and out and would like to see how it'll make me feel in the long term. I don't think I'll be 100% whole foods all the time. I'd like to keep my soy- and coconut milk-yogurts as I feel the probiotics are important for my system. They fight infection and help with my tummy's digestion and the versions I eat have by far less sugar than the conventional dairy yogurts. I'll also admit I still can't see completely giving up cereal for all time. My doc even says I can certainly afford to eat it and it's important to allow yourself some comfort food in moderation. I like something sweet before I go to bed and tonight the strawberries and rhubarb were indeed super tasty. But the crunch of cereal soaked in almond milk...mmm...makes me smile all over. Even so, I would like to reduce my intake by eating only one bowl thus ending my nightly statement of "I think I ate too much cereal" as I rub my full belly. I've been challenged to forego it for a week. I can do that...maybe next week. I want to be reasonable and healthy about my entire diet. Last thing I want to do is to become obessive or too strict, but I think a balance is easily obtainable. We'll see how it goes. So far I like it. I'm into it.

Eating whole foods from Whole Foods

2010-03-28T12:28:00.000-07:00

Matt first tried to get me to do eat nothing but whole foods by saying he'd be vegan for a day if I'd eat only foods my grandma would recognize. No problem, I told him. He said that meant no cereal, a known weakness of mine. "Are you kidding?" I asked him. "My grandma loved cereal!" It was true--raisin bran, Rice Krispies, Fruity Pebbles--there were always several boxes to choose from in her cupboard. Matt amended his idea to be a whole day eating nothing but whole foods and the Whole Food for a Day Challenge was born. I was in. I am in.

I'm already vegan and try to eat mostly organic. I make sure to eat fruits and veggies, good proteins and grains every day. For the last couple of months I've been eating out less so more in charge of what I ingest. I've noticed I've leaned out a little and feel overall better. Yet I know I've still become lazy in how I eat. I used to love trying new recipes and have several favorite cookbooks with bookmarks and stains of food splattered on the pages. Now I eat the same things over and over throughout the week and just assemble things from packaging--frozen foods, cans, boxes without considering what's really on the inside of those packages and how it affects me and the planet. So the idea of eating foods with only 1 ingredient would simply further the progression of my diet to being healthier, more interesting and creative, and less wasteful. I know it'll help me really consider what I put in my body, what I buy and what I waste.

Speaking about this with people over the last week the one concern people voiced was cost. Isn't it more expensive to buy food that way? I didn't think so and my grocery bill proved it. Take away the cereal, soy-yogurts, almond milk and dinner I bought at Whole Foods last night and my bill would've been less than $60. I focused on the produce and bulk sections and walked out with apples, bananas, avocados, melon, pineapple, sweet potato, spinach, carrots, celery, zucchini, squash, mushrooms, quinoa, almonds, raisons and even freshly ground almond and peanut butters. As Matt so lovingly putt it, I eat a "shit ton" so believe me when I proudly say this is a lot of food. Not bad for $60, eh?

My personal concern has been protein. Usually I get a fair amount from a scoop of soy protein with my oatmeal in the morning, but since this is processed and doesn't follow the 1 ingredient rule, I have to drop it. Otherwise, I always mixed my proteins and get my requirements from many forms. But since soy is the only plant protein that is considered complete, I worried I'd need to start complimenting my protein sources in order to optimize my amino acid intake. I know I'm only doing whole foods for one day, so I shouldn't worry too much about what one day would do to me protein-wise, but I can't help but think in the long term. If I wanted to sustain this how complicated would my diet need to be? Shouldn't I already know this stuff anyway? Thankfully, a little research showed me the idea of protein complimenting is obsolete. As long as I eat a wide variety of foods, which I will and do, I will be fine.

I'm doing this tomorrow. I'm jazzed about it. I think it'll be interesting and easier than anyone can imagine. I'm hoping I'll be able to sustain it longer and see how I can reasonably incorporate it into my daily life. I'll tuck into a big bowl of cereal tonight, but I'm betting I won't miss it tomorrow.

Drake

2010-03-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

I miss my boy Drake. In 2005 I was living with someone who I'll call Bronx. I had my girl kitty Shazzar with us and had turned her into an indoor kitty much to her chagrin. I mentioned I was considering getting a friend for her so she wouldn't be so bored. Since Bronx was allergic to cats and not happy Shaz was with us in the first place I was surprised when he came home one day and said he'd told a lady at work we'd adopt the last kitten from a litter her cat had. The kitten was the run and no one wanted him. I love the underdog, or undercat in this case, so I was all about taking this kitten.

We met the lady in the parking lot of a hospital in Bellevue since it was halfway between our homes. She handed over the little kitten and I was instantly in love! He was a tiny puff of black and white. Bronx drove home and I held the teeny one in my arms. Bronx wanted to name him Oreo thinking he was being clever because the kitten was black and white. I do believe I rolled my eyes right at him and told him no way. I did a little research and found the name Drake which is an English form of Dragon. Bronx was born in the year of dragon and because he was insisting this kitten was HIS because Shaz was mine, I thought I'd find a name that would suit the both of them. Secretly, I was also naming him after the cat in Rats of NIHM, but Bronx wouldn't have understood that. Drake fit the poof quite well.

