Running is my drug

I went there

2012-02-15T06:22:00.004-07:00

I went there. I went to that place where you last stood. I walked down to the water and I talked to you. Could you hear me? Did you want to respond? What did you think? Has anyone else come there and seen you? I stood where you stood and I looked up. I looked up in every direction. Joey told me to always look up when looking for you and that is where I would find you. I know you took in every detail as you stood there. You loved this place. You loved this town, the trees, the water, and the mountains.

I looked up and I turned in every direction wondering what you thought, wondering what you were thinking. I think you thought of your parents. I think you thought of your brother. I think you thought of Joey. I think you thought of Bohdi, of Viki, and of Sydney. I think you thought of your brother’s beautiful boys, each unique in their own way. I think you thought of Amy. I hope you remembered me. I hope you remembered Dawson.

I think you knew who would be okay. I think you knew who would not. I think you probably beat yourself up. I think you probably cried. I had only seen you cry one other time, and it was over a photograph of your parents. I cried too. I had never seen you cry before. It was the summer of 2010 in the stone house. It was the last reunion that we would ever have and may always remain the best summer of my life. Everything about it was meant. Do you believe that? Someone had a hand in that reunion, that summer, that house, and us. I now marvel at how events unfolded between us. I know there is more I’m supposed to learn and remember from you.

So as I stood in that place in the snow in the dark and I talked, I cried. And I told you that you made a mistake. I told you other things I would only share with you, things only you know, things only you got. It was dark and there was no one around. My boots were wet down by the water. The wind wasn’t blowing. The trees were bare. The only sound was the water. I am surprised that I went there. I went there and I stood there looking for you.

I write now almost always to you. I hope you can read this. What would I say to you now? What do you want me to say? I always wrote better than I spoke to you. I guess I am supposed to get mad soon. Anger has not yet arrived. I haven’t gotten mad yet. I can’t seem to get past the sadness. I feel very hallow still. When I laugh it feels like a fake laugh for there is still guilt in joy. There is guilt in trying to be joyful without you. You deserved joy. I wish I could have shown you joy and filled your life with laughter, light, and love. I wish I had known all the angles of your pain. I wish I could have erased that pain from your world. I wish I could have saved you; saved you for you, for me, for Joey, for your brother, for the world. I wish I had known how. I was helpless. I still feel helpless, even more so since now I am here without you.

Losing you has been the greatest mistake of my life. I can't forgive myself yet. I can’t forgive you. Yet somehow I am not mad at you yet either. I cry. I cry and I call Vik. And I tell her what you meant to me. She gets it. She understands. I understand why you never introduced us. For that I am sorry. Syd needs you. So does your brother. So do I. Joey needs you too except he seems to be the strongest one I’ve met. You were right about him. He is something else. You always smiled so big when you said his name. Some days I think you thought of him as the best part of your whole existence. What a friendship that was, what a friendship that is. You had two brothers.

I went there Sunday. I talked to you. I got lost in the words that I spoke which doesn’t matter. It was the words in my heart I hope you heard more. I miss you. I miss you beyond any words my mind can begin to think to say and that my lips can even begin to speak. I miss every part of your being, none more than another. I miss your spoken word, your listening ear, your smile, your hands, your kindness. I miss your loyalty. I thought time would make this easier. I went there. I went there to find you. Did you hear me? Did you see me there?

I went there.

Thank you. Thank you for wearing that dress...

2012-02-12T19:46:00.008-07:00

It wasn’t ‘what’ you said, it was ‘how’ you said it.

It was sincere. It was believable. It was romantic. I will never forget it for as long as I live. It was the greatest, most genuine compliment I have ever received; maybe that I will ever receive.

You said these words to me on my 28th birthday. You simply thanked me. You thanked me for wearing that dress. That’s all you said. It was plain and simple yet it was anything but. The first person I ever told that story to, that compliment to, was my mother. I told her over lunch in Traverse City. And she cried. And I cried. And then we both cried.

You had a way. It’s the easiest way to put it. You had a way of making one feel exceptional. You told me I was the only woman you ever had bought a piece of jewelry for. You surprised me with a Tahitian pearl necklace that evening... but I treasure that compliment, those words, your words about the dress at my birthday dinner more. I remember the restaurant. It was Elizabeth’s on St. Croix on the Virgin Islands. We were on the beach. The details are so clear. I was blessed and cursed with a mind to remember such details; such minuscule pieces about everything and anything. I remember that compliment more than anything. I can still hear your voice. Again it wasn’t ‘what’ you said, it was ‘how’ you said it. I wish I could describe you to someone who didn’t know you. It’s impossible. I wish I could find words that could express the you of you. You were believable. You were genuine. You were special. You were you.

A compliment from you was precious. I marveled and adored your words and your voice. You were gifted. A compliment from you was something never forgetten; its beauty, its feeling, its sound, how the words rolled off your tongue; it was although it had taken you years to take that something in, that something you loved, that something you were admiring, that something that you were complimenting before even finding the words to capture it.

You made me feel like I was the single most beautiful and spectacular woman on the planet, the only thing that mattered, the center of the universe, your world…and all you did was tell me ‘thank you’ for wearing a dress. It had nothing to do with a dress or how I looked or my birthday or the Virgin Islands or the setting on the ocean where the waves were crashing into the shore. It had everything to do with you. It had everything to do with me. It had everything to do with us. You made me feel more special than I had ever felt in my life, and perhaps more special than I will ever feel.

My mother got it just from hearing the story. She knew you. She knew your voice. She knew your way. She knew your words and your gentle nature, your deep heart, your true sincerity. And when I told her your words, she felt those words. She felt the words behind the words. She knew you loved me. I knew you loved me. And it was so soon. You told me this so soon. I loved you. We loved you. It wasn’t ‘what’ you said; it was ‘how’ you said it. And coming from you, it meant everything. Six years later and not only will I never forget them, I won’t forget how, where, and why you said them. You felt them. You felt me. We felt each other.

I won’t let anyone or anything take these things away from me; because they are sacred. And although I’ve shared your words with the world, it’s the stuff I’ll never be able to put into words that means more than the words that I will never share with anyone. These things are more than you and more than I will and could ever be. It was the unspoken times, the moments, the real between us that will forever remain eternal and sacred that only you, I, and god were there to witness. It's these moments that I hold near and dear to my heart, that I wake every morning to and I go to bed to every night and I thank god every day for. And I thank you too.

Had I never met you, I would’ve never felt it. I would’ve never had it. I would’ve never known the depths of love, the feeling of appreciation, the sound of your soul speaking to mine. You were a romantic, an old soul full of passion, surrounded with fire, filled with romance and I’ll forever thank god for allowing me to meet you, to love you, to know you. You showed me a new dimension of myself that I never knew existed. You opened my eyes to a level of awareness I would have never found on my own. I’ll forever be thankful that I was taken there, I was shown that place, that place within myself. I had the best alongside of me during that ride; I had you. I will never be the same.

Thank you. Now I can only Thank you.

Thank you for thanking me. Thanking me for “wearing that dress”.

Addict

2012-02-10T07:30:00.003-07:00

I don’t think it is just something that happens in my mind. Simply put addictive and obsessive minds are a challenge to manage. Everything one looks at or focuses on in a single moment becomes a fixation. My problem seems to be from moving on from one fixation to another. Instead of moving from one to another, I focus on one thing and I obsess about it for days, for weeks, for years even. I’m either all in or I’m all out. I haven’t yet figured out how to exist in a middle place, a place of neither extreme highs nor extreme lows, a place of balance, peace, and sanity.

I’m not bi-polar but my OCD is obvious. When I love someone, I love to the greatest depth that I can seem to master at the time. When I like you, you know it. When I don’t like you, you know that too. Comfort exists for me in the extreme highs and the extreme lows. I’m trying to figure out how to master a middle ground without it feeling boring or gray.

Does anyone exist in the middle ground? My friends (who may surely be my lost sisters in another life) are so much like me it is scary. I’ve got a small circle of characters for friends who may be just as crazy as I am. Am I attracted to the crazy in others because it is the crazy I am comfortable with, in myself? They are high and low just as I am but their highs are so high that they become the brightest lights I know. The lows are tolerable because the high was so high. And if we exist somewhere in the middle, the gray area, an area of simplicity, peace, steady movement, will we miss out on those highs that our obsessive addictive personality types live for?

I’m not sure I’m willing to give up those highs. For the highs in love, the highs in life, physically, emotionally, and spiritually seem to get me through each day. When I laugh, I laugh hard….and loud. I’m most definitely loud. I’ve been told my voice and my laugh carries. Well carry it shall because holding back anything isn’t any way to go. Cautious? Sounds like someone who is afraid to live.

I got pushed. In the last 3 ½ months, I’ve been pushed right out the door. From a world of highs and lows to an even more insane version of my previous self. There is still fear that I’m going to miss something. I’ve re-read the Tao of Pooh twice in the last 2 months, trying to find a way to be without forcing life. But I constantly fail. I want to kick fate in the ass, make something new happen for myself, and constantly challenge everything. I’ve been handed a clock that is ticking away on the days of my life and my addictive personality feels rushed with fear to get it all done.

Rest. Something I was a master at. Sleeping 12 hours a night, eating good food, and being lazy…our lives revolved around cooking dinner, watching movies, and being with our dogs. It seems like it was all a dream, that life before, those 5 years. I’m trying hard to remember what it was even like. It was comfortable is what it was. And although there were still highs and still lows, it became very comfortable. There is something to be said for reaching a point of ‘normalcy’, ‘comfort’, ‘ease’ in your life. And then there is risk of getting too comfortable to the point where you feel you are no longer growing, changing, evolving.

I have reached a place of uncomfortable comfortableness. Have lived in the same house for 5 years, have been at the same job for 4, and have been in the same town for 9. Hard to believe I moved here after just turning 25. Here I considered myself one of those people who had lived a lot of places, moved around, saw the country. But really I’ve gotten extremely comfortable with the town that I know and love; to the point of actually developing a bit of fear about leaving it. I am scared to change many aspects of my life that have become comfortable. Maybe I am even addicted to the town that I live in.

I want what everyone wants. To be loved. To share a life with someone. To find the person that I am meant to be with. And to think you found that and then be pushed out the door by circumstances out of your control…well that puts you in a state of fear and panic. Questions start circling your mind about everything: life, work, love, the roof over your head. What am I doing? Where am I going? Why? What does this all mean? He pushed me right out the door and now he is no longer there to catch me when I fall. I became so accustomed to him being there. He was a rock for me, a listening ear, and often a voice of reason at my addictive mind. He often brought me back to reality and offered suggestions and solutions that I could not come up with on my own. I definitely put all of my eggs in one basket with him. I held his opinion to the highest standard. I trusted him more than I have ever trusted anyone. I had no fear in knowing if he would be there for me. He just always was.

And so now things have changed. My reality is different. My mind is a place of confusion, overthinking, constant circling. Questions.

Breathe.

And today is a new day. To try and not obsess and try to just be, to live, to breathe.

As much as I want to kick fate in the ass and push my life in a certain direction, I can do no such thing. Is there truly a fine line between putting effort into something and letting things just happen as they should? The Tao of Pooh suggests that I can just sit on my ass and let life live me. But I’m starting to wonder if that’s necessarily true. I look back on some recent events and wonder, “What if I hadn’t gone there?” “What if I would have done that?” then this and that and this and that would be…instead of what is. I’ve been constantly questioning the ifs instead of living the Ares.

Obsessive, addictive, chronic thinking personality. It may be the death of me. Death of the mind. His mind was too great to contain, too brilliant, too genius. My mind is just too fast. I can’t let my mind win. I’ve got to figure out how to control it. Slow it down. Remove some of the fixation and roll with things.

Breathe. They are only thoughts. They are not who you are.

I am an addict. A thought addict.

Perfect Flaws

2012-01-29T13:29:00.002-07:00

There is no such thing as perfect.

A perfect house

A perfect marriage

A perfect partner

A perfect life

A perfect moment

There is only one thing in this world, in this life, that is perfect. That perfect thing is a flaw. Flaws make us, us. We go through our lives putting restrictions on things, on life, on others. We have rules, constraints. The job has to be located here or they have to be this tall or they have to make this much money. They must have blue eyes, the house must be in this neighborhood, I will only eat this or that. So many rules, rule our life. Yet acceptance of a flaw, of all of life’s flaws, may be the true key to happiness.

Self-judgment is self-destruction. Who these days doesn’t self-judge? We are so hard on ourselves because of our pasts, our failures, our lack of perfection in life, in love, with work. We are always striving, working, reaching for something different. Everyone seems to be looking for something new and different than what is. And those not looking seem to have reached a state of acceptance of their unhappiness. Are these our two choices: always something different or acceptance of unhappiness? What happened to accepting to what is? Accepting ourselves as we are today. Accepting our age, our job, our life, right now.

You are not your age

You are not your job

You are not your body

You aren’t even your accomplishments or your failures

You certainly aren’t YOU based on your partner or your parents or your siblings.

The real you, the essence of you is something pure. It is something beyond words, something untouched, unexplained, something greater than what you and what everyone else can see.

Judging others is just a way in which we judge ourselves. Writing someone off because they don’t fit our rules, our requirements, our pre-conceived notions about what we want or what we deserve seems very shallow, very sad. But then again we live in this world, this society that has made us believe, has twisted our minds into believing we should want something different, something more, something better, something that fits a list of requirements and a set of rules that was pretty much likely thought up by someone other than ourselves. What you believe to be true, what you believe you may want or need was probably not even a thought or desire developed by you. How messed up is that?

So where does that leave you? Where does that leave me? Well…that puts us all back right where we started. The starting point is a point of acceptance. Acceptance of what is and truly consciously accepting that which we cannot change. Striving to grow is one thing, constantly striving to change is another. Growth within as a human being is a beautiful thing; learning, acceptance, depth, balance. Change, constant change, constant striving against what is, against the now, surely cannot be the way of the world, the goal of us. Can it?

Have you ever had a moment, a moment in time that when you think about it, still makes you smile? It still lights you up from the inside out. You cherish that thought, that memory, that moment so much that you think about reliving it? The problem I see with constant reliving of the past is the risk of losing out on the present moment. You could very well miss the now if you constantly try to remember the past. Remind yourself this: the past was not perfect, the now never will be perfect, and the future isn’t perfect either. What is perfect is the flaw. The flaws of our past, present, and future are what make living, make life, what it is. Acceptance of life’s flaws, our flaws, the flaws of others may be the key to true eternal happiness.

Accept yourself.

No more self-judgment, only love.

Love all of the perfect flaws. Love your imperfect but unique life.

Let the guilt go

2012-01-26T20:31:00.007-07:00

It was quite a weekend. Nothing in it felt real. The company, the views, the scenery, the dancing, the laughing, the mountainside, and the fresh feet of snow beneath my board made me feel more alive than I have in months. And when a feeling of guilt would creep up, I kept telling myself that he wouldn’t want me to be any other way than how I was this weekend. He would want me happy. I have to believe he wants me happy.

Moving forward is hard. Piece by piece I let a little more go but it is far from easy. I want to hold on but I know that I can’t. How do you let go without forgetting, without feeling guilt in letting go? I know I will never forget. I need to take all that I know, all that I learned, and all of those lessons and be better than I once was. I refuse to allow him to just become a memory. He is more than that. He’ll always be a part of me.

The snow came down like a blizzard Saturday night in the high country. The flakes were so big and so fluffy, visibility was low after midnight and it was so incredibly quiet. It was quiet and it was beautiful. The storm left Beaver Creek & Vail covered in ~15 inches of fresh powdery fluffy snow. As a new friend of mine said, "snowboarding through this is like crack!”. I actually lost my voice from the screaming. Up and over the mounds of snow, it was hard not to scream and laugh like a little girl. Falling down was like taking a body dive into a cloud of cotton. Beaver Creek was like being a kid in a world class playground. It is a gorgeous place. I looked up many times, thought about life, love, happiness…what do those really mean; then I remembered not to think so much. To let life be. To live free. Live in the moment. Let go of the guilt.

Beaver Creek was a gem of place. Many good long blue runs and enough snow to go until our legs couldn’t go any longer. If it was up to my heart, I would’ve gone until the lifts stopped. There were no lift lines, new friends, great company, and a lot of laughs. It was an unexpected and amazing weekend. Sunday was a perfect day followed by a great night.

Funny thing is I almost didn’t go on this trip. I almost bailed. I wasn’t sure I was ready to try and have fun. I had these feelings of guilt, these feelings of sadness before going. Is it even fair to live this way? A life of pleasure, fun, luxury? The outdoors, nature, making friends, making memories?

I am thankful I went and thankful I went up alone. It was hard to go up with an open mind and an open heart. The courage to do so was worth it. The mountains made me remember what this place is all about, what life should be, how we all should embrace the moment in this one single and precious life that we have been given. One of the last things he wrote to me was that I was capable of all of my dreams. Capable. I hope so. I really do. If this weekend was any indication of what I am capable of: letting go, laughing until it hurts, yelling happily into the cold winter wind until my voice went; then yes I am capable. I have to be.

I have to let the guilt go. It was not my fault. It was nobody’s fault. I could not have changed a thing. We could not have changed a thing.

Thanks to my new friends…for reminding me how to live, for making me laugh, and for allowing me to let the guilt go; even if only for a weekend for now. Hopefully soon I can find a way to let the guilt go for the rest of my days. It’s time.

Let the guilt go.

Passion

2012-01-20T20:28:00.008-07:00

Ah…to live a life full of passion. Is this what we are dared to dream? Passion for taste, for touch, for the rush. Life is a gift eh? I read today this: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, and today is a gift”. Do you rush through your day doing things that you think matter but really don’t? Or do you long to feel everything, see everything, do everything with gut wrenching, got to have it, experience it, want it, love it, taste it Passion?

Do we see the way we see after our life is behind us? Do we taste? Do we touch? Do we love? Do our souls really exert energy that lingers among the ones we loved? Do our life passions follow us into the next life? Do they go away completely? Do we remember what it felt like to love long after we are gone?

I want to taste everything, see everything, and feel everything now.

I want to Not. Miss. Anything.

I want a life filled with Passion. I don’t do well with neutral, with beige. My life is either on or it’s off. Hot or cold. Lukewarm seems meaningless to me. If I only have these options, I will have to do everything I can to live in a way which I feel as though I am not missing something, I have not forgotten anything. I want to look back and know that I did everything I could do, I gave it all I had, I reached out, I showed, I told, and I loved.

What a tragedy to have loved and lost, truly lost, and never be willing or able to love again. That may be more tragic than loss itself.