It's so fun to have a kitten. Everything they do is cute and sweet. He was so funny to look at because he was teensy and looked like he'd stuck his paw in a light socket. His fur was a fuzzy halo around his little body. He was so curious and tried with all his tiny might to be a big cat right away. He'd try to jump onto the counter because Shaz was up there, but couldn't make it even half way. He was all over the place and into everything. Shaz was mortified! Drake kept her on her toes,pissed her off and entertained her. I'd catch her gently sniffing him and letting him be near her, but mostly she acted as snooty as she could. I could tell she was pleased to have him around in her own bitchy way. Bronx didn't really know what to do with him. He'd hold him and try to cuddle, but Drake would quickly wander off and come over to me because he'd learned from the get go that I provided the most love...and food. Drake rapidly became my cat against Bronx's plans.

It was a very rough time in my life. Very soon after Drake took over my heart, my daddy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Life became consumed by Daddy's illness, so Drake was the little light spot that helped keep us smiling. Daddy loved Drake and got such a kick out of holding a kitten in the palm of his hand. When Daddy passed away, he was surrounded by his entire family. It was a beautiful yet exhausting experience. I needed Bronx to help with the cats and I asked him to go home and make sure they had food and water. When I got home that evening, Bronx was asleep on the couch after eating an entire frozen pizza while the cats' food and water dishes were completely empty. I knew then what I'd suspected for along time. My relationship with this person was over and Drake was definitely my cat.

The following couple of weeks were a blur. I missed my Daddy and cried while my cats, both Shazzar and Drake gave me comfort. Bronx was away at a work training camp, so I didn't have to deal with him much and could take comfort with a few of my closest friends and these soft animals who seemed to know I needed them. Eventually things were settled. We had Daddy's memorial and laid him to rest. I began to consider moving home with Mom so I could offer her my strength and also because I was planning to start grad school. However, Mom already hd a full house with my brother's family, so moving in would make the house break at the seams. Ideally, I would continue to live with Bronx as a roommate. One night I discussed this idea with Bronx over the phone saying I'd move into the second bedroom and increase the amount I paid for rent. He found this unacceptable and said I shold find a new place. I explained if I left Drake would come with me. Again, he found this unacceptable and said I was taking Drake out of spite. I went off and pointed out how he was allergic, didn't show the cats any love and couldn't even manage to put a scoop of food in a dish. He didn't agree and said there was no way I was taking Drake. I hung up on him then called my friend Michelle and brother Paul and we had me moved out of the apartment with Drake in tow by mid-day the very next day. Bronx never even tried to take Drake back.

Drake was always my guy. He grew and grew and grew until he was a good 15 pounder! So much for being the runt! His fu was long and he didn't care to be brushed so he'd clump up and run from me if he saw me pick up scissors because he knew I was after them. He was such a raggamuffin! He was a total boy--always into things, not that bright, a little dirty and sometimes a bit stinky. He wasn't particular about anything and simply seemed happy to be alive. He didn't talk much so it was surprising if he ever meowed. But he sure did purr! Pet him once and he became a motor and would rub and rub against my hands and for some reason bonk his head against whatever was closest, whether it was my leg or a wall. He'd do this for a minute or two and then just sort of walk away as happy as can be. He also like to do this on his own with my bedside lamp. I never understood his obsession with the lampshade, but he loved to rub against it and knock it round while purring. I only minded when he did it at 4am. He was much more of a watcher and follower. Shazzar is very talkative and active. She's all over me when I'm around, has a lot to tell me and will roll around and speak and kiss until she's comfortable and curls up into a perfect ball. Drake would watch the whole scene unfold, sigh and flop over as though passing out and then, well, pass out. He kind of looked like a drunken cat when he'd sleep. He'd pick arbitrary places to sleep and I could often find him in that spot for a few weeks before he'd move onto a new choice. And he was passed out, barely moving when I'd pet him or move around him. He was not one for going outside. I often had to force or trick him. He'd follow me out when I was grabbing the mail and I'd rush back in and shut the door before he knew what happened. He'd go to the back glass door and look in at me with such a look of panic and give out a feeble little cry "me-e-e-e-ow!" I never understood why he hated it so much since it wasn't as if he was traumatized. He made some cat buddies and mostly found sunbeams to lay in. I also learned he went to the neighbors' houses to visit.

There are so many stories. Getting his head stuck in a hole in the wall and me needing to break the wall a part to get him out. The couple of times he got himself trapped on the roof. My nephew Jake putting Drake in a box hoping to keep him. The way he'd swipe at Shazzar's tail as she drank from the sink or how he'd rush at her like a linebacker just to piss her off--he was never disappointed with her dramatic screams and fits of hissing. How he'd hang off my friend Kristi's car window and stare at her through her windshield. He was such a good cat, everyone's little buddy and my big handsome boy.