I used to have a Passion for food, a zest for life in the mountains, an appreciation for simple things like a fresh pot of coffee, clean cool sheets on my bed, watching the happiness in my dog as she sprints down Mount Sanitas. I felt as though I lost all of this in One. Single. Instant. Wiped clean, the world became a dull and dark place; which is an almost impossible way to describe it here. But even Boulder seemed covered with a cloud so thick that I could no longer see the outline of the foothills, the snowcaps, and the colors here.

As I watched the sunset behind the foothills tonight with Dawson I sat by the South Boulder Creek. I watched and I waited. It was cool out. There was a slight breeze. I thought a lot then I tried to not think so much. I laughed a few times just to myself. Then I even laughed a few times out loud. I thought of stories that make me laugh. Memories that I have. Sometimes we rush through life so fast we stop to forget where we came from. I’m not talking about dwelling on the past, but simply reflecting on where we have been. Then I remembered where I am now. Today. Reality.

Reality. Another great word but perhaps one that is hard to explain. Everyone has a different idea of reality and what reality means to them. Truth is, reality, our own realities exist mostly in our minds. Often times we create a reality in our mind that may not match the true of the reality around us, the one that exists in the everyday natural world. Some of us separate our work from our personal life and consider only one or the other ‘reality’. Some of us consider life at home with family ‘reality’ and others consider their careers ‘reality’. Then there are those who don’t necessarily work for a living but live by feeding a passion. Letting a passion be their life and their work, these people live the truth of who they are each and every day. To me, unless you are living your truth, you aren’t living in any sort of reality at all. Reality…what a crazy term…for who really knows what is ‘real’ and what is ‘not real’ in their lives?

Tomorrow my physical reality will be Vail. Vail has healed me before. There is something about movement, about snow, about air at high altitudes that often times tastes sweeter than air at lower elevations. Passion for pure thrill. Passion for natural beauty, where the mountains and the sky meet and the views are far and wide. To feel so small in such a great and spectacular open space renews my passion for nature. Vail reminds me that nature really is the art of god.

Henry David Thoreau once said: "Nature is full of genius, full of the divinity; so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand."

‘Nature is full of genius.’ Genius. Brilliance. Light. Maybe nature is the only thing we all need. Nature very well may have the power and divinity to heal, the genius and brilliance to clear minds, and the light to remind us of our passions in this one life that we have to live.

Live this one life with Pure Passion. With Fire. With Light. If it’s the last thing you do, love passionately. Give it all you’ve got. For god’s sake, dive in head first. I haven’t been given another choice, another option. This is my only option. To live this one life filled with Passion.

SHUT THE HELL UP

2012-01-18T07:02:00.004-07:00

How much value do we place on our own lives? How about the lives of others? I don’t think we place very much value on the life of another until another is gone. Are we taught how to value something by imitating how someone else values something? Are our feelings and thoughts authentic to us, our own mind? Or are our values just something society has sneakily pushed into our psyches?

We value others in our life, but do we really? Do we just think that they add value or do we tell and show them that they do?

I believe we spend a lot of time and effort and energy figuring out how to change others. Not accepting their everything, hoping changes would somehow suit our needs better, make us better, make us happier. I’m guilty of hoping someone would change; thinking this change would not only better me, better them, but it would better us. Acceptance of a whole other is difficult and I think it is so because there is so much toxic stuff floating around in all of our minds. This toxicity has come from this society we live in: there are so many false beliefs and trying to separate those from our lives, from the life of another is a challenge.

I once read a book that I am soon going to read again called the “Meme Machine”. Meme’s are “Mind Viruses”. Memes are beliefs, ideals, thoughts, skills, even behaviors that have spread like wildfire throughout our culture by way of imitation. Not all memes are bad. If you were taught something from your parents for instance, and you learned it by watching them, this is an example of a meme.

This book helps to explain the whys of the world (culture and society) and the whys of ourselves, how we got to where we are today. I was mostly interested in the way the book tries to explain ‘free will’. What is free will? Does free will really exist if most of our action is a result of imitating another? Do you think we make choices based on a choice we saw someone else make? Most of you would say NO! I am my own person! I am unique just like everybody else! But truth is, maybe your authenticity isn’t what you believe it to be.

Trying to separate ourselves from the influences of others and influences of the outside world feels damn near impossible. I think being aware that we are heavily influenced by others however is the first step. Why do what everyone else does? Will that really make you happy? Why are you always trying to please everyone else? You may think that you aren’t, but you very well probably are. On the opposite end of that, trying to push may not be the alternative I am talking about either. We all know that person in our life, the resistor, the person who fights anything and everything that happens to them. They constantly try to rebel against everyone and everybody, if even just in their own minds. Sometimes I think I am the queen resistor.

Here’s where I am going. Do we believe what we believe and are who we are because of the world around us? We seem to believe what others believe, dress how others dress, think as others think…all because society is a powerful and frightening source of mind altering energy. (And you all say Bo didn’t influence my thoughts! Ba! He recommended this book!)

So…how do we change this pattern? How do we show and teach our kids that they don’t need to get sucked into this world of robotic thinking, believing, behaving? Well Jesus, if I knew I would certainly be writing more about that, than just the concept/idea of the Meme. (Pronounced MEEM by the way)

I was told to look into Meditation. (As an alternative right now to the local Psychiatric Ward…laugh that was supposed to be funny) Not only does my mind spin and my thoughts race, but I think about my thoughts more than anything else and I analyze their existence, their creation, and sometimes their destructiveness. I’ve realized that most of my thoughts perhaps even many of my beliefs have really come from others, from our society. I need to learn to quiet my mind. I need to learn to be still. I need to listen to me more and worry less about what I am thinking, believing, doing. Less movement. Reflection. Is that possible for me?

Maybe just maybe, I am a crazed woman. I feel as though I am a crazed wild woman roaming this planet thinking too much. (No wonder he liked me) And others wonder why I am an adrenaline junkie. Only when your body is launched through the air, or you are screaming down the side of a mountain strapped to something, or you are pushing your body to say, run insane distances, does ALL. THOUGHT. STOP. I guess that’s what I am getting to here. STOP THINKING SO MUCH. Start listening more. Shut up. Stop talking. Who knew how hard these things would be for me. I’m certain it is hard for most of us.

So here we are. I got a goal today. Just gonna try to SHUT UP. Shut up my mind from thinking too much, definitely shutting my mouth, and start listening. (Writing doesn’t count by the way, ha!) The change will come. It just might take baby steps to get there. Awareness is the first step! And if I have to pack up a burro and run up the side of the mountain to clear my head for now, or throw myself off a steep mountainside on my snowboard, so be it. Fear is a good method for clearing the mind for now. Speed helps too. If I have to scare the thought from my mind, I guess that’s what I’ll do. Funny how little you are thinking when your survival is at stake. It’s a start.

I challenge you. Try it today.

SHUT THE HELL UP.

Life goes on

2012-01-16T05:42:00.005-07:00

It has been quite some time since I had to travel for work. When I started the job with my current company I was on the road probably 75-80% of the time. I was never in the office. It was a challenge to say the least. I quickly despised business travel and travel for that matter. Not sleeping in your own bed, not being in your routine wears on you after a while. That said, I have some funny stories of my travels and have had the opportunity to see some amazing places. “Bravo Mademoiselle” still rings in my ears when I think of my French Marathon nearly 2 years ago. I’ve run nearly all over the country, some places better than others.

Today I head to Boston. I’m looking more forward to running along the Charles tomorrow morning than any other part of the trip. Well that and the sushi. Boston is a great city; it’s just a bear to get there. 4 ½ hour flight there in a middle seat isn’t ideal. It is however hard to complain when you are being paid half of your work day to sit and read. I saw on the news last night about a girl assaulted at an airport for coughing on a plane. I would feel very sorry for anybody trying to assault me right now. I have a few words for this person: Bring It On.

Some day here my blog will turn back to normal, whatever normal means. Back to the everyday experiences, the running (which made me create it in the first place), life, the joys of living and breathing Colorado air, burros, snowboarding powder, Boulder sunrises, good food, great coffee, and the like. I admit though that all things look very different to me now. I haven’t laughed like I used to. Most nights are spent reading. The joy of this gorgeous place I am blessed to live in, isn’t as bright as is used to be. I wonder if that will ever change.

Everyone tells me that things take time. Time. What a funny word. I used to believe I had all the time in the world. Time to sit back and let life live me. Time to allow things to happen on their own. For some reason now this anxiousness has now entered my conscious. Hurry up. Get it all done. Find your happiness now. Then I try to slow down and remember that happiness cannot be searched out. It has been here all along. I just need to allow it to show its face again. That will be a challenge.

Our minds are miraculous things. Controlling our thoughts…well I could spend a lifetime trying to master that. I admit that my mind goes a million miles a minute. I’m sure most people would agree. I don’t regret things as much as I used to. I don’t care what others think. I rarely get feelings of shame or embarrassment. Why should we? This is where things are today.

Truth is what happened in the past has shaped us today but they don’t define us today. Today is all I have. And today I head to Boston. I’ll cozy up in my middle seat, pretend there aren’t two complete strangers on either side of me, and I will read. And I’ll be back in beautiful Boulder before I know it where life…well life goes on.

Scared

2012-01-13T20:01:00.007-07:00

Someone told me that there is no such thing as irony. This I am starting to believe. The unexpected seems to be around every corner. Things don’t surprise me like they used to. Shock isn’t possible at this point. Fear is starting to lose its meaning. Hurt is just another word. Pain is real and life goes on.

How do you believe what is meant to be? How do you show how you feel without chasing? How can you prove yourself to someone who doesn’t want you to prove anything? We go through life making assumptions. Assumptions on how others feel, how they will react, how they live, what they do. Only when we stop assuming, stop worry about others, can we really be free to live the life we always dreamed.

Anything anyone assumes about you has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.

Going through life and not assuming is a challenge but a skill worth mastering. Think about how free you can be, free from worry and unnecessary pain; when you don’t assume anything?

What is being free? I suppose it is living your truth, being honest with your word, taking chances (risking things like your ego and your pride), and not worrying about the past or the future, only the now. I wonder how people master the now. Writing is hopefully helping me to let go of the past so I can start to focus more on today. I’m trying to worry less about the future and embrace the now. Tomorrow is never guaranteed. We only have today. Why not show your cards? Why live in fear? What do you have to lose?

I’m wary and I’m still sometimes scared. My last love wasn’t perfect love. I’m not sure there is such a thing as perfect love. It’s easy to idolize someone once they are gone and easy to hang on to the good that you remember. We naturally want to remember the good things, forget the bad, and honor a memory, honor a man, honor a love. Remembering his good, our good, is allowing me to let him go, let this be. It’s not going to happen overnight, it will only happen over time. Piece by piece I will let him rest and start focusing on me. I hope others will have patience and understanding with me through this process. I loved him, there is no doubt about that; and I will never say I did not.

I have a desire to love again. But it will have to be right. I can’t plan this love, it will either happen or it won’t. It is not up to me. I don’t believe in coincidence; meeting someone in what feels like a hopeless place and time does not happen on accident. Perhaps relationships like these can be worth more than could have ever been imagined. The easy choice is not always the best choice, the right choice. Who said everything was supposed to be easy? Why have we forgotten to expect the unexpected?

I’m not willing to not take chances. I will throw caution to the wind, and allow myself to be free, to be open, to be whatever and wherever I am meant to be. What is pride anyway? It was something I used to hold onto tight. Now I know more than ever it is just something that used to hold me back. I’m no longer holding back. It’s not worth it. Pride is an illusion. I will take that chance.

From the words of a song I once heard: “I'm too scared to know how I feel about you now”.

Scared?…maybe…
Willing?…always…

Take that chance. Listen to your heart. What do you have to lose?

From the words of Eckhart Tolle: “Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge.”

The Crow

2012-01-12T07:37:00.005-07:00

There is a crow or perhaps several crows following me around this town. I’m not sure what this means but it has only happened since his departure. I have never noticed crows in Boulder before. Sure enough I’ll be sitting at a stoplight and down a crow (not every time but enough to take notice) will swoop in front of my jeep. I've left the gym and the grocery store and encountered them as well. Walking to my jeep from the office at work, and sure enough a crow watching me from a nearby tree.

Crows are beautiful mystic creatures. They are also dark. I’ve been reading about crows and have found that are known as birds that reside somewhere between this world and the next. They are messengers and are extremely intelligent with the ability to outwit most other birds and even humans.

When I walked down to the Boulder Creek two weeks after his passing to find his final resting place I was welcomed by a crow. High in the treetop with branches hanging over the creek was a crow squawking, cawing at me over and over again. I heard many birds while standing down on the rocks by the creek, on the small island where he left us. But this bird most certainly made me stop and take notice. It did not scare me, but I definitely felt as though it was trying to tell me something.

Bo always told us to pay attention. Listen to the signs. Read them. Nature is always speaking to us, always trying to teach us something we cannot learn from books.

Others have come across other animals since Bo’s passing. A great buck in Chagrin Falls walking through a small back yard seems very fitting for him. I can’t help but think this buck was trying to teach this individual something as well. Animal Speak says this about deer:

“When a deer shows up in your life, it is time to be gentle with yourself and others…when deer show up there is an opportunity to express gentle love that will open new doors to adventure for you”.

There is a crow however watching over me here in Boulder. It is quite strange but somehow comforting. I absolutely love the thought of him flying free both in the literal and figurative sense. But I believe it goes beyond all that, maybe even beyond him. I think this bird is trying to teach me something; something I cannot learn on my own. I watch it and I’m studying its moves. Animal Speak says this about the crow:

“Wherever crows are, there is magic. They are symbols of creation and spiritual strength. They remind us to look for opportunities to create and manifest the magic of life. They are messengers calling to us about the creation and magic that is alive within our world every day and available to us”.

I don’t know what this all means exactly but it’s something of significance to me. The message is not yet clear but hopefully over time I will understand. I hope many things become clear over time. And until then all I can do is pray. Pray and watch this beautiful crow that seems to be watching me.

The Summer of Cheesecake

2012-01-10T10:24:00.004-07:00

If I had it my way I would open a bakery in his honor. Call it ‘Bo’s Pastry Perfection’. Rows and rows of fresh baked breads and pastries. I’ll never forget when I would come home from the pastry program that summer. I would arrive at his house with boxes full of pastries from the day: cookies, cakes, scones, muffins, breads. He would open the box and stare at the vast array of pastries and smile. He would go to reach for one, then smile and pull his hand back with a “Hmmm” as if he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to taste first. He would then take the box and sit down with it, still having not tasted a thing and he would stare at the contents. I think he savored just the look of the pastries as much as he savored each bite, each taste, each flavor. He would then chose one and slowly take a bite. Mmmm….he would grunt and grumble but not speak. His enjoyment showed all over his face. He would then sit the box down and pick something different. Take a bite and think about the flavor, the consistency, the way in which it melted into his mouth.

Bo loved pastries. Bo loved quick breads: pumpkin bread, banana bread, and zucchini bread. Bo loved coconut cream pie. Bo loved peanut butter. He loved cookies, muffins and apple crisp. He especially loved my blueberry crisp with coconut crumble topping. He loved apple pie and New York style cheesecake with sour cream topping. He loved graham cracker crust. He loved pumpkin cheesecake. He loved cake more than frosting and fruit desserts more than chocolate. He would always pass on chocolate. He was not a fan of chocolate but he would always talk about how his best friend in the world, Joe, loved chocolate. Then he would go off on a story about Joe and Joe’s dad getting into a fist fight over chocolate (over fudge) one holiday. Bo would laugh so hard telling that story, I heard it many times. I loved the stories. Joe was one of Bo’s great loves.

Bo loved pot pie, especially the home made crust. Bo loved my Thanksgiving Day turkey. He loved cornbread with real butter. Bo especially loved pumpkin scones. Bo loved banana coconut bread. Bo loved my chili but he said the beans didn’t do his body justice. He loved my beef pot roast and he adored my buffalo lasagna. Bo loved pancakes with blueberries with real butter and maple syrup. I fed him blueberry pancakes every day for a whole summer. He called that summer, “The Summer of Pancakes”. He always wanted half a dozen eggs to go with his pancakes. Bo loved bacon. He loved burgers with only half of the bun, because Bo was watching his carb intake. Bo loved avocado with garlic salt. He loved asparagus on the grill and grilled zucchini and mushrooms. Bo loved meatballs.

Bo loved apple butter. He loved dried cherries and loved trail mix as long as it didn’t have too much chocolate in it. He loved hot wings and ribeye with his special spicy seasoning on it. He would time how long each side of his steak needed to be grilled and said his ribeye at home on the grill could compete with any fine dining establishment. He said his nephews loved his steaks and called them “Uncle Bo Bo’s spicy steak”. Bo loved carrot cake, even the cream cheese frosting. One time when I was still learning how to bake at high altitudes here in Colorado, I ruined a carrot cake. The cake did not rise and fell after baking. I threw it in the trash but Bo ate it anyway. He said it was “doughy and delicious”. Bo loved my chicken enchiladas. He loved my salmon cakes. Bo loved crab cakes. He always talked about his dad making crab legs on Christmas Eve. He talked about his dad cooking cabbage as well: steamed cabbage with butter.

Bo loved banana cream pie. He loved ginger molasses cookies. He loved white cupcakes with buttercream frosting. He loved pumpkin cupcakes and pumpkin pie. He loved sweet potato fries. Bo loved almond butter. Bo would stare at a cooling rack full of cupcakes then grab one. 5 cupcakes later he would ask me again how many I had originally made. 12 I would say. And he would count the remaining cupcakes on the rack and say, “Damn! 7 left?! I ate 5?! How did that happen?” Then he would ask how many I ate which I always replied, “Zero” and he would say, “Really!?” He would then make a deal with himself that he would only allow himself 1 more. But by morning the rack of cupcakes would be gone. He would say that they were calling his name as he slept and he somehow found his way upstairs to have just one more cupcake in the middle of the night.

He said I was messing up his whole diet with the baking yet he would always ask when I would bake again. Baking smoothed over fights between us. I would hang a bag with banana bread on my front door and text him before leaving for work in the morning and tell him there was banana bread waiting for him. By the time I would get home for lunch it was gone. Later he would text that it was “pastry perfection”, the “best bread he had ever tasted”, & “you should be selling this”. The baking always made things better. We always made up after a loaf of banana bread.

One time we got into a fight and I threw a rotisserie chicken out my sliding glass door at his jeep as he peeled out of my driveway. We laughed so hard about that for years later. He said, “I cannot believe you threw a chicken at me”. We could not stop laughing about it. I reminded him that my great grandmother threw tomatoes at my great grandfather once. This runs in the family I told him. We women throw food. He loved that story. We loved telling family stories.

Baking for Bo was pure joy. Watching him eat pastries was like watching a child with a new gift. He would be so excited, wild eyed, and happy. He wouldn’t say much at first but his appreciation and joy of each bite radiated in his face and through the small noises he would make. Sometimes I think he sent me to pastry school simply for his own personal pleasure. Bo was shooting to have a live in pastry chef at his disposal someday. Bo wasn’t stupid.

Bo called the summer I graduated from Pastry School “The Summer of Cheesecake”. He claims that it was the summer he grew love handles for the first time in his life. I told him that sitting down and consuming an entire cheesecake in one sitting would do that to anyone. Miraculously Bo never got fat. Bo never ate quickly, he slowly marveled, savored, and appreciated every bite of each and every pastry, meal, cake, bread, pie, breakfast, lunch, and dinner that I ever made him. Bo loved my cooking but he loved my baking even more.

Bo was worth baking for. Bo gave meaning to my love of baking. Bo gave meaning to my life. Bo was worth it. Bo still is.

Great Sadness

2012-01-10T06:03:00.008-07:00

Today is a different day. It is a day of great sadness. This grief is like a roller coaster. My world has become small glimpses of hope followed immediately by another great wave of sadness. I’m mostly in the dark. There are moments when I see light but it quickly fades into the distance. These small bursts of light have given some faith but mostly I’m consumed by a large blanket of darkness.

I’m seeing very clearly the holes that he filled. The small things. Always being there. Always having my back. His presence. His loyalty to those he loved. My dog’s ears perked up last night and she ran to the front door. My heart dropped. I told her ‘no, it can’t be’ and her tail wagged uncontrollably. She only did that for him. She cried and whined at the door. I opened the door to show her it couldn’t be and it wasn’t but she just stared out into the driveway. I’m wondering if dogs can sense things that we can’t. I told her no. It’s not possible.

My house is very empty without him but filled with him at the same time. The great sadness of his exit lingers each night when I go to bed and each morning when I wake up. I’ve seen his face in my dreams. He has now consumed my mind in his life and his death. This wave of sadness feels relentless. The world has gone on and I have stayed in the same place. I don’t believe anyone cares the way that I do. He knew this about me. He knew I would hang on. I always did. We always came back to find each other. We couldn’t be without each other. I’m now struggling with the reality of not having the choice to call him, to invite him over.

I thought a month ago that I had run out of tears for him but sure as anything, a new year has brought new tears for him. The pain isn’t less, it’s different. And as I start a new day, a new week, a new year, I wonder what the point is of any of this, without him here. It doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. He most certainly took a large piece of me when he went. Perhaps he took the best of me. I’m not sure how to not be sad. The great sadness covers me and is holding me in.

It’s easy for others to speak words of inspiration during this time. But I don’t want to hear it from anyone. I don’t want to hear that ‘time will make it easier’. I don’t want to hear that ‘god wouldn’t give me anything I can’t handle’. It’s a slap in the face of sadness; it’s a kick while you are down to hear these things. I’m not sure things could get worse. I’m sure that they could but I’m hanging by a string as it is.

More than anything, this all comes down to something very simple. It is very easy to understand. I just miss him. I miss him more each day. I miss him more than I thought I could. The great sadness has become me. Nobody wants to hear it. They can’t handle it. I can’t handle it. I cannot be a good friend this way. I cannot be a good daughter, a good sister, or a good aunt like this. He took all of those things that I used to have and he took them with him. I always knew he had that power. He ran away with my heart and a piece of my soul. And I miss him more than words can explain. I don’t want another. I just want him.

My world has become a place of great sadness.

Find Your Truth

2012-01-08T09:04:00.003-07:00

The day we met in person, he handed me a small pocket sized version of the Tao Te Ching. His bible of sorts, the teaching of the ancient wisdom of the Tao, (not religion) in how to live, how to be, how to navigate through life. Taoism teaches that the less we resist, the less force we place on the events and circumstances surrounding us, the happier we can be, the more acceptance we will find in the world and with the universe. This acceptance, this happiness stems from accepting what is and not challenging what isn’t. The truth behind this acceptance is everything is the way that it is for a reason. And like a stream running around a rock, we should also try to be smooth, flexible, accommodating in our approach to any obstacle, any problem, any change.

Everything is constantly changing. Some changes are bigger, more life changing than others. They say the Boulder Foothills are moving a small amount every day, every month, every year. The earth is constantly changing. The truth is the mountains and the way that they are today, will never be again. Just as we today, will never be again. Today is a unique day, a unique year, a unique age and time and place for all of us. Tomorrow will never match today. This evening will never match this morning.

Navigation through this life, this world can often times feel daunting. It feels like a big test, a test that we often feel like we are failing. We are judgmental toward ourselves in our performance, in our score. We’ve been taught beliefs that we are to live a certain way, be a certain thing, and behave accordingly. Challenging those beliefs, changing that thing which is us, and behaving according to what our inner voice is telling us, rather than what society has defined for us, makes us an outcast. Society is a scary thing. It is cookie cutter people and places, ideas and beliefs make the world a very boring, a very mundane place. At times society reminds me of some of the South Denver neighborhoods: cookie cutter new homes each designed the same way. They are designed with the same colors, the same features, the same interiors and exteriors. The people are all the same as well, all competing with each other. Truth is I see no difference in any of these houses, these homes, these people. They all blend in together alongside one another, like they were cut out with the same cookie cutter from the same tan piece of tasteless dough. They have no character. They did not originate from a soul; they were designed by the thousands from a pocketbook.

Character to me originates from the creativity which is someone’s truth. I am drawn to things which are created from the soul of another whether it is a book, a meal, or a piece of glass. Creativity resides in all of us, even if it is not manifested in the way which we commonly associate with what we call the ‘artist’. Being an artist is simply living ones truth. It is going against the grain. Accepting one self and living according to your soul. Those who define these truth seekers as ‘different’ or ‘unique’ or ‘rebellious’ are simply focused too much on others and less on their own self, their own truth.

A life that is lived without seeking this truth within one self is a life not worth living. We all have gifts. We all have an inner truth that goes beyond what we were taught as children, what beliefs were embedded into our minds from an early age unbeknownst to ourselves. I don’t believe finding your inner truth is like trying to solve a mystery or trying to find a hidden treasure. I believe it is simply a matter of taking the time to open yourself up, to yourself, and having the guts, the gumption to listen to your soul. Your soul is constantly speaking to you; the trick is to really listen. The trick is to remove all of the senseless meaningless clutter surrounding our society and our world, and be quiet with you. Listen and be quiet. Accept the beauty of your inner self and have the courage to live the truth of who you really are. Who you’ve been told you are, maybe even the you that you have believed you are to date, may very well not be the real you, the truth of you.

Today is a day to listen. To be quiet. It’s a day of reflection, remembrance, and listening. I was told the best way to honor him would be to make the best choices for me. Retreating and hiding from the world and from me would not be honoring his memory at all.

This is what he would have wanted. This is what he was trying to teach me all along. I just never imagined that what I had to actually learn from him would come at such a high cost. For if he was still physically here with us, still sitting by my side, I would likely still be living the way that I used to live: not listening to myself, not appreciating the real me, and going through the motions in society, playing the game, acting the part and not being the truth of who I really am.

Those days are over. Today is a day to start living. I will make him more proud of me than he could have imagined. I will live my truth, not only for him, but for me.

Find your truth.

Darkness

2012-01-04T07:14:00.005-07:00

We are brought up fearing darkness. Yet now I am beginning to see that only through darkness may we actually see the real light. As I ran up Flagstaff Mountain this morning, through the dark cool morning, I was surrounded by a great black sky filled with stars. Millions and millions of sparkling lights as far as my eyes could see in every direction. There is something so surreal about running up a mountainside in the dark. You can’t see what is on either side of you. You can feel the ground below you and see the sky overhead. It’s just you, the earth, the wind, and the stars. It’s something that feels impossible to describe but joyous beyond comprehension to experience.

So as we twisted and winded through the switchbacks, I thought of him. And I knew for the first time ever on a mountain run, he was experiencing it with me. The branches on the bare trees looked like fingers reaching for those amazing stars in the sky; they were reaching toward the heavens, toward him. And he helped carry me up the hillside step by step. The pines created shadows all around which formed tunnels around each winding turn up the mountain, guiding me along.

As Henry and I reached the top of Flagtaff, we for a moment, turned off our headlamps, caught our breath, stopped, and we waited. We looked and we listened. And we heard the wind howl through the branches of those pines and whip down through the canyon as if it was singing a song just for us. As as we turned in each direction, trying to see all of those stars, there before us was the largest shooting star that I have ever seen. Its tail almost lingered in the black morning sky, it was a short burst but I gasped at the sight of it.

I held Henry’s hand and reveled in the beauty of this place. How beautiful to share this moment with a dear friend. A moment in the darkness, where only in that darkness on a mountain top could we see the stars, a shooting star, and the real light.

I can’t help but believe he is that light.

This moment made me think of one of my favorite parts from The Prophet, in the Chapter on Death:

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

Let us embrace the darkness, the darkness in each experience, the darkness in ourselves. For only through darkness may we actually see the real light.

The Lion Sleeps

2012-01-02T18:42:00.004-07:00

You weren’t a great sleeper. Not only did you not require the amount of sleep that I do (who does you would say), but you would often toss and turn and be restless. Many times, as though I was a child, you would crawl into bed with me and the dogs and simply pretend like you were going to sleep there; you would wait for us to fall fast asleep before sneaking out to work, to read, or to sleep in another bed or the couch.

There were, however, a handful of moments when I remember seeing you sleeping soundly and oh what a beautiful sight.

I told you once that you looked like a great lion when you slept. You smiled when I told you that. You were always so big with scruff on your face; and on more than one occasion I saw you sleeping when you had long hair not tied back; it almost cascaded around you like a giant mane crowning you. You always slept on your back, sometimes with both palms up; sometimes with one palm down on your chest. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen someone sleep so soundly completely flat on their back before.

You once told me you had a dream that I died in a car accident. You wrote me about it the next day. You told me you arrived at the scene and had been given the bad news. You said it happened on Cherryvale Road in Boulder. In your writing to me, you desribed that after they gave you the news, how lost you felt, how sad, distraught, angry. You kept telling me that you were saying out loud in the dream, “That’s it”, “That’s it, she is gone”. I keep wondering what it would have been like had I gone first and you were still here. I wonder how you would feel. I wonder what you would say. What would you do? Would it matter as much as your loss matters to me? What should I believe? Should I believe the things you always told me? Were you real? Was it all ‘smoke & mirrors’?

I wish we had slept next to each other more. I wish you had slept more. I wish you were able to rest that mind. I wish you had let the work stuff go. I wish you had changed all that. I wish you would’ve done more with me. I wish you would’ve worked less. I wish you would’ve let me show you what it could have been. I told you if you listened to me more, you would’ve been happier. I know you are laughing now hearing me say that. I was always your trouble maker you would say: a handful. I kept you on your toes. I was never boring I would tell you. “Yes” you would say, “You are never boring”.

For all the things I loved about you, other things drove me mad. And the same went for you with me. You were the most polarizing man I had ever met. The goods were oh so good and the bad were oh so bad. You did however have the ability to take me and lift me up and make me appreciate the moment, close my eyes and really feel love. See nature, listen to the signs, allow myself to let go. It’s so ironic to me that you taught me the lessons that you needed to learn yourself. You knew them; you just needed to live them. We both needed to appreciate the beauty of simplicity more; the grandness and pristine beauty of the little things.

The world has lost all ideals around simplicity. Everyone and everything feels very surface level to me now. I’m told to find another. Accept that you just will never be. I know that finding another would just be settling, conforming, accepting that the best is gone. And you know how good I am at conforming, at following the rules. You know how I feel about our culture’s rules; and societies expectations of me. And because you accepted that I would not conform, I would not change to suit anybody else, and I would never be what you called, “a people pleaser”, I loved you more. The gift of feeling accepted, feeling comfortable, feeling not judged…those were amazing things with you. Maybe it was simply the “power of suggestion” as you called it and I just believed everything you told me; I don’t believe I’m that naïve…but I did believe you.

So as I lay my head down to sleep, I remember seeing you sleep those few times: the great lion. I wonder if you ever watched me sleep. I wonder how long you waited to leave before you knew I was asleep. I wonder if you loved me as much as I loved you. You were a king in my mind. I put you and everything about you high on a stool and I looked up at you in wonder. You were anything but simple, yet you wanted that peace & simplicity more than anyone I knew.

Good night to the great lion. Sleep.

He finally rests.

The Lion Sleeps.

Faith

2011-12-30T05:59:00.003-07:00

We've come to another end. As I try to gather the many pieces, the many stories, the many faces, I also try to look forward, look forward through eyes of hope & with a heart of faith.

It's an end. I'm trying to move out of the cloud, the storm that was both created for me & created by me. I'm shaken, stirred by the series of events, some unfortunate, some cause and some effect. My reactions. My actions. Letting things just be was always hard for me. Almost impossible at times. He taught me this.

I'm confused, hurt, and tired. I wonder sometimes where this happiness that is spoke of can be found. The journey so far has taken me places beyond my wildest dreams. I would've never known I would be here today, in this place. I feel very lost and alone in a great big world, changed by so many things. I hope I can find this light in myself, the light to live and move forward.

Mistakes have been made. I regret that I've added to hurt and not taken it away and for that I am yet to forgive myself. I try to look at the big picture, the grand scheme of things but I don't know how. I seem to be blinded by the trees and can't see the forest in front of me. There is no path, just a vast array of options and choices. Many times I feel as though I haven't made the right choice. Are mistakes really mistakes at all? Do we choose something because it was meant to transform another which is the path we were really meant to take at all?

Death is part of life. We are all headed to the same place. Time is the only deciding factor. Some of us simply have more time than others. So then I ask, what will you do? What shall I do? Life is wildness, learning lessons quickly, constantly changing, moving in and out; it is a precious thing. We are merged with others, then apart. O' how I wish I knew what lessons to take from each person I've met.

Force isn't real. Struggle is simply resistance of what is meant to be. And I feel exhausted. I fought for him, then let him be. He needed me. And I needed him more. I couldn't force him or his life. I had to let him go. I should apply this lesson moving forward, understanding that I can't force anything. I can't change things that have already happened. I need to accept my mistakes, be honest & truthful with myself and others, and move to the next place, the next time where I am meant to be.

A New Year is here. I have no resolutions. I have no plan. I'm walking blindly into another year with faith alone that I am meant to be here, meant to give back, meant to live. It is meant. And I will honor him. I will dance for him. I will love again for him. And I will do everything in my power to say I am sorry when I am wrong, stay quiet when I should, and be the only thing I really can be...which is me.

Happy New Year. Here's to New Beginnings.

Here's to Faith.

What I wouldn't give

2011-12-25T12:11:00.004-07:00

I would give up everything to have you here today. Just one more Christmas, just one more. I wish I would have known last year would've been the last. Had I known, I would've done things differently. I would held you a little tighter, a little longer. I would've stared into your blue eyes for another instant. I would've held your hand and watched you more closely and in wonder with those kids; you were always so great with the kids. You were a kid at heart. I would've snuggled up next to you for that afternoon Christmas day nap, but this time I wouldn't have slept. I would've laid there and watched you breathe, watched your chest rise and fall, watched you rest that beautiful mind of yours.

Do you know that I would've given you my world, my future, my life, just to have had you here this year? You could have had me, all of me. I should have told you what you had. I held it in.

I'd give up all things Christmas for you. Gone would be the gifts & the tree just to see you walk through the door. In a way I am still waiting here for you and you know that I am. I'm afraid I may wait a lifetime for you. I'm waiting to wake up; waiting for someone to tell me that none of this was real. This just can't have happened.

I've got the Goo Goo Doll's song, "Iris" stuck in my head this Christmas day for some reason when I think about you. Lyrics go:

And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

Every year, you were the only thing I ever wanted for Christmas. I wanted nothing but you. I'm waiting for a miracle. A Christmas miracle. I'm waiting for you on this Christmas day to be here with me, to be where you belong, by my side.

Merry Christmas to my beautiful Bo. I wish you were here with me. I know you are watching us. We miss you more than words can ever explain.

What I wouldn't give you have you here with me now. Today on this Christmas Day.

I will always love you

2011-12-17T17:22:00.004-07:00

Trying to put into words who he was would be like trying to explain the universe. Why the stars are held up, why the planets move, why the moon changes. Doing so wouldn’t do him justice, just like trying to describe the most beautiful sunrise, an ocean sunset, or a falling star. He won’t ever be matched. He will never be repeated. He was a single and beautiful miraculous moment in time.

His mind was magnificent; almost too much to contain. His thoughts, his awareness, his self was such that he instantly became everyone’s teacher & mentor. He saw others better than he often saw himself. He had the ability to look so deep into your heart, you wondered at times if he had the gift to actually read your mind & see into your soul. My heart opened to him like it has never opened before.

Bo had many gifts. A gift of making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. A gift of making you know that what’s on the outside doesn’t make a bit of a difference, a gift in explaining to you that what you have to give to the world is unique and cannot be matched and keeping that from the world makes the world not worth living in. I believe him. I listened and I believed.

The meeting of Bo has forever changed me. And the passing of Bo will forever change me as well. Blessed is the wrong word to describe how I feel about having met him at all. I’m not angry as much as I am distraught and sad over the simple fact that I will never see his smile again. I can still hear his voice and I’ll always remember his words…but I’m having a hard time accepting that I will never again see that smile.

Why on earth would I have been given such a gift? How could I ever do him justice by making someone else feel even close to the way that he made me feel? How could I ever love the way that he loved?

As the sun sets here in Colorado and I head off to Michigan for the holidays, I look out at the street where his RV was parked ready for his cross country trip home to the Midwest just a year ago today. He was packed up with both of our dogs. He made a few stops then arrived at The Loughlin house in Lowell MI where he spent 10 days. He parked the RV and comfortably retreated in the house in the woods off Lally Street with me, our dogs, and my family. We watched movies, wore pajama pants, ate carrot cake, slept, lounged, laughed, went sledding, and mostly loved. I’ve gone back to those moments over and over again in my mind that were a mere year ago. What I wouldn’t give to go back and relive each and every moment I shared with him. Those moments were just a piece of my life, a once in a lifetime experience, never to happen again.