I was in Hawaii in January to run a race. While I was there the weather was beautiful back home. Drake decided he actually did want to go outside, a very rare choice for him to make. Two neighbors witnessed a car come flying up the road and hit Drake. They said the car was going so fast they didn't have time to see who it was. Instead, they focused on Drake and said he was probably gone instantly. I pray it happened so fast he didn't have time to be afraid or feel any pain. One neighbor picked him up and took him home with her. It took her a day to find Mom and bring Drake back home. Mom called a few people to figure out when and how to tell me and decided, I believe rightly so, to wait until after I was home. She picked me up from the airport and told me when we were only minutes from the house. I was devastated, shocked, crushed. I couldn't believe it and felt panicked inside. I wanted out of the car. I wanted to find him. I wanted it to not be true. Was this some sort of horrible joke? A cruel prank? I got into the house and expected to see him him in the entry way waiting for me like usual. Instead it was empty so I laid face down right there and cried. My brother Paul was there and he picked me up and held me. I cried for days and even now still have my moments.

I miss him dearly. He was my boy, my buddy, my baby. He was there for me through my toughest time and there for the best times. I'll miss him looking at me from the floor and reaching up with one paw to poke my leg to get me to pay attention to him. Shazzar misses being pissed off by him and spent the first couple of weeks looking for him. She's still clinging to me and going outside less often than before. He was only four and we thought we had a long life ahead of us together. Now I'm just grateful we had any time at all. He was a blessing.

Cosmo

2010-02-20T08:10:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on the couch with Cosmo laying below my legs. Cosmo is such a stud. Rich and I met a few years back after Chuckanut. It was a rainy, extra muddy year and one of my first 50Ks. I'd been sick that week and since I was faster than my carpool mates, I finished and was out of it and all alone and shivering looking for my bag. Rich, being the fireman/medic he is came over to rescue me and we've been friends since. We ran Capitol Peak 55K a month later together along with Laura Houston (first time meeting her at her first ultra) and the friendship was solidified. I quickly learned that Cosmo was a big part of Rich's life. He speaks in the terms of "we" whenever I ask what he's up to or his plans. "We're driving to the store" or "We're at the park." We = Rich + Cosmo. Cos comes with us pretty much everywhere. He's a laid back mellow dog who sometimes acts too cool for you because he's a busy dog with things to do. He doesn't care to mess with other animals and will only play after he deems them worthy of his attention. Even then, he's very chill about it. He does love his belly rubs and will grunt and groan in appreciation. The only time he ever shows a ton of emotion is when we drive into a wooded area. Trees and mountains mean good times are about to happen. He starts to whine and pace back and forth in the car because he is so excited to go out on the trails and play. I mentioned this to Rich once about how awesome it is that they've been so adventurous together that trees are now the proverbial Pavlov's bell. Rich smiled and replied, "Yeah, I'm pretty proud of that."

But Cosmo is getting older and he’s always had some hip problems. I certainly can feel his pain on that considering my weak hips have given me so many issues over the last couple of years. Yet I can explain what’s hurting and I can understand when my doctor tells me I need to take it easy, whether I like it or not. Cosmo can only understand that he isn’t moving like he wants to move. Rich has had to help him get around lately, picking him up to get into the car and sometimes even just up a stair or two. And Cosmo just takes it. Rich slipped the other day and put Cosmo down faster than he wanted to, almost dropped him and Cosmo simply landed and started to roll and grunt because he thought they were playing.

I’m at Rich’s house for the weekend hanging out with the stud muffin dog while Rich is out of town. As soon as Cosmo realized who it was coming into the house, he was so happy to see me and practically knocked me over with love and hellos. I saw right away his movements are different. His back hips are stiff and he’s not moving fluidly. He seems to move one side more to the side than should be necessary and he’s definitely slow. It’s tough to see this tough guy in pain. He’s moved over to his favorite chair, the one that’s the perfect size for him to curl up on and almost the exact same color as him so he’s hard to see. He’s not as happy, but he seems resigned to this and I bet he knows that Rich is doing everything he can to get him better. Surgery is scheduled for March 1st. I pray that it’ll at least make him more comfortable so their daily trips to the park can begin again.

Progress Not Perfection

2009-11-09T14:34:00.000-08:00

Mom’s knee is progressing. She’s no longer tied to the house and the in-home care and physical therapists have stopped coming over. She now sees a PT, Edwin at Mountlake Physical Therapy twice per week. He sounds like a great guy and makes her laugh and keeps her encouraged. She needs that.