Be thankful. Hug those you love, hold those you care about tight. You never know when will be your last Christmas with them. Never take it for granted. Give and receive the love you deserve. Embrace all that has been given to you. Open your heart.

To Bo,

I will forever miss you. And I will always love you. Thank you.

Yours,

Tracy

You Win

2011-12-13T05:59:00.003-07:00

How do you move forward? I wish someone had the answer on how to move forward. Moving forward feels like a slap in the face to him. I feel like moving forward takes away from all the love I had for him and how much what we had meant to me. By moving forward, I wouldn’t be honoring him but shunning him, sweeping his memory aside, pretending as though he never existed.

When someone consumes your every thought, shares your life, and fills your heart for years, it’s not as simple as picking up the pieces and moving forward. I knew from the moment I met him, there would never be anyone like him. I knew it December 31, 2005 when I first saw his face and I know it now 6 years later. Life isn’t ever what it seems, at least not for me. I’m watching from a distance those who have picture perfect lives and wonder why that wasn’t in the cards for me, for him, for us. I keep asking why.

I’m forcing everything these days. Going to work, getting out of bed, eating, sleeping, and even trying to work out on some level. Nothing I am doing is natural. His death wasn’t natural. I’m in a storm, holding my breath, and I don’t know which way to go. I can’t see. People are angry with me. They want me to snap out of this, move forward, move on, and pretend like he never existed. That’s how I feel. Moving forward would be forced. I’m forcing life.

It’s easy to be an outsider looking in and say these things. It’s easy when you weren’t the person who slept next to him. It’s easy when you weren’t the person, who cooked him meals, brought him coffee, spent the time with him here. People who care are trying to wrap their minds around how this could feel but until you experience it, you’ll never know. You can’t imagine.

You don’t have to be married to a person to know what love is. Marriage is just something our society created. Divorce rates these days prove that marriage doesn’t equal happily ever after. Marriage most certainly does not equal love. He wasn’t my friend. He wasn't my husband. He was my love.

So today will be another day of force. Force myself up, force myself to work, force myself to forget. That’s what this is all about isn’t it? Forgetting? Moving forward? Pretending? Because honoring him, remembering him, missing him, loving him just seems to be making people angry.

MOVE FORWARD, MOVE ON, DON’T CHOOSE THIS.

I didn’t choose this. I didn’t choose any of this. He chose this for himself and for me. Right now I am single handedly giving him the power. The power to take me with him. He won. He always won in the game of life with us. I am at your mercy. Please take me with you.

You win.

Do you believe?

2011-12-10T18:12:00.003-07:00

Do you believe they watch us from another side, another world? Do you believe they smile when we speak to them, talk of them, repeat something wonderful and inspiring that they said to us? Do you believe on some level, they are still real, still with us?

It’s a beautiful thought, the thought of him sitting here next to me in the stillness and aloneness of my house. Sitting in his same place, his armchair, with my dog on his lap. I love the idea, but I’m not sure how much of that idea I believe.

Spirituality was something he studied, his passion, his truth. He tried to teach me and show me that there were other ways of viewing the world, the universe, and places beyond just the place we can see and touch. Faith to me is the grasping of these beliefs to a level where it becomes your truth. The way in which he left us however has made me question all of those beliefs, those ideals, my own faith. I’m not sure I understand how a life could begin with something bigger than us knowing exactly when and how it will end, and end in such tragedy. The explanation of that tragedy is what is getting me. The unfairness of the world and some of its actions has shaken me to the core.

I always told him things never really affected me here: the world and all of its problems. I was safe here. Safe in a land and a town sheltered from reality. The joke of this town is that it is a bubble. The beautiful “Boulder bubble”. Surely tragedy could never strike such an immaculate and magical place as my Boulder. Boulder is where is the Flatirons glow hues of orange and red in the morning sunrise. Where hiking and biking, and breathing fresh air are a way of life. It’s a land of happy people, joy, sunshine, and obvious natural beauty.

To die a death that he died in a place that he loved to some would sound very fitting. To me it’s very sad and very tragic. I feel as though this town, this place will never be the same. I can imagine the birds and the trees and even the water wept when he left us, him lying there. I’m looking at everything here differently, through new eyes. What once mattered to me seems very pointless. His life mattered. He mattered.

Do you believe he is with us? With me? Or is he only with me as much as I am going to allow him to be? Is he being punished or embraced? These are my unanswered questions. There are so many ways I want to remember him. But I am not yet at a place of remembrance and reflection. Tragedy to me doesn’t result in peace. I’d like to believe he found his peace, his place. I would. But I’m not sure what I believe anymore. This world and life will never make sense to me. Sometimes I think we are all just floating on a breeze with no telling where we will land, what our fate will be.

Bo was a butterfly of sorts. So beautiful, so mystical, but also so fragile. I would’ve loved to have held him tight in my hand, to keep him safe. But we all know you can’t grasp onto a butterfly in your hand. You can’t crush or restrain such wildness, such beauty, such fragility. I had to open my hand and let him fly, let him be. He often came back to me and graced my life with his lovely self. Sometimes he stayed for days, other times just for brief moments. Either way I am thankful he ever graced my life at all. My hand is still open Bo, I'm still here.

Bo is out there, flying free. This now I do believe.

What do you believe?

You slipped

2011-12-04T02:49:00.004-07:00

You were right on the edge of my fingertips; barely within reach. You were dangling over a cliff and my hands weren’t able to reach yours. You slipped. I lost you. I never really had you anyway. I thought I had bits and pieces at times but never all of you.

As I try to sleep, all of the memories of you and I come flooding back into my mind. Things I never even thought I could consciously remember. Details. Bits and pieces. Meaningless things. A look. A voice. An incident. Things only you and I experienced together. Things only shared between us. Intimacies. Jokes. Things only you and I would think are funny. Things only two people at a time in love could get.

I didn’t lose a friend. I didn’t lose an ex-love. I lost the only love I’ve ever known. And although the facts suggest that I was not your one and only, my reality paints a very sad and true picture for myself that places only you in my mind and in my past.

This town wasn’t lived in by the both of us; it was shared by the two of us together. It’s not a matter of a restaurant or store or house bringing back memories for me, it’s the fact that we lived in this town together for so many years on end always finding our way back to each other, seeing each other each and every day at times. And even if we weren’t talking for a period of time, we always found our way back to each other through something greater than both of us. This town that we loved is just killing me to be in now alone.

But you slipped. Right through my fingertips. Lost forever. It’s still so hard for me to believe you are actually gone. People can’t imagine what this feels like. I am waiting for you. Waiting for that knock on my door, or better yet just waiting for you to use your key to my house to let yourself in. I want to wake in the morning to find the loaf of banana bread on my counter gone. I want to see the mess that you’ll surely make: socks on the floor, coffee dripped on the counter, empty splenda packets on the coffee table. You would laugh to hear me say that.

You always brought me flowers. A common gesture but from you it was different. You always wanted me to have fresh flowers. This past Easter, I had fresh tulips brought to me by you. We weren’t in a relationship, yet there you were at my door with tulips. It was just your way. To see you walk in, always with fresh flowers in your hand, made me so happy. And I never told you this. I just thanked you. I hope you knew how much I loved the flowers you brought me, more so the fact that they were from you. Your thoughtfulness was probably learned from your father. I tried to buy myself flowers yesterday but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. I didn’t feel deserving of them as I let you slip right between my fingertips, never to be seen again.

I’m not sure how to move forward. Most others have distractions. Families. Significant others. Kids. I had you. You were my family here. And when I went home to see my immediate family, you came along. You were a part of that family too. The hole is so big that it can’t be described, explained, or replaced. It’s a void.

The memories keep flooding back into my mind. Our sushi restaurant, where I will never return. The stone house. The Glen Haven General Store, where we got 25 cent coffee and sandwiches after hiking Crosier Mountain. The night of a full moon when neither of us could sleep. I never thought you wouldn’t be here anymore. Never fathomed such a thing. Couldn’t imagine it then and can’t really comprehend it now. I have never lost someone so close, someone who was such a big part of my life before. I can’t describe this pain. You weren’t someone I knew; you were a part of me. And as others want to paint a very different reality of you to me, I refuse to let go of the reality of the you that I knew and that I lived.

Others knew you from far off lands, not face to face, not in this town, not in the flesh as I knew you for years. And although I don’t feel the need to compete, the pure facts are that my sadness stems from loss of what I knew, the you I shared most of the last 6 years with regardless of how society or others want to define what it was or what it wasn’t.

I lost you. You slipped right between my fingertips. Into a place I don’t know. I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you. I can’t take care of you there. I feel stranded here. I didn’t want you to go like this. It’s a hole. I just can’t find the light.

You slipped.

Life is but a dream

2011-11-22T05:46:00.005-07:00

A year ago, I spent Thanksgiving Day in a log cabin in Bar-K Ranch west of Boulder, Colorado. It was just the 4 of us: a man and his dog, a woman and her dog. There was a turkey, a dusting of snow, a bitter cold Rocky Mountain Continental Divide wind, a fire, and a pumpkin pie. It could have been the scene out of a film. It was a scene out of my life. He was my life. We had great dogs. It was but a single moment in my life.

When looking back now on this memory, it feels like it was just yesterday. Sometimes while in the moment, you remember to stop and pause, breathe, take in your surroundings and actually reflect in that moment that *this* single experience, *this* single moment, *this* single event will never happen again. He was good at reflection, I was not. That now has all changed. The importance of the now, the present, being in the moment as he would always say; well, I just can’t imagine now living any other way.

As the 4 of us: 2 dogs in love, 2 people in love, curled up on the couch together in front of that fire, I wonder if any of us knew that we would never be together again, not like this, not for Thanksgiving, not ever again. The 4 of us in ways were like a small family. Our energy fed off of each other. The dogs had a 5 year bond as did we. We knew our ins and outs, our imperfections. The way in which the 4of us interacted was much like a beautiful but sometimes comical song.

Looking back he often times looked at me like it would be the last time he would ever see me. I remember the look well. He had a smile and he would pause at my front door, or at the corner of my bed. And I would laugh and ask him what he was thinking and he would smile and just shake his head. ‘Nothing’ he would sometimes say. I even remember very clearly saying to him once, “You are looking at me as if this is the last time you will ever see me” and he responded, “You never know, maybe it is, and I want to take all of you in”.

I wish I had taken all of him in, all of him to the very brim, another hug, another smile, another laugh. The appreciation of a single person. How can you truly appreciate a single moment in time?

I hope some memories of the 4 of us together never fade away in my mind. They sit there so close right now, I can feel Bohdi’s coat on my hands, I can see Bo’s large hand on mine, and I can see Dawson kissing her dad’s face. And there I was all a part of it. A critical part of our bond in the center of it all. Usually curled up on the couch with the dogs in front of the fire; Bo waiting on the 3 of us hand and foot.

And as such, it all has changed in the blink of an eye.

His last Thanksgiving was with me. Me and our dogs. Up at ~10,000 feet. In a log cabin overlooking the Continental Divide. I couldn’t make this stuff up. It happened. Just as sure as HE happened.

Or did it.

Maybe this is all a dream.

“Life is but a dream” he would say.

Peaks

2011-11-21T14:49:00.002-07:00

Peaks
So high, the coolness blows snow into the morning sun
Blinding like fireflies

My eyes can’t stop, they burn
Tracing the outline of the ridges
Of the hills
Like the definition of your face

I wonder if you are up there
A flake of snow in the cool air
Circling the peaks
Like you circled my life

You always came
But never stayed
You were always here
But never long

The peaks are not soft
They stand tall and strong
Like you

The voices I hear in the mountains are soft
Like the voice I remember from you
While lying in the darkness when you left

The deepness of your breath
Like the shadows the peaks create on my face
When I stare up in wonder
Thinking you are watching me now

I stagger thinking of the greatness that surrounds you now
Life beyond life

I believe
You are the snowflake on top of the tallest peak
Circling it in the cool wind
Like you circled my life

Run away the pain

2011-11-17T11:38:00.003-07:00

I feel like running yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Running was always such a joy in my life, I’d wiz through the trails, the trees, and the mountains with my trusty pooch Dawson close by, with a smile on my face. I’d typically lose my mind on a trail run with miles passing by me without so much as a thought going through my head. But now it’s different, it’s all changed. I feel guilty doing something to attempt to bring myself joy. The pain has become the normal with each passing day. The pain has gutted me and left me feeling like nothing else really seems to matter.

I’ve done and said things in the last month that I really question. Who am I and what the hell was I thinking? None of it makes sense. My screwed up psyche has screwed up all rationale that I thought I once possessed. Things that I think I want may not be what I really want or need but I’m grabbing in all sorts of directions, not thinking. I’m reaching and I’m not sure for what.

I want to grab on to running again but I feel guilty. I feel guilt just living and breathing. For when you loved someone so much that you wanted happiness for them and you couldn’t provide it to them, it’s almost impossible to try and find that happiness for yourself. It would’ve been the greatest joy, greatest accomplishment of my life to have been able to make him happy. But I wasn’t able to. I failed miserably. I should know better than to think I could’ve been happy enough for the two of us. I thought my zest for life and my love for him could change him but it did no such thing. I couldn’t want it enough for the two of us.

And so here I am. I’m afraid to go into the mountains. I’m afraid at what I’ll find. I’m afraid I’ll be going for the wrong reasons. Is he there? Is he watching me? Did he care as much as he convinced me he had? Should it even matter now what I think he thought or what I think he thinks still?

I’m sacrificing myself, my sanity, my well-being for him. I hurt for him. He would want me to run, he would want me to eat, he would want me to sleep, and he would want me to love. But I’m so pissed at him that I can’t give him these things. I can’t give him the satisfaction right now, at least not yet. I know he would smile to see me being me: running through these mountains, smile on my face, dog in tow, surrounded by the beauty of this place. I think I knew that part of him well enough to know he loved to see me smile. He loved to see me happy and free. But I’m not there yet. I’m not willing to be happy for him yet.

I miss my life. But my life included him. And even when we weren’t happy together, he was still in my life, he lived, he breathed, and he smiled. We fought. Then we loved again. And we laughed harder than either one of us had ever laughed. And I can still hear that big bellied laugh of his, and I can see his smile. And as I sat in my bedroom for hours through the dark long night holding tight onto the dog last night, I talked to him. I talked to him right where he would kneel next to the bed and tuck me in. And we would talk before he shut my light off, turned my fan on, and kissed my hand. “Sweet dreaming” was always his last words. They were in voice and they were in his letter. “Sweet dreaming”.

So I sat. And I asked him why. I asked him what I should do. And he told me to run. Do what I loved. Be in the mountains. Be free. And I just can’t. I can’t run away this pain. I couldn’t make him happy then and I’m not ready to make him happy now.

A gift

2011-11-02T15:46:00.001-06:00

It can all change in the blink of an eye. You never think it will happen to you but it can and it will. It’s often difficult to appreciate things right in front of you, the smallest things sometimes seem meaningless at the time until you look back and say to yourself, “Wow, that meant so much”. “That was such a gift”.

Our lives and selves are shaped by many factors: lifestyle, behaviors, choices, and those who surround us. And it seems as though we take on characteristics of those we spend time with unbeknownst to us. Mannerisms, phrases, gestures are all shared between those we spend time with and those we consider close. Often times I find myself saying things that sound like him. Pausing before I speak, which I learned from him, may actually suit me better than my typical ‘blurt it all out’ characteristic.

Always smart but never wise was what I was told. The ability to manipulate and maneuver but the inability to reflect and learn. Not good at the present but always planning for the future and dwelling on the past. These were me. These are me. The gift made me see this about myself.

I never knew I had been given the greatest gift of my life, wrapped up into one person who would only be present for 6 years of my life. Out of the 33 total years I’ve been alive, 6 years sounds so small, so insignificant, yet these 6 years now feel like such a small and precious gift. More precious than gold. I’m happy with many of the memories, sickened by others, wishing that I had done things differently, wishing I had been different, better, more wise, less judgmental, more appreciative. I wish I had focused on things that mattered more and less on the petty insignificant things. Of course I’d like to say that part of this gift is things I will now change and move forward with, doing differently. But truth be told, I’m not sure how to move forward without that gift. The gift guided me. The gift gave me clues and hints but never the answer. The gift got me. If it hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been a gift.

For a gift can really only be thought of as a gift, once it is gone. For something so precious can’t even be identified as such when it’s sitting a foot in front of your face. Only when it feels as though it is light years away, never to be touched again, can it be remembered for what it really was: a once in a lifetime gift. And so then I ask, “Why me”? “Why was I blessed with this gift”? “What will I take away from this”? Honestly it’s just too soon to know or tell.

All I know is that it was a gift, planned and perfect and there was a reason. There was a reason it was me. There was a reason it was him. It all makes sense yet it makes no sense at the same time. A gift more precious than all the riches of the world, more beautiful than the mountains, deeper than the sea. So unique in each and every way and so difficult to understand. It was a gift. A once in a lifetime gift.

Bo

2011-11-01T11:33:00.003-06:00

Bo Kalinyak (George “Bo” Kalinyak III), 38 years old, of Solon, Ohio unexpectedly passed away Oct 19, 2011 in Boulder, Colorado. Bo was a brilliant and gifted writer, a caring and loyal friend, and a wise insightful soul who embraced nature, animals, the mountains, & the seasons. Bo was a Taoist who believed in the natural ebb and flow of all things. He lost himself in the beauty of Boulder & The Rocky Mountains and could often times be found camping under the stars with his beloved dog Bohdi. He enjoyed reading, writing, hiking, the outdoors, lifting weights, & indulging in the occasional homemade pastry. He was well versed in Acupuncture & Martial Arts and previously volunteered his time to the Boulder County AIDS Project.

He is preceded in death by his parents, George J. Kalinyak II & Carole Kalinyak and is survived by his only brother Christian Kalinyak and nephews Kaeden & Kollin, of Chagrin Falls, Ohio. He is also survived by his trusted and loving dog, Bohdi of Boulder, CO. He will be dearly missed by his close and trusted friends: Dan, Amy, & Sophia Lucky of Solon, OH, Jo Cummings of Texas, The Syvertsen family (Joe, Viki, Sydney) of Solon, OH, Tracy Loughlin of Boulder, CO, and The Loughlin family of Lowell, MI.

You left me behind

2011-10-28T09:06:00.004-06:00

You left me behind Bo with a puzzle and only a few pieces. Just some books, clothes, one letter, and your memory. I can still hear your voice and smell your skin in my house. I can feel your hand touching mine when I turn my bedroom light off to try and sleep at night. I feel you here.