It’s been frustrating for her to not be back in full form as quickly as she’d have liked. The doctors told her it would take 6 months, but she somehow heard 6 weeks. Although she’s accepted it’s going to take longer than she hoped, she’s not pleased with it. She’s been repeating this story about a man at her church who is older than her and had the same surgery. It only took him 2 weeks to be able to fully pedal a bike and she doesn’t feel she’s there yet. Strange to me because every night I see her in the corner on her stationary bike pedaling and pedaling. She’s also started doing her little walking videos, but hasn’t quite been able to complete one. On Saturday we were walking through a parking lot and she was keeping up with me. I’d slowed down for her, but not like I had a few months ago. She’s trying and that’s so important.

I try pointing out the progress I see and we talk about how lucky she is in other ways. A friend of mine hurt her ankle and is unable to do her job. She’s been home for over a month now living on short-term disability and going crazy. Mom doesn’t have to worry about that and reminders like that help her put things back into perspective. I’m not in my mom’s body, so I don’t know what she’s feeling. I know she still hurts and wants to meet her goals and get back out walking as fast as ever. I’ve been injured as well so can certainly understand the desire to get better already and get back to life as you once knew it. Yet she’s 66 years old and was already contending with weak bones and an injured back, so even though it’s difficult, she trying to remain patient and reasonable about her recovery goals.