My life will never be the same. You were my teacher, my rock, and my light. I turned to you for advice of every kind. We talked for hours. We laughed. I made you laugh. You always thought I was so funny. Even in your most serious moments, I could get you to smile. We just had that way with each other. I imagine being in the passenger seat of your jeep, Bohdi on my lap with his head hanging out the window. That dog would only be brave enough to hang his head out the window when he was “safely on his mom’s lap” you would say. Dawson would stand in the back with her 2 front paws on the console, throwing you kisses at each turn. The dogs loved you. I loved you. We loved you.

So many things ‘could have been’ with you and me. I believe that. I convinced myself of it. I held on to the idea of *us* even when we weren’t together knowing, praying, hoping it would somehow come back together. I gave that power over to something greater than both of us to figure out. But it did not happen.

I guess I’m supposed to be thankful of the time we had. Look back and cherish the memories. But I can do no such thing. Because there was more to be had, there was so much more left to explore between us that I can’t for a second accept this is truth, this is reality.

I wanted to see you Bo, but they would not let me. I know you would not have wanted me to see you that way but I had to see you. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it was your Joe who called me. He sounded just like you. I told them it could not have been “My Bo”, it had to be somebody else. I feel like my soul has been torn from my body and a great emptiness and sadness has filled its place. I don’t know how I will ever run again. It seems awfully pointless. I always ran knowing you were at the finish line, sometimes literally. I can still hear your voice cheering me on while driving your car next to me running my Montana ultramarathon. You even got out and ran a bit with me. You in that fishing hat. You loved Montana. I feel like we saw the world together. The islands, the mountains, Vegas, Michigan, Ohio, Colorado. We surfed the ocean waves together hand in hand, we climbed the tallest peaks together…we loved each other.

I trusted my life with you, the lives of my family and friends. Your loyalty you told me was like that of a dog, undying and life-long…never to change, never to falter. Your love for those in your life was unconditional. Maybe you were taught this kind of love from your parents, I don’t know. What I do know is that it was a love like I will never know again. I knew it when you were still with us and I know it now.

Words cannot explain the sadness I feel that you left ME behind. My ego says Why Me? I feel like nobody on earth can feel the way I feel. I was HERE with you. I was YOURS. You were MINE. We knew this regardless of anything else in the world. Regardless of our strengths and weaknesses, our mistakes, or shortcomings. We knew it and I believed it.

I couldn’t save you Bo. I would give my life to go back 2 weeks and change everything. I would’ve tried. I would have jumped in front of that bullet for you I swear to god. I wish it had been me and not you. I wish you were here for you.
I wanted the world to be gifted with your children Bo, even if they weren’t mine, just as long as they were yours.

My life is destroyed Bo. You left me behind. Your puzzle will consume me; I cannot hike these hills without you. I don’t know what I would say if I saw your face. I’m so sorry Bo. I let you down.

You left me behind.

Lost

2011-10-25T02:35:00.002-06:00

This was an old post that I put up only for a few days back in 2009 then deleted soon after. After re-reading it now, I can see how much sense it really made both then and now. Hindsight is always 20/20.

LOST

He consumes my mind. Is he real or something that my imagination created? He was always a mystery with too many holes to truly see or understand; but my mind naturally filled in those holes with beliefs, with dreams, with hopes…and my mind made something real into something not so real. Who I thought I knew, never really was, was he? He was always something I could not reach and he kept himself at a distance that was impossible. I chased at first, then backed off. I retreated then longed for him again. It was a game. A cyclic game with highs and lows, frustration and tears, anticipations and worst of all, expectations, which he had told me from the beginning were “preconceived resentments”. Then there was my ego. His stubbornness. My pride. His spirituality: which was what attracted me to him in the first place.

He at first was a gentle giant. A soft spoken intellectual mind trapped inside pounds of muscle. He was a bodybuilder reciting poetry and explaining to me how the world ‘really is’ and teaching me how to see things in a new light. He was unlike anything I had ever seen. A bright light. The most refreshing uplifting thing I had ever known. I wanted to be around him, next to him. I wanted him to know me, to love me, to adore me the way that I adored him.

But there was always distance. And mystery beyond the “mystery of life” that he always spoke of. There was a force keeping him from me. Something that he hid from me and kept from me for 4 years. Something he was ashamed of. Something he shared with no one. Another life. Another world that I did not know. He made it all sound simple but I knew it was anything but.

The mystery drew me to him; another mystery drove me away. It was what I didn’t know that kept me away. He had anger that I didn’t see in the beginning. Frustrations. Regret. He was scattered. Late. Stressed. Always running. Always fighting. He called me the fighter but I was an amateur compared to him. He was the fighter with the appearance of a soft mild mannered level headed saint; ironically I was the soft mild mannered level headed saint with the appearance of a fighter. He was the warrior. I merely tried to look like one.

It was never going to work. There was too much that never added up. Too much I know he would never be willing to share. He was so ‘off’ in so many ways. It never made sense. He knew that all the frustrations I had toward him, also came desire for him. It was a confusing mess of emotions. Up and down. Back and forth. I can’t live with him; I can’t live without him. Yet he is an addiction. He consumes my every thought, every day. I cannot escape it or him. I feel he has a part of me that some days I simply want back. I am not free. He has me in his hand. I’m his puppet and he has won. This is the way he intended it, wasn’t it. He said he would hurt me but not intentionally. I remember the conversation well. It was all too intense. Nothing was easy with him. Nothing was simple. He was always late. He never thought ahead. He was always unorganized. He never had a plan. The frustration mounted until it just couldn’t be anymore. Yet it was. It was.

And now I sit. He is everything that I ever wanted but nothing that I ever expected. Yet I do not want him. Ever. My mind says no. I will never win. No one will ever compare. I would spend a lifetime searching and I would always come up short. Lost. I could never accept him as he was. I cannot. This isn’t the way it was supposed to be. Any of it. This feeling. Hopelessness. Trapped yet so free at the same time. Can this be real? Did he really exist? I ache at the thought of him. I laugh thinking of him watching me sometimes. He knows me so well. I am lost.

The more I run, the more I weigh

2011-10-16T12:14:00.005-06:00

Well, we are 2 weeks out from the Napa Valley Wine Country Marathon. I got my registration number and bib in the mail yesterday and a short letter to go along with it so I guess it’s real to me now.

I have to admit, I haven’t trained for this marathon at all. No seriously, like I really haven’t trained for this marathon and there is one particular reason why: I've been trying to watch my weight. Yes you read that right.

I’ve been distance running now for 7 years now. I ran my first marathon with my friend Megan back in 2004 in Maui (seems like that was a lifetime ago) and been running consistently ever since. I thought the best way to get in shape and stay in shape and be lean was running. And running was easy to do anywhere. I could run on any business trip I went on and I’ve run all over the country. I run year round. I’ve run in rainstorms and snowstorms, I’ve run in blistering heat, and sub-zero temperatures. I’ve run in high winds, I’ve run up mountains and down mountains. I’ve run through mud and over rocks, I’ve run through forests, I’ve crossed streams, I’ve jumped logs, and now I’ve even run with a few different jack asses (literally: I’m not referring to any of my running partners). I’ve run with extremely fast runners and extremely slow runners. I’ve run and talked the entire time (Karyn); who needs a shrink when you have a running partner after all. I’ve talked to my dog while running; I’ve talked to a donkey while running, hell I’ve even talked to myself.

But something I noticed over the past few years that contradicted everything I had ever believed about distance running was this: the more I ran, the more I weighed. It’s true. I couldn’t believe it. I still don’t believe it! When marathon distance turned into ultra-marathon distance, something shifted/changed. Most would say that I ate more when I ran more and therefore I gained weight, but I just don’t believe this to be true. My body freaked out when I ran anything more than ~45 miles/week. I started packing on the pounds instead of leaning out. I felt bloated, my clothes were tight. Was distance running really making me fat?

I did research. Apparently distance running is hard on the body and the organs. Huh…who knew? You mean I was putting my body through harm, stress, or something it really wasn’t designed to do? But it felt so good! I loved it! It was my drug after all! I wouldn’t accept it. I was a religious subscriber to “Runner’s World” surely there were thousands of people who ran more than me and didn’t have this happen right!?

The more people I talked to and the more research I did, my conclusion was that this is way more common with women than men. Like us women don’t already have a hard enough time keep our weight in check, watching what we eat, and dealing with hormone changes, cravings, etc! So I went into 2011 wanting to try something different. I got a trainer and he told me “distance running was making me fat”…in simple terms, of course there was a lot more science behind it than that. So I did what he told me, almost an experiment of sorts to change things up. I reduced my mileage significantly (I basically halved it) and upped my strength training with him (and training with my trainer is NOT boring lifting weight, it’s intervals, lots of jumping/plyometric exercises, and high intensity stuff) and guess what? I dropped body fat and a little bit of weight. Not a lot but my body definitely changed. The muffin top that I had been holding on to and ran with for 7 years through marathons and ultra-marathons slowly started to go away. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

When I found burro racing this summer, I was a bit concerned. I wanted to run again and a lot (I absolutely love running) but I didn’t want to run too much either. My trainer told me if I could be okay with being 5-6 pounds heavier than I was when I wasn’t running, then I should run. And given that I really can’t give up running entirely: I love it too much…and running with the burros is an absolute new addiction that I can’t really see myself ever giving up, then I guess I just have to be okay with not being a skinny minnie running around town.

I’m going to do some more research on this subject but for now, I’ll run when I feel like it and keep strength training and try to not focus so much on the scale but how I’m feeling. I have to admit though it’s sort of a disappointment to find out that ultra-distance running makes your body freak out and pack on pounds instead of doing the opposite (at least for me and for many women out there). Why on earth do men have it easier? They run more, they weigh less, they stop working out, they weigh less, etc.

So I’m headed to Napa in 2 weeks to run this marathon with my mom. It is her first marathon and my 9th full marathon. I’m hoping that the 2 ultras I ran in lieu of the marathon distance the last 2 Octobers in a row will help me with this race. We aren’t there to PR or anything, we are there to finish. I know she has concerns about the course being trail but I think she will be fine. She is tough and more than anything she has the mental fortitude needed to get through the distance. I’m pretty sure the course will be beautiful. If the scale goes up after I run it, I’ll know why and I won’t worry too much about it. After all, distance running apparently is hard on the body in ways that I can’t really understand. I’m not sure what all goes on behind the scenes in terms of metabolism and calorie burning and water retention but I know the more I run, the more I weigh. Oh well, it’s still my drug of choice.

Only stupid people are breeding

2011-10-12T22:09:00.004-06:00

Lately and more often than not I am pondering the million dollar question: What does this all mean? What is the purpose here? What is the secret to life? I’m reading a book called “The Red Queen” and got quite a bit of reading done on the plane this morning to San Francisco for work and again on the way home tonight. It basically told me what I’ve read before. This book, like many evolutionary biology books basically states that all of Human Nature and all of Human Behavior comes down to one single thing: Reproduction. Without it, none of us would be here. We have evolved as a species by reproducing period. It’s that simple. And everything we do and everything we are, and how we act really is based around this. Those who don’t reproduce don’t pass along the genes given to them by their parents and their parent’s parents and so on and so forth. So if we don’t reproduce according to Darwin and all of these evolutionary biologists, there is no point, there is no purpose. Easy enough I suppose.

But for me it isn’t that simple. I for one don’t even know if I want kids of my own. I know plenty of people who don’t have kids or don’t even plan on ‘reproducing’ and live fabulous lives who give back to others and don’t feel as though their lives are missing anything. Besides the fact that at 33 years old (soon to be going on 34), I’ve done the math. Even if I met someone TODAY that I would even consider having children with (not likely), it takes a truly long time to get to know someone on that level (I’m talking years), often times it takes time to actually get pregnant, 9 months of being pregnant, etc. Do the math and I’m hopping straight aboard the 40 year old pregnancy train; not that there is anything wrong with having children in your 40’s; I also know plenty of people who have gone down that route as well…but I’m just not sure that’s for me. My mom is 21 years older than me and 19 years older than my big brother and now at 55, it’s just awesome. My mom is the youngest mother I know in relation to me and my brother’s age and it’s fantastic. Part of it is her lifestyle choices and personality and the fact that she is spontaneous and adventurous and likes to get out and do things…but part of it is also her young age. I imagine she had me at 40….she would be 74 years old right now (not 55) and I’m not so sure we would be flying to Napa in 2 weeks to run a marathon or kayaking the Na Pali Coast together on Kaua’I or sky diving…although I could see my mother at 74 doing these things…anything is possible.

So here is the point. Society has made me believe for a long time that I am ‘picky’ when according to the evolutionary biologist, I’m not ‘picky’, I’m ‘selective’. They claim that unconsciously I’m not reproducing because:
‘I simply have not found someone with the genes and characteristics that I would be willing to match with my own to create a human being’.

And so, perhaps the fact that I’ve certainly found brains in men, and I’ve even found brawn, but for me it takes more. I never thought I’d admit it but I think stability and consistency need to be at the top of the list as well. What good would children be who have intelligence and health and vigor but no stability, no resources, and no consistency/regimen? To me consistency = discipline and that gets into a whole other subject of nurture versus nature. So to me that is what today’s man is lacking: consistency and stability. And in a day in age when women have good jobs/careers, and they honestly don’t NEED a man, evolutionary biologists would say that they may never settle for a man because they don’t NEED the resources that they are already able to provide themselves on a daily basis.

This book also liked to characterize behaviors of men and women; what is common in the sexes and what is not common and I think another reason I am single is perhaps I just don’t possess the characteristics commonly associated with women and that men are attracted to. I’m not nurturing for instance. “Men are aggressive” the book says, but I feel as though I am more aggressive than most men. I’m also not a people pleaser or a woman who runs around amongst women’s social circles. Because I’m far from being a people pleaser according to this book, most women have a role of ‘keeping the peace’ and being the family ‘social networker’; I'm not that social and networking is just not my strong point. Perhaps my aggressive personality and bitch attitude scare men aware instead of luring them in. Regardless I wasn’t raised to lay down for anybody, especially not a man (no pun intended).

So, that all said, I guess here we are. To reproduce or to not reproduce, that’s the ultimate question. And as most women my age who are single (I actually don’t believe there can be very many can there?) scurry to find a mate and the majority will settle and pop out the kids regardless, I am choosing to find my purpose elsewhere. Although I’m not quite sure what that is yet, I hope that by being honest with myself and letting things happen as they must and as they are meant to, I’ll be able to figure it out. And through that process I hope that it doesn’t just become about me…truly. I also hope it doesn’t take me a lifetime to get there. And if it does, I hope that I can learn something along the way instead of just focusing on the end result.

I guess like the Green Day song says, “Only stupid people are breeding”, so I suppose as long as they keep popping babies out, we won’t have to worry about our species not surviving or evolving. I guess I can say that I am contributing to population control. Besides, I make a much cooler aunt than I ever would a mother. I can throw a pretty good spiral with the football with my nephews and I’ve got some gymnastics moves still left in this old body I can teach my niece.

Perfect Day

2011-09-29T15:39:00.001-06:00

You could not have asked for a more perfect day. The aspens were changing, there was a crisp fall feel to the air and the views were so beautiful they almost looked like a backdrop for a movie.

Hal took Tony, Mike, & I on a tour of the upper third of the Fairplay course; it was a ~10 mile trek up Mosquito pass (13,185 feet) with the burros and it was an amazing day. Hal, Tony, Mike, and I took Mordy, Cash, Ace, & Redbo up the pass Saturday and it made for one of the best days I’ve had in a long time.

Although the burros weren’t very cooperative (Ace in particular) in terms of running, the hike up the pass was spectacular. I can’t even think of enough words to describe the day. An easy drive from Boulder to Fairplay, a coffee stop in town, followed by a good brushing of the burros and loading up of the pack saddles (and a riding saddle for the beast: half Mammoth, Redbo) and off we were climbing the upper third of the Fairplay World Championship Burro Race Course.

Mike, Tony, & I had only completed the short course in Fairplay, the 15 miler with 2011 being my very first season. Hal, a seasoned veteran at the long course, a 30 mile ultramarathon with a climb up Mosquito Pass showed us the way through the varying sections of the longer race course. I’m looking forward to completing (or attempting to complete) the long course next year.

To me this was paradise. When almost to the top of the pass, Hal stopped us and pointed out where he laid Rob Pedretti, late burro racer and friend to rest by spreading his ashes at almost the very top of the summit. We all stood in silence as you could hear the water running beneath the rocks in the exact place. The aspens looked like tiny dandelions far below and the wide canyons surrounded us on either side. Tourists who had driven to the top of the pass to take in the view surrounded us and the burros. We took pictures, exchanged words and simply enjoyed the view. Ace laid his head in my arms against my chest and appeared to be half asleep as the cool breeze blew over all of us.

If burro racing was football, Ace would appear to be the quarterback. He’s that good looking of a donkey: superior physique, long lean legs, muscular build, and beautiful markings. But looks can be deceiving. Ace just acts lazy (almost drugged) and is extremely uninterested in running (at least on this particular day). It is still hard not to love him, he’s almost as affectionate as Redbo (who places his head and muzzle on your shoulder and could stand like that face to face with you for hours) and according to Hal, Ace makes a fine riding and packing donkey.
It’s hard to judge a donkey by one run with them. I suspect that donkeys like people can have off days and maybe on Saturday Ace just didn’t for whatever reason want to run.

Regardless of our pace and time to climb the pass and return to town, the day could not be beat. Views of alpine lakes, clear blue skies, and all shades of gold, yellow, and brown from the changing aspens was enough to make anyone want to up and move to the high country. This was quite the view and quite the experience. I cannot wait to run the long course in Fairplay next year regardless of what donkey I find to accompany me on the climb.

You could not have asked for a more gorgeous place and a more perfect day.

Calm before the storm

2011-09-23T09:35:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow I’ll be running up Mosquito Pass with Hal, the guys, and the burros. Sunday I’ll be flying to Vegas for 2 ½ days for work. I wish I was running with the burros for 2 ½ days and in Vegas for 1 day. Vegas is for work and work pays the bills and the bill paying is going to ultimately result in the continued burro racing; or at least that’s the way mind believes it to be.

And so tomorrow morning I’ll be meeting Hal and the guys at the Prunes Monument in Fairplay. Prunes was a famous burro that supposedly lived from 1867 to 1930 which would make him 63 years old. Here is the story of Prunes from a Google search that I did:

“In the 19th century gold mining towns of Colorado, Donkeys were the “engine” that kept the mines humming. One such burro is remembered by history, and his name was Prunes.