Long Overdue (Long) Cascade Crest 2009 Report

2009-10-06T17:19:00.000-07:00

On the morning of Cascade Crest Jonathan and I got up early and did our usual pre-race routine of coffee and pb&js. On the drive over to Easton, it was raining. It was a little worrisome, but thankfully my soon-to-be pacer, Jamie Keizer sent me a text to ensure me there was not any rain closer to the course.
When we got to the fire station/start/finish, there were already a couple hundred people milling around setting down their drop bags, checking in, enjoying the pre-race pancake breakfast and mingling. There were a lot of “hey, how are yous” and “are you readys” being asked by many dazed people, most of whom I recognized. This being what I consider my hometown 100 mile race, there were quite a few people both running the race and volunteering who I knew. I was looking forward to running alongside so many friends and seeing who was manning each aid station. It felt like more of a social event; a painful party.
During the pre-race briefing, Charlie Crissman thanked many people and recognized a few others, including Jamie Gifford who would be finishing his 10th Cascade. Charlie presented Jamie with an extra special buckle to commemorate his accomplishment. I am proud to say the buckle was my work of art. Charlie emailed me the week prior explaining he was short on time and looking for someone who was tapering with time on her hands to put together a large, gaudy buckle. I accepted the challenge and gathered silver spray paint, silk plants, wooden letters and gobs of stick on jewels. I glued it all together on an aluminum foil covered large oval to make it as shiny and sparkly as possible.
Then it was time to gather at the start line. After the National Anthem, JB and I gave each other good luck kisses and he went to the front of the pack while I made my way back. Charlie started the countdown and then we were off!
I started off running with my buddy, Scott Railton. We chatted for a while as we started making our way up toward Goat Peak. When we hit the first water stop we were separated and I wouldn’t see him again until much later.
I joined the queue going up toward the peak. I noticed my lower back was extremely tight and my hamstrings were a little tight as well. Over the summer, I’d been dealing with a hip injury—my psoas muscle/hip flexor/abductor muscle/gluteus medius had thrown off my gait and made running almost impossible. It was very painful and caused me to drop from White River 50 back in July and forced me to cross train more than I liked. So I was very diligent about getting it fixed. I had active release done twice per week and shiatsu massage weekly. The combination worked wonders, yet I knew I was going into this race with diminished strength. My tight hamstrings worried me that my hips might end up a factor later in the race.
Jamie, my pacer and her partner/my crew, Shannon were working the Blowout aid station at mile 15. I laughed when I saw Jamie wearing her CCC buckle from last year. Their dog who I call my nephew, Tode was there and he gave me a kiss while they filled my bottles and asked me a bunch of questions. I’d given them this 1.5 page paper with a list of questions I wanted them to ask me and some lines they could use to keep me motivated. I knew they’d get a kick out of it because it was very unnecessary and such a dorky thing to do. I saw Shawna Wilskey working there as well and she told me JB had come through looking strong and that he’d told her to tell me he loved me. She gave me a big hug and I said my good-byes and told Jamie and Shannon I couldn’t wait to see them again.
On the hike up from Blowout, an older gentleman walked up next to me and stroked my arm a few times. A little put-off by such an intimate gesture, I looked at him and said, “Hi.” He asked if this was my first 100 and after I said no he continued to hike up ahead of me. Later on, he joined in a conversation I was having with someone and once we got onto some single track, he lined up behind me. I soon learned he was the legendary Hans. Hans is from Germany and every summer lives in the States and travels all over running 100 milers. He told me CCC 2008 was his 100th and this year it was his 113th. He also informed me he’d run Leadville 100 last week in record breaking time for someone his age.
Hans ran with me off and on for over 30 miles. He mostly stayed behind enjoying the pace I was making and telling me I was running smart. “Linda Darling,” he said, “if you keep running smart, then I can be dumb!” He stopped me when we began a downhill. “No, Linda Darling, you must do it like this.” He proceeded to demonstrate his downhill technique saying I should make smaller steps on the steeper and more technical sections and let gravity take me down. He got back in step behind me and continued to coach me for miles. “Linda Darling, I love you, but I am a 69 year old man!” I told him my heart belonged to someone else and that I was only 31. “Together we are 100!” he surmised. We were perfect for each other. We passed Tony C. and I told him about my “trail-mance” with Hans. Hans had bounded up the trail, but was waiting for me at the top where he took my hand and led me to the road. I looked back at Tony with a “See!” expression and Tony just laughed at the spectacle.
I learned later that Hans picks a pretty girl every race with which to run and that more than a few people were laughing that surely he was calling this girl “darling” and flirting wildly with her. I enjoyed being “Linda Darling” and was very flattered to be one of Hans’s girls.
The miles ticked by and I came and went through Stampede where I saw my entire crew and then some. I grabbed my lights and some extra clothes. It became dark early due to the clouds and I turned my lights on before 8:00. Before making it to Meadow Mountain, I began to run with a gal who turned out to be a friend of Rich’s, Tate. I enjoyed running with her and her friend Paul for quite a ways. My friend, Judy Carluccio was waiting at mile 40 hoping to see a few of us. She’d decided earlier in the week to drop out of CCC due to a knee injury, but still came out to volunteer. She spontaneously crewed for me and told me I was looking strong.
Back on the trail before Ollalie, I tripped on something and landed down on my knee and shin onto some sharp rocks. Tate and Paul paused to make sure I was okay and let me get up before I continued to lead our little pack. I could tell I was going to have a few marks. The bruise on my knee would eventually hurt every step, but knowing it was only a bruise and not real injury made me not worry too much about it. It was only pain, no big deal.
At Ollalie I was pleased to learn the Seattle Running Company station has their infamous perogies. CCC is famous for some of the food on the course and being vegan, I’d made up a few of my own versions to have waiting for me at certain spots—pizza at Hyak, grilled “cheese” at Kachess. But I couldn’t figure out a vegan perogie so thought I’d have to do without, but they had cheeseless versions! Yay! I said hi to Scott and Leslie Macoubrey and told Brandon to hurry my perogie up and got on my way.
Tate, Paul and I decided to stick together for a little while because we knew the course reroute was coming up. Usually CCC goes through a two mile tunnel, but it had been deemed “unsafe” by the powers-that-be and thus closed. Charlie created a reroute that added 700 feet of gain and promised a harrowing downhill. The climb was okay, but the downhill was wretched. It was incredibly steep and covered in scree and big chunky rocks. In the daylight it wouldn’t have been fun. In the dark it was down right dangerous. It extracted more than a few expletives out of me and I watched as Paul and Tate got further and further ahead of me.
Finally I made it to a run-able section and passed Allen who was limping along and not looking very good. I promised to find his girlfriend and send her back, which I did. Then I ran right to the Christmas themed aid station where my pacer and crew were waiting for me. Although I initially resisted some of their advice, I quieted myself and remembered that they were probably a little more mentally with it than I was at that point. I obediently took the extra clothes and food they suggested, gave hugs all around and Jamie and I were off and hiking. It was a big forest service road up and then a long down. Jamie made me promise not to kill my legs and bomb down it and my tired legs were happy to oblige. We talked, laughed and even sang together. I was thrilled to have Jamie by my side.
We got to 68 where Eric Barnes was heading up the station. He told me I looked better than most people who’d come through thus far. At that point, I felt so good I believed him. That was to change soon. We took longer at the aid station than I would’ve liked. Jamie changed her clothes and wanted to wait for a fresh grilled cheese. I think this was the only time I felt impatient with her yet that impatience was quickly displaced and transferred to the Trail from Hell. The trail is technical and in the dark feels even worse. It has fallen logs all over it which are tough for my short little legs to maneuver. I had to hug and slide over quite a few of them and Jamie had to pull me at times. At first I was saying “dumb logs,” but by the end of the trail my good spirits were completely gone and they’d become “f’n logs!” I lost a lot of time here and started begging the sun to come up and yelling at the birds to “sing, you lazy asses!” Just before we made it to Mineral Creek, I cried for the first time and realized I’d gotten too hungry and was so damn tired. I couldn’t wait for the forest service road where I wouldn’t have to think about my feet or climb over anything for awhile.
We made it to Mineral Creek and were greeted by Ben Blessing, John Pearch and their crew. I ate and took care of my feet. Ben got some gory shots of my blister about to be popped. He then asked me if I knew that Jonathan had dropped. “What?? Why? What happened??” Thankfully, Ben realized he’d read his list wrong and rapidly apologized. I’ve said before that Jonathan and I would never run a 100 miler at the same time again. We did for CCC because we were already signed up when I made that declaration. This instance furthered my resolve. What would I do if he’d dropped? What scenarios were okay for me to continue and when would I feel I needed to end my race and go to his side? We hadn’t discussed it, so I was even more relieved that I wouldn’t have to make a choice like that.
Jamie and I hiked up the service road. My hips had tightened up and for the first time I felt my injury was going to be a factor. I knew I could keep moving, but any idea of a time goal began to drift away.
We made it to 80 where we made our food order at McNo Name Ridge via a radio to Laura Houston and crew. My spirits were back and I was happy to see Laura, but I was surprised to see James Varner. I assumed he’d finished and then came back to the aid station to hang out, but he explained too many things had gone wrong and he’d gotten “poopy pants” and decided to drop. Now, he was going undrop and to shuffle it in with his friend William Worrell. I invited them to join us and thought they were right behind us when we moved on, but they never caught up.
When we got to Thorpe Mountain I was so excited. I’d never seen the view from the top. When I paced Rich, it was raining so there wasn’t any visibility. Then during our training run, I’d decided to save my hip and skip the hike. I’d prayed all day and night that the weather would improve so I’d have the view everyone had praised. It was explained to me by an aid station worker that I needed to obtain a green ticket at the top and bring it back down. Jamie started singing “I’ve got a golden ticket” from “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” I changed the lyrics and sang “I’ve got a lime green ticket” all the way up. I saw Glenn Tachiyama and told him I’d been thinking about getting this very picture from him all day and all night and all day again. He laughed as he clicked away. We got to the top where I signed the guest book and got my ticket. I proceeded to climb the stairs up to the lookout. The surprised ranger tried to explain that I didn’t need to go up there, but I wanted to see as much as I could. I’d earned this spectacular view!
The finish was within reach. Jamie had been reminding me that “my people” would be at 96, meaning Shannon and Rich and maybe Tode the dog and then Jonathan and Mom would be at the finish. But she had to stop reminding me because I was getting very emotional and if I thought about the finish or my people I started to cry tears of pain, fatigue and pure joy. The first time I cried she told me to stop because then I couldn’t breathe, so I told her that it cleaned my contacts. The next time I cried she asked me, “Can you see better now?”
The miles became slower, but I was determined to keep moving. On the downhill sections I would try to make Hans proud with my feet, but who knows how fast I was actually moving. After French Cabin I was ready for the longest miles of my life. I knew it would feel like it lasted forever and I’m glad that I prepared myself that way because it didn’t end up feeling like that. Jamie got me to shuffle in places I wanted to walk and would tell me I was moving well or congratulate me on a good shuffle. I thanked her each time and often laughed when she said it, but I truly appreciated it. It kept me moving faster than I think I’d have gone on my own and because of that, 96 arrived before I knew it.
As we trotted down the final feet of trail, I saw Michael Cartwright taking pictures at the bottom. “Linda Darling!” he yelled to me. Jamie and I stopped dead in our tracks. She turned back to look at me as we both remembered Hans and we started laughing bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I thought for certain Hans or someone had told Michael that Hans had been calling me that throughout the run, but turns out Michael had no idea.
James Varner was at this aid station as well and my tired mind at first thought he’d somehow passed us, but he said he re-dropped because he couldn’t keep up with us. I hugged him and asked for that in writing which seemed to make him laugh.
Shannon took everything from me that she could. I carried only a water bottle and the idea that I only had a few miles left before I would finish Cascade Crest. Jamie had promised me I could cry after 96 and I did. We alternated a fast hike with a shuffle for the final miles. Shannon was in her truck and when I switched to a shuffle she yelled, “That’s my girl!”
Once we hit the road, up ahead we saw some goon dancing in the street wearing an outfit full of colors that would make Jamie proud—of course it was Rich! I was so glad to see him that yes, I cried again. This was exactly how I wanted to finish, with my two best friends in reversed roles. We’d fallen in love on these very trails two years ago and finished with me as their pacer. Now they were bringing me in to finish the same race.
Rich gave me updates. He told me JB had finished sub-23 which caused the tears to start. “I mean, sub-24,” Rich tried to say to stop my crying. I asked if he saw my mom there and when he said yes, the tears came again. “I mean no!” It didn’t work, the tears were free flowing.
We got over the tracks and I could see JB up ahead taking pictures. I finally got to him and he started trotting with us. I tried to get him to stop running thinking he must be tired, but I think he was wrapped up into the excitement we were creating. I crossed the line at 30:42 completely sobbing. I hugged everyone within arm’s reach—Jamie, Shannon, Rich. I saw Audrey Young, Charlie’s very pregnant wife taking pictures. She hugged me and I noticed she’d started crying. JB hugged me and then I wanted to find my mom. She was making her way over and through her own tears was saying, “Don’t cry, don’t cry!” “Too late,” I told her and wrapped my arms around her.
It was perfect. Or as perfect as it could be going 100 miles. So much can happen in that space and much of it did, but I don’t know if I would alter a moment of it because who knows how it would affect everything. I got what I wanted out of this: I got to go 100 miles on beautiful trails with a group of great people, both runners and volunteers. I got to prove to myself I could push through pretty much anything. And most importantly, I got to share it with the people who matter the most to me. Thank you everyone!