Miners would send Prunes alone, down the mountain and into town with a shopping list tied to his harness. The storekeepers would load him up with supplies, and Prunes would faithfully return to the mining camps. He was treated well and lived a long life, eventually working at all the nearby mines in the area.

When he was finally too old to work, the town still cared for him. Prunes would often panhandle in front of doors for food. In the winter of 1930, a terrible blizzard struck the town of Fairplay. Several days later, Prunes was found trapped by snowdrifts in a shed he used to escape the snowstorm. The townsfolk nursed him back to health with flapjacks, but he never fully recuperated. When Prunes died that spring, the town built this monument to honor his service and companionship."

I think my favorite part of the story is that the townsfolk nursed Prunes back to health with flapjacks of all things. Makes me think my pastry skills could come in handy if I am ever faced with a sick burro on my hands.

Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong time period: technology just doesn’t suit me well. I could certainly do without some modern amenities: television, internet, grocery stores, etc. I would be happy hunting and growing my own food (well I would prefer a man to do the hunting but you know what I mean), canning, gardening, cooking & baking from scratch. I admit that I wouldn’t really want to go without others: electricity (I could never sleep without a fan), washer & dryer (life would probably suck without those 2 gems), & my kitchen-aid (pastry making has come a long way thanks to that sweet piece of machinery).

That said most of modernization has in my opinion ruined what is essential to life and surpassed it entirely. Food, water & shelter have been replaced with ‘fake processed food’, ‘booze’, & ‘homes too big, overly decorated, expensive, more than what people really need’. The keeping up with the Jones’ mentality has almost become some people’s identity these days in who can have the biggest house and the nicest car and who wears the most expensive designer labels in the neighborhood. Truth is suburbia scares the crap out of me. I can’t picture myself with the fancy baby carriage and my expensive yoga outfit jogging down the sidewalks in the suburbs with my hair done and makeup on, just so the other moms can see me exercising. I didn’t grow up in the suburbs, thank god. I grew up in the country where we picked Raspberries for a living, my mom canned foods and made jam from scratch, and we would ride our bikes to the local Parnell store for gum or candy as a treat. Pizza night and renting a VCR for movie night were rarities/special occasions. Looking back I can’t be more thankful that this was how I was raised.

As such, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. There is nothing I want more than to live up in the mountains somewhere or at least the foothills, away from neighborhoods and sidewalks and people for the most part. I would love a log cabin someday, reasonable in size and the only luxury I really want is a deck with a view that I can sit outside on with Dawson and watch birds at my bird feeders.

And so I am getting my fill of fresh mountain air tomorrow up in Fairplay with Hal and the burros. And I’ll be flying to Las Vegas Sunday for work where in my opinion everything right with the world has gone very wrong. It’s a dark viewpoint but in my opinion it is a terrible place. It is called ‘Sin City’ after all. I’m going to suck it up and get through it the best way I know how. I know I’ll be white knuckled with anxiety while there picturing myself running in the mountains with the burros. Running with the burros in the mountains just makes it feel like all in the world is right and places like Vegas don’t exist.

And so tomorrow is the calm before the storm. Fairplay before Vegas. Burros, trails, mountains, streams & pines before lights, casinos, noise, crowds, bars, music, smoke, & chaos. Someday I aspire to run with burros every day and never have to return to a place like Vegas again. Until then I’ll get through it somehow.

Outdoor climbing, not for the faint of heart

2011-09-17T09:08:00.005-06:00

If you are supposed to do one thing each day that scares you, I think I’m all set for about a month. Yesterday was my first attempt at rock climbing outdoors after I’ve been rock climbing at the indoor rock climbing gym for ~4 weeks. Let me first say that indoor rock climbing feels safe: you are surrounded by people, a roof, and sturdy hand and footholds. For some reason I trust the rope, I trust the harness, and I even trust a stranger belaying me in the indoor rock climbing gym.

When asked to try some outdoor top roping, I jumped at the chance. I love the outdoors! I thought, well trail running is much better than running indoors on a treadmill, riding a bike up to Jamestown on a fall afternoon is much better than sitting on a stationary in a fitness center. Surely climbing up real rock in the great outdoors would be much better than climbing up brightly colored man-made plastic hand and foot holds, right? Well, the idea sounded good anyway.

First of all, we went up Boulder Canyon, parked and had to hike about a ½ mile up a rocky single track trail to the location of the climb. I knew we were in trouble when Brent (a relatively new climber himself, a nice 30 year old Minnesota kid I met through the Phoenix events I had been attending at the boulder Rock Club) whipped out his “Boulder Canyon Climb Guide Book”. He turned the pages studying the drawn routes in the book while staring up at the rock. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing so I studied the rock too but it wasn’t doing much for me as I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be looking at. I did turn around and look down into the canyon though and the scene was gorgeous. The Boulder Creek was rushing below, birds were soaring overhead, and the wind was blowing through the pines. The scene really was spectacular. This outdoor climbing thing could be right up my alley I thought.

Then 3 young 20-something kids hiked up about 10 minutes later while Brent was still studying the guidebook and getting out rope and carabineers. Again I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing and I said as much. They said “hi” and I said, “I don’t know what I am supposed to be doing” and I laughed. ‘Stupid girl’ they probably thought. I am so now not in the circle of rock climbers, I thought. Oh well. Guess I’m just not a ‘play it cool’ kind of person. Truth is I had butterflies. These 3 rock climbing kids fit the bill perfectly for rock climbers in Boulder: scruffy, physically small in size, plus lots of bells and whistles hooked to their harnesses.

It then started to rain. Brent hiked up a trail around the side of the rock face to place the top rope (I think he planned to hook it up to something up there and throw it down). I have no idea what he was doing or why he was gone for so long. I just sat on a rock in the cold rain wishing I would’ve packed a sweatshirt. The 3 kids were already climbing and they kept asking me if I was going to climb today. I said I wasn’t sure what Brent was doing but I was just enjoying the view. Brent yelled something down to me but I couldn’t understand him; I can hardly understand that Minnesota accent on the ground face to face, not sure how I was supposed to understand him when he was at the top of the rock.

He was back about 20 minutes later saying it was too slippery up top to place the top rope, or something like that. I then asked a stupid question, “Is rock climbing safe in the rain?” For some reason I thought it may not be but then again I was just a stupid girl. The 5 of us waited out the rain under a tree and the quick shower passed through. Apparently the rock didn’t get wet enough to call it quits so Brent asked the 3rd guy in the group if he could set up a top rope for us. Again, I wasn’t sure what this meant so I watched and learned. The smallest guy in the group (boarder line hippie-beard, longish hair, tie dye tee shirt, 26 inch waist) started climbing Brent’s rope up the rock hooking it to these hook things in the rock on his way up. He looked like spider man, I swear this kid must have had suction cups on his hands and feet as he literally looked like he was walking up the rock effortlessly. My neck was starting to hurt from looking up and I was cold. I like adventure but so far this outdoor rock climbing jazz was turning out to be a lot of standing around, goose bumps, and it was putting a crook in my neck. So the guy placed the rope, belayed down and we were all set. We decided it would be best if Brent climbed first.

I tied into the rope confident and ready to belay my new friend. I had belayed Brent thousands of times at the Rock Gym even though he is ~6’3” and close to ~210 lbs. Up Brent went on the rock face. I was curious how he was figuring out where to place his hands and feet as there isn’t really a route marked like there is in the climbing gym. This was the real thing, just nature, just a rock and you kind of needed to figure it out for yourself. Brent got to the top pretty easily, and then it was time for me to belay him down. Well, this is where trouble started. Belaying someone in a climbing gym is pretty straight forward. The rope is wrapped around a large pole twice in a climbing gym near the ceiling so there is a little bit of friction on the rope when you bring someone down. Also the angle is very different; the person you are belaying is almost directly overhead. This was the only way to date that I had belayed someone.

I tightened the rope to bring Brent down and things felt very different. As he put all of his weight on the harness and rope, my body started to slide toward the rock face in front of me; there seemed to be no friction on the rope. I was being lifted off the ground and I started to panic. My knees were shaking, my hands were sweating, and I started yelling that I didn’t know what I was doing. I was honestly scared for this kid’s life as it was in my hands, and I wasn’t confident at all. Then the loose rope wrapped around my one leg. Here a 210 lb kid is dangling off the top of a rock face up Boulder Canyon hanging from a rope that is attached to a harness around my waist and I am being dragged toward the rock from his weight. I almost fell down once until one of the other climbers nearby ran up to help me lower Brent down. It wasn’t a smooth ride down for Brent at all. He didn’t seem too shaken by the whole event but I was disturbed. I was actually to the point when all of this was happening where I started to feel tears well up in my eyes but thank god I held them back.

This was very scary.

We got Brent down and he tells me it is my turn to climb. Now I’m all about trying something new and something scary. But I was shaken up. I reluctantly tied into the rope and looked up at the rock face before me. It might as well have been Mount Everest my eyes were like saucers and my mouth was open thinking, “how the hell is this possible”. Then I said to Brent, “how the hell is this possible?” He told me to trust the rock. Yeah that makes sense dummy, trust a rock. Sure. So I tried, just a little and I stopped. It was much too scary. There were no hand holds or footholds or route for me that I could see. I even ran the palm of my hand up and down the cool rock feeling for a wedge/nick…something I could grab on to, to start my climb up but there didn’t seem to be anything but smooth rock. I told him I was done. I looked down and all 3 other climbers were watching. I had failed miserably. Ah well, what can ya do? I think Brent thought he failed miserably to have even brought me up there to do an outdoor climb for the first time without a lot of instruction.

I’ll probably try it again sometime, but it will have to be with a group and an instructor, and maybe a rock face that is a little less vertical; one with a few handholds would be nice.

Outdoor climbing….very scary, not for the faint of heart.

The Summer of Pancakes

2011-09-13T14:21:00.002-06:00

Have you ever wondered what a place, a home, a building would say if it could talk? Every building, home, cabin, office, has history, stories, and memories. Sometimes being in a historical building makes me feel as though there are the faint sound of voices coming through the walls. I wonder if the Stone House in Glen Haven remembers us.

I once spent a summer in an old stone house sitting on a high hillside in Glen Haven, Colorado. The one room cabin with loft had a concrete/stone floor and tall windows on 2 sides. It had a sloping roof and a wood floored loft with small window. The house sat up over 8,000 feet and staying there in ways was like camping. The kitchen was small and the floors were cold in the morning. It was as one would say, “The Summer of Pancakes” as I would wake up each morning I stayed in the cabin and make a batch of blueberry pancakes in my pajamas while 2 dogs sat close and drooled from the smell. Some memories are so clear that it is almost impossible to erase them from your memory. For me this is one of those memories.

I remember every nook and cranny of that stone house. I remember the 2 stairs that creaked when walking up to the loft. I remember the pattern of the quilt on the bed, where the mattress sat on the dusty wood floor. I remember the breeze that came in through the small upstairs window and the log railing along the loft. I remember the ceiling and the nail holes and the book shelves filled with books: mostly Taoism books, spiritual books, and even some on wilderness, homeopathic medicine, and survival guide books.

I remember the dehydrated foods, the large canisters of nuts, and the large canisters of coffee in the cupboards. I even remember the coffee mug I used each morning and the Mr. Coffee Maker sitting on the end of the counter by the kitchen sink.

Sometimes I think I was blessed and cursed with a photographic memory in that if I had been given the gift of drawing I could sketch the interior of this stone house with such detail and clarity that you would almost think I had lived here for years, day in and day out. Truth is I only spent weekends here for one summer.

I think about this stone house often. How it felt to be there. How comfortable it was. How I felt at times that I could stay there forever and be truly entirely and completely happy. To be brought a cup of coffee in bed with just the right amount of half n half; to be surprised for no reason at all with flowers, to eat a big breakfast of blueberry pancakes. To walk outside in the evening and see the biggest most incredible sky full of stars. To feel safe and comforted and happy.

It was the Summer of Pancakes in the Stone House in Glen Haven, Colorado. It was a good summer. It warms me with thoughts of good memories. Funny that we can’t have things like that back once they are gone and while we are present in times like these, we don’t even imagine that they won’t happen ever again and they are once in a lifetime experiences.

A Stone House. A Summer. The Summer of Pancakes.

Bikram

2011-09-09T06:53:00.002-06:00

Imagine walking into a sauna. Got that? It’s hot and it’s dark and sweat is dripping from your pores. You open your mouth and take in a deep breath and…well the air is hot and thick. Your heart rate goes up and each time you take a breath, you feel like you really aren’t getting quality air. Now imagine the door of the sauna is locked. You are stuck in the sauna and you can’t get out. Now imagine there is a boot camp instructor in tiny spandex shorts covered in tattoos locked in the sauna with you. And imagine that boot camp instructor has a gun to your head. Okay got that? You are in a sauna, you are locked in and there is a boot camp instructor in spandex holding a gun to your head. You are dripping sweat from head to toe and the humidity in the air is causing you to be unable to take a deep breath. The boot camp instructor now tells you that you will be performing a series of exercises while in the sauna in a specific order, in a specific way; and your life depends on it. Okay, you got that? You are still in that sauna, and you are still dripping sweat, and your life depends on exercising while drenched in sweat and you can’t leave, not mention you can’t breathe.

Welcome to Bikram Yoga.

I’m always about trying something new. Always. Baz Luhrmann says, “Try something once every day that scares you”. I wasn’t sure if I was scared more of showing up to a yoga studio wearing a belly baring sports bra and spandex shorts or the heat. I don’t do so well in the heat. I’ve researched the internet time and time again because I’ve always thought I have a ‘non-sweating condition’. I don’t sweat. My mom doesn’t sweat. We just are not sweaters. People must think this is a good thing but I assure you, when it’s hot, it’s not. People ask me why I am up at 4 am in the summer time willing to get out for my run at the ass-crack of dawn and it is truly because I cannot take the heat. Anything over 70 degrees (with a body real feel of 90) just doesn’t do my body good. I’ve been sick as a dog all day after a long run in the heat before with symptoms ranging from night chills and diarrhea to headaches and full body cramping. Heat exhaustion is real and for some reason I don’t think my body has been designed to properly cool itself down. There is a lot of information on the internet about conditions involving over-perspiration but little on the issue of lack of perspiration.

When asked to try a Bikram yoga class, I was scared but excited. I like a challenge. In fact, I do quite enjoy a little pain and along with that pain, a good workout. I still get goose-bumps imagining running the Leadville Trail 100, partly because of the memory of that burning ache in the legs along with the satisfaction and feeling of accomplishment involved in ultra-running.

I knew Bikram was practiced in a 40% humidity room at ~105 degrees. The dress needed to be appropriate for the activity so men wear no shirts and women for the most part sport as little clothing as possible. Okay got it, I’m going to be practically naked in a steamy room full of strangers contorting my body into a various shapes. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of near-nakedness in public. In fact, I pretty much had anxiety all day about the sports bra and shorts I packed into my gym bag. Body image anxiety is real and most women suffer from it from time to time and this for me was one of those times. I was about to expose my most dreaded and least attractive body part, my awful stomach and I wasn’t happy about it. I mean, laying down on a beach bikini clad belly exposed is one thing: duh, you can suck it in; but exercising/bending over/twisting/crunching/pulling/pushing with belly exposed? Shit, I was afraid I might get asked why the pregnant lady decided to take Bikram?!

So here I was stressed out about baring belly and I really should have been stressing out about the heat. The heat was ridiculous to say the least. I thought I was doing pretty good for my first class. I knew all of the poses. It was certainly unlike any yoga class I had taken before, there wasn’t a lot of ‘flow’ and we did things in sets so we repeated postures several times. This was new to me. The first hour went okay considering I looked around and was convinced that I was sweating the least amount of anyone in the class yet I probably had the highest heart rate. (This is where my lack of perspiration is not a good thing). I noticed in the mirror that my face was starting to turn purple and get all splotchy. It didn’t take long for me to start focusing less on my belly and less on the leftover mascara running down my face and more on the fact that I just couldn’t take the god damn heat anymore.

The one rule in the class is you can’t leave the room. I mean, seriously the guy wasn’t holding a gun to my head or anything and honestly I could’ve probably run out of there faster than anyone could have caught me. In fact for the majority of the class I thought about just getting the hell out of that sauna of a room. So like I said, I was doing okay the first hour, then things fell apart. Why these classes are 90 minutes is beyond me. I guess all Bikram is 90 minutes, who knows. But the last half hour felt like the longest half hour of my life. I didn’t want to bail and walk out of the room. I knew everyone else in there HAD to be as miserable as me (if not more so) so I did what I was told and stayed in the room. I’m convinced that the men dripping sweat one drop after another were probably more comfortable than my beet red/purple face with white splotches with just a few drips of sweat on my forehead. I actually think I could feel my heart beat in my temples. Boom, boom, boom…I thought I was having a heart attack.

So I can basically say I made it 78 minutes into the class actually participating. The last 12 minutes, I lay in chavasana (or corpes pose). For those of you non-yogi’s out there, this is ‘full slacker I can’t take the god damn heat anymore pose so I am gonna lay here on my back and hope that I don’t die from breathing in this stale humid sweaty air’.

As I lay there for 12 minutes of eternity looking at the clock, each breath was just so non-rewarding. The air was thick and just not satisfying. The instructor pointed me out several times in these 12 minutes and told me to stop moving: “No fidgeting Tracy, legs straight”. Laying in stillness like a corpse in a sauna on your back for 12 minutes without moving is probably one of most mentally challenging things I have done to date. Forget ultra marathons, my mind kept tell me to just bend one knee slightly and the movement would send a wave of cool air over my body. In those 12 minutes, I actually closed my eyes and imagined myself snowboarding in Vail on a powder day, flakes of snow all around, my lips chapped from the cold. Anything cold was entering my mind. I mostly thought about winter and how clear and cool and refreshing the air feels. This imagery lasted all of 30 seconds. When I opened my eyes after my mental trip to Vail I thought for sure 10 minutes had flown by and I was about to fly out the door of the sauna into the cool lobby area of the studio, but let me tell you that clock had not budged.

I almost motivated myself to participate actively in the last 5 minutes of class, but when I tried to move, I actually think I tasted a bit of puke in the back of my throat. I knew if I moved anymore, there was going to be hot barf all over the studio floor and that yoga instructor (boot camp nazi) would probably make me clean it up in the heat as punishment. So I swallowed hard and laid there for 5 more minutes.