http://picasaweb.google.com/Lindabear78/CascadeCrest2009#

Homecoming

2009-09-29T17:01:00.001-07:00

Yay! Mom is home! And she was ready. We spoke on the phone Sunday night to try to figure out the game plan. She wanted out of there as early as possible; however she didn’t know when they’d let her go. All she knew was it would be soon after breakfast. We decided I’d check in with her first thing in the morning and then we’d go from there.

I called just after 8:00 knowing breakfast would’ve been served already. Mom still didn’t know, so told me to go to work and she’d call me. Around 10:00 she called and said she was only waiting for her own walker to be delivered by the pharmacy and she’d been assured it would be there “any minute.” I jetted to the facility and found Mom sitting in her chair with her leg propped up and her bed covered with her bags. There still wasn’t a walker and still only a promise of “any minute.” So I took her things out to my car and then settled down next to her to wait. By 11:30, Mom was fed up and declared we were leaving. She shuffled to the nursing station and informed them she was tired of waiting and asked that her walker be delivered to our house. I ran outside and moved the car closer to the entrance. She maneuvered herself into the car and we drove home.

I’d been worried about leaving her on her own for her first day home. I didn’t like the idea of her using the stairs, but she insisted she was going to be fine. She didn’t think I should wait with her for the walker to show up because they’d already proven “any minute” to be “any day now.” She promised to demonstrate her abilities on the stairs to show me she really would be okay.
Once to the house, I opened the car door and then ran her things inside. Mom got out of the car and using her cane, walked slowly to the house. She made it up the two stairs slowly, but definitely surely. Now it was time to go down one small flight to the main floor. She told me to watch her. She took each stair by stepping down with her bad leg, leaving the good knee to do all the bending. Of course! It was so easy and something I’ve done a million times after being super sore from a long run. We laughed a little in relief at how easy it really was.
She settled right back in. She shuffled from one room to another, checking on things and making sure she could get around. When she popped something into the microwave for her lunch, I somehow felt she was going to be fine, so I went back to work. The walker did eventually show up, but not until well after 1:00.

When I got home that evening, she asked me to finish putting together her shower chair. It looked intuitive enough, so I set about it, but soon discovered it was a bit more complicated. I needed her hands to help me hold a couple of things in place. I remarked that it was a time like this when I wished my brother Phil wasn’t off with the Army in Korea. One Christmas I received a small piece of furniture. With hope in his eyes, Phil asked if he could please, please put it together for me. Really? Um, yes! He would’ve loved piecing together that stupid shower chair.

Chair together, walker delivered, exercises being done, therapist schedules made. Mom is home and is starting her new routine of recovery. She’s still grumbling about her exercises, but as she told me, “I have to do them. If I don’t, I’ll be like this forever and a day.” I smiled as she shuffled off with determination. I’m so glad she’s home.

Progress

2009-09-25T18:11:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update. I'm about to go see Mom before I'm off for a weekend in Canada. I've talked to her already today and she's been told she can come home on Monday! Yay! The plan is I will come pick her up around 10:00 Monday morning. Right away I was concerned about all the stairs in the house. There isn't a way for her to get from either the front door or the back door with out encountering a climb or a descent. But she assured me she can tackle stairs.

"Really? You can go up and down stairs already? That's so quick!" I was excited when she told me. I asked her, "Is it silly of me to be so excited that you can do that already?" She laughed and told me I was being cute about it and she appreciated it.

All week she's been telling me she thought they'd keep her through next week, but apparently she's doing better than she thought. And better than I thought she'd be doing at this point. I need to stop measuring how far along she should be by how far along she was when she broke her hip. This has proven to be an easier affair. It's still work, but it's so encouraging to know she's at this point already.

Pimp Mom's Walker

2009-09-22T18:53:00.001-07:00

I had a quick stop to the rehab center to visit Mom today. She's asked me to stop by a few times now to bring her clothing and each time I seem to get it wrong. She, of course, wonders why I'm unable to read her mind by now. Today I brought a big bag with a variety of things and thankfully she was satisfied.

She was in a hurry today because I showed up just before her physical therapy. While she was prepping to go, her occupational therapist came in the room with few choices of baskets to attach to her walker. She's opting for a wire basket and I took one look at it and knew it needed some style. I threatened plastic flowers, streamers and a bell. I don't think she believes I'll do it, but all it'll take is a stop to a store or two and some glue. I'm good with glue.

As we walked to the physical therapy room, I was pleased to see how quickly and nimbly she seems to be moving already. I remarked as such and she sort of laughed at me in disbelief. Yet she seems very determined to get her mobility back. She slid one foot in front of the other down the hallway and I noticed the yellow tennis balls that were stuck onto the bottom of her walker that help it slide better. When Mom broke her hip years ago she had a walker that was fixed up just the same. At the time, we had a black lab named Demo whose most favorite toy in the whole wide world was yellow tennis balls. He had little interest in any other kind of ball, but if it was bright yellow and fuzzy, he was all over it. He even knew the sound a tube of tennis balls made when it was popped open and he would come running. When Mom had that walker, he was so confused. He would stare and stare and stare at the balls. He never tried to play with them, he just stared intently for long periods of time. I reminded Mom of this and she let out a great laugh. I love making her laugh.

We exchanged hugs and kisses and she went into the PT room. She's going to be strong in no time!

Mom Updates

2009-09-21T13:48:00.000-07:00

I'm overwhelmed with how many people have asked about my mom. I decided maybe I should create a blog where I can update everyone on how she's doing. I'll also use this place for race reports, maybe some book reviews and some general ramblings. But this first entry is all Mom. Subsequent updates should be shorter.

My Mom, Peggy Barton, had knee replacement surgery on Tuesday, September 15th. 12 years ago, Mom slipped and fell on a city street and broke her left hip and wrist at the same time. It was very traumatic. She hurt so much and the recovery and rehabilitation took what seemed like forever. I was even more of a kid than I am now at the time and had no clue how to properly handle the situation. It was difficult to see my vibrant, active mother in so much pain and bedridden. She needed help doing the simplest tasks and was confined to a hospital bed in set up in our living room. Eventually, after weeks of occupational and physical therapy, she was able to move around. She never lost her limp completely though. I believe the years of being as active as she is with her right knee compensating for her left side finally culminated in the need to get the knee replaced.

I took Mom to Everett Providence at 5:30 in the morning. She was understandably stressed and worried about things. I did my best to stay calm around her, although I was feeling the same way inside. We got there and they whisked her away, leaving me to check her in. I was actually doing okay until they started asking me about her living will and the fact I'm the executor of her estate. At that point, I had to take a few extra deep breathes. Once I was done I went back to check on her. She informed me I needed to rush home and grab some paperwork that had her most recent blood work numbers on it. I had to run out of there and try to get back in less than 30 minutes.

30 minutes later, I ran back to her bedside with paperwork in hand. I sat with her and we chatted with her nurse, Laura who took one look at my attire and asked if I was a runner, if I did marathons or ultras. Surprised she even knew what an ultra was, she explained her two boys ran cross country so we happily discussed running and kept Mom distracted a little from what lay ahead. Very soon at about 7:00 it was time to wheel her away. I gave her a hug and kiss and said I'd be waiting by the phone.

Needing to let some steam off, I ran through the parking garage and decided to run some stairs for a while. I garnered quite a few funny stares as I raced up and down the flights before returning to my car to head home and get ready for work.

It was hard to get myself to work, but Mom had insisted. She didn't want me just sitting in the waiting room doing nothing. At least at work, I'd get some stuff done and maybe not obsess. Right. At work, I kept staring at my cell phone, waiting for the call that she was okay. Just after 10:00 the doctor called to let me know things had gone smoothly. Yay! He informed me her knee had been very bad and had more arthritis in it than he'd expected, but he'd been able to do all he needed to do. He expected a long recovery and warned me she'd be in pain for probably a few months. Grateful she was okay, I thanked him and then waited for my day to end so I could go see her. By 1:00 that afternoon, Mom was calling me asking me to bring her certain things and sounded optimistic and thus far pleased with the results. When brother Brad and I saw her that day, she was certainly groggy, yet happy to have the surgery over and seemed eager to start the recovery process. When her head started to tilt back and her eyes closed, Brad and I gave her kisses and left her to rest.

She stayed in the hospital through the week. She received lots of phone calls and a couple of visitors and whenever we spoke, she was in such good spirits. I think we'd expected this surgery would be just like when she broke her hip--painful, incapacitating and difficult. Although this time it still was not fun and still definitely painful, it really wasn't nearly as bad. She was sitting up and moving around within the first day. By Friday, she was ready to get to the rehab facility so she could start the actual work. I was very encouraged by her demeanor that maybe this go around it'd be easier for her.

She's been at the Everett Care and Rehab since Friday. She's already convinced them to let her make it to her bathroom on her own so she doesn't have to sit around and wait for an available attendant. Although she's rolling her eyes about it, she's doing her exercises and her knee is bending at a nice angle. The goal is to get full range of motion, but anything at this point is an improvement. She'll be at this facility for at least the week before she comes home. At home she'll have therapists and a home nurse come check on her as well as me during the week and my brother Brad on the weekends if I'm not around.

I'm excited to see such quick progress and I hope it continues this way. My Mom has such a full calendar of church, Bible study, volunteering, lunches with friends, running around with her grandkids and hitting the slots at the casino. It's been tough for her as her knee got worse and worse. She started using a cane and had to slow way down and was always hurting. Now she's making her way back and I bet I won't be able to keep up with her!