When class was over, I was the first one out of the door of that hot room. I sat in the chair in the lobby and breathed in the normal clear cool air. I then walked down the stairs (wobbly mind you) to the locker room where all previous body image issues/self-consciousness flew out the window. I tore off the drenched sports bra and shorts and was the first to hop into one of the 2 single stall showers. I turned it on the coldest setting and stood there face first in the water and let what was left of the mascara run down my face. Yes I showered at a gym with people around. I got out of the shower and dried off not even caring that I was naked and women were all around me in a small locker room area. Trust me this was for me an accomplishment in itself.

Bikram yoga was brutal. The longest ten minutes ever. Hot Hot Hot. And not a ‘good Hot’. You become so affixed on the heat in the room and how you are going to survive it that nothing else really seems to matter. Part of me believes that Bikram is a form of torture. Bikram is….well Bikram. Those are some sick people. I think I’ll stick to running with the Donkeys.

Slow Down

2011-09-07T05:16:00.003-06:00

I’ve gone back to running with Dawson as of late as I do a bit more research into the burro buying thing. Truth is I’ve got some work travel coming up this fall as well as a few weeks spent in Michigan with family over the holidays. I’m starting to lean more towards a spring lease/buy of a burro and getting a late winter/early spring setup of the hitch and trailer on my Jeep. I’ve noticed horse trailer parking at several trailheads in Boulder including Dowdy Draw Trailhead in South Boulder. I’ve also noticed the “yield to bikes and horses” signage up along the Walker Ranch Loop Trail. In my mind, where horses are allowed, burros surely should be. I’m also planning on ordering a trail book that the ‘horse people’ in Boulder use. The Walker Ranch Loop may serve as the perfect place to start training with the burro, as the trail really mimics the terrain including elevation gain and loss experienced in a pack burro race. The loop is only around 7.5 miles but I figure I could run it twice with a burro for a long run and trust me, one time around the loop is no joke in itself with some long climbs, stairs, and switchbacks through wooded areas.

On a Labor Day run around the Walker Ranch Loop, Dawson started to show signs of her age as she struggled behind me on the leash for the majority of the run. I’m wondering if Dawson’s trail running days are numbered and soon she’ll be satisfied with lazy afternoon walks down the South Boulder Creek Trail or lounging in the park. I get so sad thinking about Dawson getting older and slowing down but I know that it is all part of life. I’m not trying to be melodramatic here but sooner or later, Dawson will not be here anymore. It’s just a matter of time and with the cards stacked as they are, I will likely outlive my best friend Dawson and will look back on all of our adventures together.

Dawson and I have made a great team and we continue to make a great team. I read that a dog’s age (in human years) can vary depending on size and breed but a multiplier by 7 can get you there. As Dawson is 10 and a mutt, I feel a little bad that I may have tried to drag a 70 year old around a challenging 7.5 mile trail loop in 80 degree heat the other day. We did stop at the South Boulder Creek for a long rest half way around the loop. I climbed up on a cool rock, yet to be warmed by the day’s sun while Dawson cooled off and rehydrated herself. As I laid there I thought that there may not be a more perfect time or place on earth, alone with my perfect pet and life partner thus far.

Being in nature, being with animals I believe may be the core of who I am. I get anxiety about an upcoming business trip to Las Vegas of all places. I’ve tried to find a way out of the trip and have even scheduled my flights to ensure that I get all the required work done & completed in the shortest amount of time. I’ve been to Vegas twice before and that was enough. The scene of me on the rock and Dawson in the water couldn’t be more opposite of almost all scenes on the strip in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Dawson also had the privilege of hiking Bear Peak on Saturday this past weekend. (Like I said, I think these events are starting to be a bit much but I’d feel awfully guilty leaving her behind!). There on the rocky summit of Bear Peak, Dawson curled up between 2 jagged Boulders and fell asleep in the afternoon sun. She wasn’t on level ground either; she was literally perched at the tippy top of the peak. Others resting at the top enjoying the view pointed and chuckled humored by my graying pooch and her ability to find an unusual place to nap.

And so, as life continues to be a mystery we are all aging and some of us are inevitably slowing down. We are all animals you know, no different than the dogs or cats or horses or wild beasts that roam this same planet we all call home. So while we are here, we should just enjoy what we have been given; and do what we can even if some days we feel as though we can’t help but slow down. Get outside, breathe fresh air, and slow down regardless if you need to or not.

Missing the Burros

2011-08-24T10:53:00.003-06:00

It’s been over a week since I ran with Spike and I’m already missing the burros. Don’t get me wrong, I love running with my running partner for the last 10 years, Dawson, a speedy mutt and fantastic trail runner, but there is just something about running alongside such a powerful animal as a burro. I love the sound of their hooves on the trail, beating like a drum to a beat and the sound of their breathing; hell I even miss the smell.

My addictive personality can sometimes get me into trouble. It can also give me a focus. As I contemplate and search for a horse trailer, I stop and say to myself at moments, “I must be crazy”. What single 33 year old female Engineer living in Boulder, Colorado wants to buy or lease a donkey? Well, me of course. I can’t think of anything better honestly.

A friend told me the other day that before we know it, this life as we know it, will be over. Life goes by terribly fast. Some days I feel older than I wish I felt at 33, some days I feel like I have a long road ahead of me. I’ve got some life experiences under my belt but I still have a lot to learn, and a lot of growing to do. I also think I have a lot of love to give. I can’t help but think there is a burro out there waiting to be my partner (even for a short period of time) in this phase in my life. As crazy as it sounds, I think there is much to learn from these animals. I think Curtis Imrie wrote that a donkey has been considered to be a ‘poor man’s horse’. But the more time I spend with them, the more differences I see between the two and the more interest I have in burros over horses.

And so, I need to decide what will be the right fit for me. Leasing or buying. Wild or trained? Age? Sex? Boarding location. People look at me when I say I am donkey shopping and they really believe I am crazy. Truly. They tilt their heads at me just as Dawson does when I ask her if she wants to go for a run and are very confused. Truth be told, the ability to run with and build a relationship with an animal like a burro is an exciting idea and something I truly look forward to.

I guess I’ve never gotten too excited about material things. I’ve never desired to live in a big house or drive a fancy car. Clothes for the most part I just buy to fit and I’m happy wearing no-brand labels. I’m not a shopper (I’d like to think this would fall on a pro list to a man about me!) and I am always more interested in something that will add something bigger into my life. A greater experience, a deeper meaning, and more memories…not to mention value. I’m not sure how a large fancy house would get me any of those things. To me, it seems like more of a waste of space and money than anything else. As such, I’m sure there are friends and family out there that disagree with my plans to invest in a burro. But I say, if I can afford to, then why the hell not? I wouldn’t spend a penny on what most folks save to spend money on but I keep those opinions to myself.

So…to all of you Boulderites out there, if you see a girl running a donkey on one of the trails in the next few months, rest assured it is me. If you dream of something, go for it. Never let an experience pass you by. We can only live for today and move forward with what our experiences and life have taught us so far. I have no expectations for my future burro partner yet I am excited. I say, “Why the hell not!?” There could be much worse things to spend my time doing on a Sunday morning than running with a burro. Much worse things.

And so, I’m missing the burros. As Roger Pedretti put it, “I’ve been bitten by the bug”. Who would’ve ever thought I’d be missing a burro.

Spike

2011-08-15T07:05:00.003-06:00

After last week’s disappointing race at Leadville: actually being unable to run at all or make it through the course, I was apprehensive about participating in the last and final leg of the triple crown of burro racing for the season, a ~12 miler in Buena Vista, Colorado. I had been talking with Roger Pedretti (Wisconsin) about running but I didn’t have a burro. Steve had told me that he was planning to bring up Vern & Jake, a friend’s burro for the race. That left me burro-less for the final race. I called around per Roger’s recommendation (Ralph Herdzog, Bill Lee, etc) to see about getting a burro to race Sunday but finally Roger got in touch with Hal Walter and Hal got in touch with me.

Hal said he would be happy to let me use one of his burros for the race, he just hadn’t decided which one. I told him I had no expectations for the race and would be happy just to be able to run it. He first contemplated giving me Cash to run, the burro a week prior he had some trouble with on a bridge in Leadville. He mentioned Redbo, the beast of a burro he has that is a good rider but strong as a bull and very large in size. Then he finally called Friday and told me I would be running Ace, a large paint Jack. Yes, he decided I would do fine with Ace.

I registered for the race when I arrived in Buena Vista early Sunday morning. I wasn’t sure Ace’s age and I didn’t have a pack saddle to weigh in so I wrote down “Ace” on my registration form, left the age blank, and paid my dues. Then arrived the Walter family, 2 burros in tow. Out hopped Ace, a colorful paint Jack, and Spike, a black Jack who looked like he had been in a street fight. Hal said, “You’ll be running Spike today” and I was just happy to be running period. I immediately wanted to get to know Spike; we had never even met before and would be attempting to run together for quite a ways, almost a half marathon in fact. Just like with Hal, I knew I was standing in the presence of greatness as Spike is a prior World Championship Pack Burro Race Winner. This burro was a winner and a veteran. This was not his first race, nor would it be his last. I think Mary (Hal’s wife) told me Spike was 19 years old. Bill Lee later told me that Spike was born on a hillside and rolled down the hill falling into a Yucca plant, therefore appropriately receiving the name, Spike.

Hal & I decided to take a quick jog down to the bridge (about a half a mile into the course is a suspension bridge over the Arkansas River) with the 2 burros. This bridge spooks many burros and can actually create a bottleneck in the course. Hal ran Ace and I ran Spike to the bridge where we crossed them both comfortably over. I hoped it would go the same in the race.

Spike was very calm at the start. It reminded me a bit of Stella the week prior which made me nervous. I wasn’t sure how Spike was going to react to me or to the race. Hal & Mary told me he has been known to take advantage of rookie runners in the past and to be sure I told him who was boss. Give him some direction and I would be fine. I knew going into a race having never met the burro was a big gamble. Spike didn’t know me and I didn’t know him. We didn’t know each other’s capabilities, idiosyncrasies, likes & dislikes (crucial in a pack burro race in terms of things that may spook an animal), etc. The gun went off and the start was a little touch and go. Spike jogged slowly, got distracted by a Rottweiler pooch on the side of the road in town, and really wasn’t extremely interested in moving very fast. I was running on his right side (pretty sure Mary said he was used to the left side) and I was swinging the rope. The bridge was quite the bottleneck as expected as people were pushing, pulling, and shoving burros across. The lead pack of racers were already far ahead and I was in the middle pack.

After the bridge, the trail started off as a rocky single track that moved up and down along the side of the Arkansas River. It was quite beautiful and quite difficult to move through. See, on a single track you are really only as fast as the front runner with burro. It’s quite difficult to pass with prickly bushes and rocks on either side, plus Spike just seemed quite content following closely behind the burro walking in front of him. But I wanted to run! When we got up to a wider more flat section of the trail, Spike and I made our move. I’ve been told that burro racing is 51% burro, 49% human. If the burro doesn’t want to go and you do, the burro will always win. I knew that I couldn’t force Spike to do anything but I certainly could encourage him. After reading Hal’s book, Wild Burro Tales, I also knew if I could somehow figure out a way to make Spike think this was all his idea, I would be golden.

Spike passed each and every team in that middle pack on the flat road. I was thrilled with his pace and his consistency. I talked to him almost the entire time…not yelling commands at him talking to him, but talking/talking to him. You know, the way that I talk to Karyn on training run. Except I also told him how awesome he was and how thrilled I was to be running with him. I was buttering him up for the most part. I gave him occasional pats on the neck and back. I figured out right away that Spike liked me BACK. Spike did not want me anywhere near his shoulder or neck and he would stop if I got out in front of him. Spike was there to lead this thing; he just counted on me for the occasional encouragement and steering. So I stayed back by Spike’s right hip. On some uneven parts of the course, it felt like we were flying through the trail, right around tight corners and over large boulders…I just held onto the top of the pack saddle and leaned my left hip into his right hip. I was still swinging the rope with my right hand and Spike simply carried me through this part of the narrow course. You see, parts of this course were quite narrow and the burro typically wants to run in the center of the trail. That leaves me in the bushes and rocks unless I am running directly in front of him (which he would not have) or directly behind him (kind of dangerous as it makes it very hard to see the trail and rocks). So I basically tried to squeeze in next to him. He didn’t seem to mind that we were body to body running side by side through the course.

What I needed to remember was that Spike was a veteran. He knew this course and he knew what this was: a pack burro race. I was simply a rookie along for the ride. Spike didn’t get overly excited throughout the race. I didn’t have to do a lot of coaxing. We passed many burro teams to who appeared faster than us, but they didn’t have the consistency that Spike had. Spike was happy running a 10 min/mile. Although I knew I was capable of a faster pace, I was happy to be so consistent throughout the course. The only time Spike slowed down were the aid stations when people appeared on the course. We never had the opportunity to pair up with other burros on the course. Spike was happy running solo out on the course with me.

There is a different kind of Zen experienced when out on a trail alone with a burro running side by side. It’s hard to explain. In Pack Burro Racing you aren’t really able to go to that same Zen place that you go when running solo; you know, the kind of place where you almost daydream and forget miles as they pass by? You are typically engaged the entire time concentrating on your footing and the trail and most importantly your animal. I stopped twice to tighten Spike’s pack saddle. Maybe Spike liked the way I talked to him. Maybe the way that Rich Adair (a seasoned burro racer in a past life) taught me to hold and swing the rope (a slight choke on the rope with little slack) registered with Spike. Maybe Spike couldn’t tell that I was nervous or a rookie. Whatever the reason, Spike & I made a great team…not a FAST team, but a CONSISTENT team.

I believe Spike and I finished 11th out of 33 teams today. Not bad for my 4th burro race and my first one with a burro I never trained with. We ran 12 miles in ~2 hours and 10 minutes. It was extremely steady and an absolute joy/pleasure to run with Spike.

Stella, Steve, & Vern made me fall in love with the sport of Pack Burro Racing to start but after a minor setback in Leadville, Spike renewed my spirits and my interest in sport. I told somebody the other day that the attraction to the sport for me is the unpredictability of it. There seems to be an adventure waiting around every corner. Even the World Champions don’t know what will happen going into each race. Nothing is for certain. A burro can be spooked by just about anything on the course, sometimes things we can’t even see/comprehend. My race this weekend can only be described as an absolute joy. Thanks to the Walter family for allowing me to run with their beloved burro & prior world champion, Spike.

Draggin Ass: A Lesson in Humility

2011-08-07T19:59:00.004-06:00

Sometimes we make the wrong choice….and life hands us lessons. The choice made today taught me a lesson in humility.

My first 2 burro races (Idaho Springs & Fairplay-the short course) both went better than expected. Although I knew Stella was a beginner, she ran through each race with what I now know was a minimal amount of coercing. Sure there were moments in the Fairplay race when I had to pull her or push her, but nothing compared to today.

The Leadville Race had an option of running in the Open Division (21 miles) or the Women’s Division, also called the Short Course (15 miles). When registering for the race this morning, I hadn’t decided which division I wanted to run in. There were pros and cons to each. The Open Division would allow Stella & I to partner up once again with Vern & Steve; which is the only way I had burro raced (both in training and in racing) up to this point in time. It also would challenge Stella to a distance and altitude she wasn’t accustomed to. The Women’s Division however would allow me to run solo with Stella for the first time ever and give her & I the opportunity to work together as a team; possibly allowing us to pick up the pace (or so I thought anyway) and give her a solo debut without Vern to see what she was really made of. It also would allow me to compete (or so I thought anyway) against some really great women burro racers.

Steve & I went back and forth. I decided to try the Women’s Division both for the opportunity to run Stella solo and to run among women. I thought it would be a nice change of pace (not that I hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed running with Vern & Steve up to that point in time).

Vern had a difficult time with the separation as Steve walked to the start line for the 11 am Open Division start. Both Stella & Vern were visibly upset with the separation. They are pasture mates and best buddies and pack animals to boot so the separation caused instant anxiety. At one point, Steve’s son Jason ran back and told me to get Stella and run in the Open Division. I thought no problem, then he quickly was back said never mind.

Steve & Vern took off in the Open Division @ 11 am.

Stella & I then made our way to the start line for the 11:15 am Women’s Division start. I was nervous and excited. I had butterflies. Stella seemed calm. She seemed agreeable. She acted normal. The gun went off and so did Stella, sprinting down the street me in tow. I thought, “Wow, this is gonna be great, a super-fast pace and a super-fast race!” We tore down the street for all of 2 minutes tops. Then Stella stopped. She turned to look at me then turned and backed away from me as if she had never seen me before in her entire life. I said, “Stella, it’s me” as if this was going to knock some sense into my beloved jackass and new running partner. I was thinking, “Did all of those hours of running in the last few months mean nothing to you?” I immediately snapped out of it. I knew not to get discouraged so easily and so early in the race as I was being passed left and right by woman after woman in the Women’s Division. I then tried running in front of Stella pulling her behind me (this worked in Fairplay quite well and she responded great trotting happily behind me). She just stood in the street. Again, she looked at me as though I was a stranger kidnapping her at 10,000 feet, there to cause her some great harm. I never got mad or upset. I assumed the position remembering what Rich told me. I threw out a few “Up-Up-Up’s” and tapped her belly with the rope. I swung the rope, I tapped her behind, I nudged, I pushed, I pulled, I asked nicely, I asked not so nicely only once. She was pissed. She wanted nothing to do with me. But I wasn’t even out of town. I hadn’t even hit the gravel road yet let alone any trail portion of the course.

We started up hill and I was literally pulling Stella behind me. She wouldn’t even walk behind me. There was zero slack in the rope. I was passed one by one by one by each and every runner in the Women’s Division and as I counted, I realized that I was soon in dead last place. We weren’t even quite a mile out of town. I still wasn’t ready to give up but Stella was giving me nothing. As we got passed by the encouraging and upbeat of women bringing up the rear of the pack, at least their burro teammates were WALKING…you know, moving forward one hoof in front of the other? Stella was literally pulling back on the rope as I dragged her up the hill. I was literally Draggin’ Ass up the hill. It was utterly exhausting to say the least. I tried everything over and over and over again. I yelled new commands and started making shit up as I went. I smiled as cars and trucks drove by waving. “She isn’t in any hurry!” one guy said. I smiled and waved. Here I was dragging a burro who actually managed to place 8th in the Fairplay race 7 days before. I was in shock! ‘Stella! Seriously!? I love you Stella, why are you doing this to me?!’

We knew it was a gamble going into it. Stella was either going to run with me solo with no problem or not at all. It was either going to be great or a disaster. It was a disaster.

But let me tell you, I am no quitter. I really am not. But I’m also smart enough to know when a battle has been lost and when it is time to hang your hat. I dragged Stella 45 minutes and we had only covered 1.5 miles. We were in dead last place. I knew the course went uphill for several more miles and Stella wouldn’t even so much as WALK forward with me. She resisted each step which was started to give me rope burn on each shoulder and my hands ached from holding the rope. It was a no win for me. I finally stopped. I stood on the hill alone with Stella and I turned around to see the most beautiful spectacular view in maybe the entire world. Huge cumulus clouds and a picturesque deep blue sky. Snowcapped peaks were in every direction. The temperature was perfect, about 73 degrees and a gorgeous cool breeze. I stood there alone with Stella and I rubbed her chest and sighed. I was surprisingly not upset although for a moment I thought I felt my eyes tear up. Although a small part of me was disappointed to know that I was going to give up and walk my ass back to town, I was happy.

My mom had flown in from Michigan to see me race and I knew she was back in town waiting for me. I knew Steve & Vern were up in the gorgeous mountains behind me running like the wind. I looked down and I had my legs! I felt happy and blessed, alone on just the outskirts of Leadville with a burro named Stella, who wouldn’t for the life of her run one step with me.

2 guys working the race pulled up in a red pickup truck and took my race number. I was a little sad as I untied it from Stella’s saddle. I think they were surprised at my retreat so early on in the race. I was a little surprised as well. I had high hopes and expectations for myself and for Stella given our great races @ Idaho Springs & Fairplay. But Stella was just not ready to run without her beloved Vern, her pasture mate and best buddy. I’m not sure Stella was ready to run without Steve either. To Stella’s defense, we had never run together solo before today in Leadville. I ran the numbers though and had I continued to drag ass on the course, at the rate we were moving it would’ve taken up damn near 6.5-7 hours to finish 15 miles. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with finishing 15 miles in that time frame but it was a tough pill for me to swallow after finishing the same distance close to 2 hours and 45 minutes a week prior.

And so I put my head down and literally dragged my ass back to town. I thought Stella was going to happily trot back into town behind me or at least WALK. But Stella had plans of her own and literally resisted each and every step on the 1.5 mile walk back into town. Stella and I covered 3 miles in 1.5 hours. I had both hands on the rope leaning forward as I put all of my body weight into each step to get her back into town. I tried other methods but nothing else worked except dragging her.

I was disqualified today at the Leadville Boom Days Burro Race. DNF: Did Not Finish.

And so, part of me is disappointed but another part of me is happy. We had such as great race in Fairplay, a race that I will never forget and I am so thankful to have experienced that with her, with Vern, & with Steve. Leadville brought me back to reality; it reminded me that we just can’t finish everything. Some things are just not meant to be no matter how stubborn or how much physical strength or mental will power we have. Sometimes it just ISN’T.

It was a good day, gorgeous weather, in a great little mining town that sits over 10,000 feet called Leadville, Colorado. Surrounded by great people and my mother who flew in for 2 days to watch her daughter attempt at but fail at something yet still be proud of her regardless.

Today was a lesson in humility. Stella taught me today that it isn’t always about what I want. And even Draggin’ Ass will only get you so far.

Masochist Donkey Lovers

2011-07-31T18:12:00.004-06:00

Burro Racing is seriously an insane sport. It is downright insane. It is brutal, exhausting, and entirely made up of a bunch of masochist donkey lovers who love pain. I call myself a distance runner, even an ultramarathoner. Pain has been my friend for many years. Pain became my friend in my very first marathon in Sept 2004. The pain felt when finishing a first marathon is a make it or break it for most people. Unfortunately after several marathons, the stakes went up for me. I found that it was taking more miles and more challenges to reach that pain. Pain is good. It reminds us that we are alive; it brings out the fight in us; it shows our true colors. I am an adrenaline junkie and a true masochist. Marathons became Ultramarathons, which now became Burro Racing.

I spent the weekend in Fairplay, Colorado in order to take in and experience what “Burro Days Weekend” in Fairplay is all about. Fairplay is a small mining town about 85 miles southwest of Denver. Fairplay sits at 9,953 feet (don’t be fooled, I checked my GPS at the hotel and it read 10,005 feet). That’s almost 5,000 feet higher than Boulder which sits at 5,430 feet. Trust me, when it comes to running, it makes a difference; the higher above sea level, the less oxygen available.

Today was Stella’s true test at a Burro Race both at high altitude and long distance. Steve, Vern, Stella, & I signed up for the short course in Fairplay which is 15 miles. The long course is 29 miles, and goes up Mosquito Pass at an elevation of 13,185 feet. Basically the long course in Fairplay is both an ultrmarathon and a mountain climb…oh and don’t forget you gotta bring the donkey.

Saturday I had the privilege of viewing a documentary at the Fairplay Town Hall which filmed in ’09 by Brooklyn filmmaker Trevor Velin called “Haulin’ Ass”. “Haulin’ Ass” followed 3 Burro Racers through their stories in how they got into Burro Racing and what racing meant to them. Some of the legends of burro racing were featured in the film including Hal Walter and Curtis Imrie. Barb Dolan & Karen Thorpe were also shown in the film. I was able to meet these fine-tuned Burro Racing athletes before the start of the race in Fairplay today.

Burro Racing athletes are heros to those involved in Burro Racing and to the towns that sponsor the events. The Burros are even considered celebrities, with constant picture taking and an overwhelming interest in the animals and the race. I was absolutely floored by the town support and the camaraderie of the athletes, the animals, & the support staff (including those working the check points and aid stations). This sport has been running for 63 years. 63 years. That’s pretty amazing. Some of these guys have been running this particular race for 30+ years consecutively. Impressive indeed. And also a bit crazy if you asked me.

The 15 miler was nothing short of brutal. The race starts in town which narrowed into a treacherous single track down a loose rock field, which was nothing short of downright dangerous. Runners and burros trying to squeeze single file into the trail. People were falling, burros were slipping, and teams were crashing and burning literally. Stella did great. Steve and I got the burros running together and got a very good pace going. Although many of the runners were there to participate in the long course (29 miles), some like us, turned around at the 7.5 mile marker. The views, when I was able to look, were just spectacular. White capped peaks all around, great forests of pine, open fields of single track and double track trail, streams rushing below, and the hot hot sun beating down. The distance part of the 15 miles for me was no issue. The challenge for me is the handling of the burro. Stella is green, a newbie who is still learning. But no matter how good she is, she still has moments when she needs to be guided and/or pulled back on track and coaxed into moving forward. This is just part of the sport. This is the same part of the sport for the 1st place all the way to the last place finishers. This is the theme of the sport. Here’s why it is so challenging:

Running at 10,000 feet in the hot summer sun is no joke period. Pair that up with a few hill climbs and a Burro who may not want to run some of the sections on the course, turns you into not only an endurance athlete, but a Burro handler; this combination of distance running and Burro handling at altitude is downright exhausting, both mentally and more so, physically. There may not be anything harder than pulling a 500+ lb. Burro up a hill behind you. Talk about a work out.

So the race went well. We were in 5th and 6th place coming into town. 2 guys and their burros were right behind us. Vern & Stella conveniently decided for whatever reason they did not want to run through town. We got passed. The town streets were lined with people. There Steve & I were, pushing and pulling the Burros. One good push on Stella and she darted forward wrapping her lead rope around Steve’s behind, flipping him right over onto his back on the pavement. The crowd gasped. It happened so fast and right before my eyes. It knocked the wind right out of Steve. It about gave me a heart attack! Both burros stopped on a dime. I asked him if he was okay. He just sort of shook his head. It took a second but Steve got up and worked to pull Vern through town to the finish line. I pushed Vern from behind while dragging Stella behind me. When Steve got up, the crowd roared. Steve is ~60 years old. Tough as nails and a crazy SOB. I’m thinking, “Why in the world would this guy do this to himself?” Then I have to stop and look myself in the mirror. Probably for the same reason I am choosing to do it to myself. We finished 7th and 8th place respectively.

There is nothing in the world quite like racing a burro. It’s a bunch of Masochist Donkey Lovers disguised as distance runners/athletes. Don’t let Nike shorts and a Garmin GPS fool you, all Burro Racers are frickin’ crazy. And I’m happily including myself in that category.

Steve and I were wiped after Steve’s spill and us dragging the Burros to the finish line. We looked at each other as if to say, “Why the hell did we do that?”…instead Steve says, “Leadville next weekend?” and I reply, “Absolutely”.

Leadville here we come…

Fairplay here we come

2011-07-25T16:13:00.009-06:00

One burro, two burros, 33 burros…

It was a very hot day for any running race and a particularly hot day for a burro race, but Stella, Vern, Steve, & I survived. My first burro race experience was a unique one, one definitely for the books and something I will always remember.

I’ve participated in countless running races over the years; some better organized than others, but almost all of them end up being great experiences; and all unique in their own way. The Idaho Springs Burro Race was extremely unorganized but it still ended up being an awesome experience and a ton of fun.

Running with a burro side by side is a bit of a novelty at first but it is certainly no joke. I’ve had a difficult time trying to explain the sport to people. “Do you ride the burro?” is the most common question. “No, I do not ride the burro, that’s against the rules” I explain. The best way I can think to explain it is to think of running with a dog on a leash. Running with a dog on a leash can be a fun or painful experience depending on several factors: the dog, the training completed with the dog/how well you know the dog, the course/terrain, the weather, etc. A burro is the same way except a burro is a lot bigger and a lot stronger…and a lot more cautious.

The race started out as a complete cluster. 33 runners and their partnered burros trying to squeeze into a small city block attempting to avoid traffic. Donkey dung, spectators, kids, cameras, cars, antsy burros, sweaty anxious runners, and the blazing sun were the themes of the moment. I had butterflies. Stella was calm but Vern was anxious to run. He was very unsettled and I’ve actually never seen him act this way before. Apparently Vern knew what was to come: A race start and a sprint to get a good place.

The race coordinator shouted some comments regarding the course and said it was well marked and we would be on our way. I knew Stella would stay by Vern most of the time. Stella is 3 and has been trained to run next to Vern, her veteran running partner and pasture mate. This is apparently how burros are trained to be racing burros…learn from another racing burro. Stella had only participated in one race prior to this one and she did not finish. Apparently she had been spooked by a drainage ditch and decided to freeze on the spot and not move a few weeks prior.

There was no starting gun. Someone yelled, “Go!” and we were off. Vern took off like Usain Bolt and Stella and I were still standing in the street. 18 of us runners were new to burro racing so there was a lot of runners and their burros still motionless after ‘go’ was yelled trying to figure out how to move forward. Well, we were trying to figure out how to get our burro’s to move forward. Without trusty ol’ Vern there to show Stella how to start, she looked at me and I looked at her. Instinctually I grabbed the rope and started pulling her with all my strength down the street. Hoots and hollers of laughter were around me and one guy yelled in a very southern accent, “Ha! She ain’t goin’ nowhere if she don’t wanna go!” I then got behind Stella, placed both of hands on her rump and attempted to push her. No movement whatsoever. Then I heard a familiar voice, it was KT’s man, Rich. He said calmly, “Tracy get beside her.” My guardian angel had spoken. I assumed the position NEXT to Stella (not in front of her pulling or behind her pushing) and she reluctantly moved along. We rounded the street corner and there Steve and Vern were waiting for us thank god. The 2 burros teamed up and we were instantly passing teams left and right up the big mountain climb. Steve, Vern, Stella, & I were working as one unit, running close to 7 minute miles up the dirt road above the small town of Idaho Springs below. The sun was sizzling down on us. I was so winded and overheated but thrilled that we were moving forward. Up, up, up we went.

The chaos continued around us as we made the climb. People were smacking burro’s behinds, pulling burros from ditches, others trying to coax their burros from snacking on the roadside weeds, etc. You name it; I saw it…other than someone actually riding their burro. There was name yelling, coaxing, and begging. Humans turned desperate trying to convince animals to move. This was all about the animal, the burro. This wasn’t a race of human endurance; this was a race of teamwork and pure patience. In order to burro race, you just need to stay calm and keep moving forward. Things will go wrong and wrong they did go.

2 miles into the brutally hot, extremely difficult climb, Steve & I were in 3rd and 4th place respectively! We were within earshot of 1st and 2nd place and we were making great progress. Then the trail got a little tricky. It veered off into some woods which dipped down into a sandy steep ravine. We were suddenly deep into a forest and having a difficult time staying on out feet. We realized we were lost. About 10 of us were all lost. Burros and all. The scary part was we were so deep into this ravine that it actually became quite unsafe. I watched Steve & Vern slip and slide down the ravine on the sand, the burro having a terrible time keeping his footing. I had no choice but to follow. Stella was behind me attached by a rope and there were several men & their burros behind us. One wrong foot and I was going down with a 500+ burro on top of me. I was a little scared. We all decided to put our heads together and about 20 minutes of scaling through the rugged ravine, we finally came across the trail once again. We had to break through brush, hop over large logs (Stella was not too keen on that), and carefully place our feet over loose rocks, all while going down, down, down the mountain.

Stella and I definitely bonded. She got spooked a few times and I screamed once or twice. We finally came out of the woods to the gravel road that headed us back into town, to the finish line. We lost several places but we picked up our pace as a unit once again. I couldn’t help but smile through town running side by side Stella & Vern, & Steve Hart, my trusty partner and newly found friend who was gracious enough to teach me and allow me to run with his young burro. Steve even backed off at the finish line, allowing Stella & I to cross first. Steve yelled, “This one is yours Stella, well deserved”. Well-deserved indeed Stella. I was so winded from the pace and the heat, that I crossed the finish line, put my hands to my knees and just sat there panting. I hugged Steve (although my water bottle that I had placed in my cleavage during the run crushed between us) and we laughed. I then bent over and kissed Stella right on the nose.

It was a slow start, a quick uphill sprint to 3rd place, getting lost in the woods on a mountain, bonding with Stella in the woods, befriending a 60 year old burro racing veteran Steve and his trusty burro Vern, a bit of heat stroke, and surrounding myself with some of the most friendly, down to earth, slightly crazy and masochist people I have ever met.

And so it is a new addiction. Burro Racing. My first season. Me & Stella.

Fairplay here we come.

Perspective

2011-07-13T20:22:00.002-06:00

What is perspective but simply the way that the world is seen through someone’s eyes? A viewpoint. Someone shoes. I often wonder what the world looks like through other people’s eyes. It’s good to wonder. Perspective is a way of seeing things. I wonder if everything happens for a reason. Lost keys, a delayed flight, forgetting that one last thing and running back into the house for it. Are these glitches, these delays, these things that often appear to be mishaps/mistakes really put there by something greater than we are…for a reason? Are we often times delayed because we just are not meant to be someplace at a certain time? Is there a lesson we are supposed to be learning during that delay? Someone we are supposed to meet? Or perhaps it’s just a moment given to us by a higher power in order to get a different perspective on things, on life, about ourselves.

If we fight life’s challenges, its mishaps, its delays, often times our world becomes a constant battle, a struggle. I still don’t know what I believe, if things are meant to be, already planned, already mapped out for each and every one of us.
If choice is half chance, what is perspective matter anyway? I guess it may just be a choice in how we live and how we see the world regardless of what happens or not. If we go through life choosing to have a certain attitude, maybe what is or what isn’t meant to be can be accepted that much easier.

I am drawn to 'patient' and 'calm' individuals. Everything that I feel I am not in a stressful situation. Someone who keeps things in a better perspective than I do. Someone who sees the bigger picture. Although I strive to see the whole forest and not just the trees ahead of me, I easily get frustrated with things such as delays and tardiness. I was taught that late people are disrespectful people; but maybe they are meant to be late for a reason, to teach us punctual folks to keep it all in perspective.

It isn’t what we want but what we ultimately can’t live without that matters in the long run I’ve been told. I guess that keeps things in perspective when you think of life that way. What can you physically, emotionally, and spiritually not live without? List those things and you’ll have a better perspective on life and the things that truly matter.

Some people close their eyes and imagine they are someplace else when they are stuck in a situation or location they don’t want to be in. I do the same. I imagine I am running down a gravel road lined with pine trees in Montana on a cool fall day; my ultramarathon route. I imagine swinging on the porch swing at my mom’s house, just Ashley and I talking; I imagine handing off the mountain bike to my brother in the Muddy Buddy Race, I imagine picking peaches with my dad, riding up in the small plane with my mom about to go sky diving in Kauai, I imagine running Marshall Mesa on a perfect Saturday morning with KT. Watching Dawson run down the trail on Mount Sanitas, tail wagging, and tongue flapping in the wind. The sunrise on Flagstaff with Henry. The way it felt to drive to Glen Haven every weekend last summer. The Elk in Estes. Running at 10,000 feet. Soaking my feet in the South Boulder creek after a long run. A big full moon and a sky full of stars on a cool Boulder night. These are the things that I cannot live without. These make me keep it all in perspective.

I keep it in perspective as I sit at the LAX airport on a Wednesday evening. With a 4 hour flight delay. Which puts me into Denver now at 2 am (if we do in fact leave on time). I’m headed home. Sooner or later some type of aircraft will put me back in Colorado which will put me back in my jeep which will put me back in my bed with my pooch. And I will survive. I will be tired, probably for days. I will be off my schedule. I will not do what I originally wanted to do tomorrow. But somehow, someway, god willing, I just need to keep it all in perspective.

Psychology of a tall girl

2011-07-12T06:56:00.002-06:00

When a short or woman of average height wears heels, more times than not, people don’t take too much notice. When a woman of above average height wears heels, everyone (men and women) seem to take notice. People seem very disturbed by women over 6 feet tall period, whether they are flat footed or wearing heels. I wore 4 inch heels to work yesterday, some wedge sandals. And the comments came left and right all day long. At 5’10” without shoes, these baby’s put me darn near 6’2”.

What is wrong with a woman who stands at 6’2” or taller? And I’m not talking a transgender here; I’m talking a feminine straight woman? Men seem frightened by women this tall (of course I don’t work with any men over average height with my boss pushing 5’4” at best) and other women don’t seem to like it too much either.

The most common response I got from women was “don’t you think you are tall enough without those heels?” and “you are making me feel bad!” Hmmm, I don’t really get either one of those comments. First and foremost I didn’t go to work thinking it was ‘who can be the tallest’ day, second of all, I’m not sure how someone would feel bad just because when standing next to someone they are a foot shorter. I get nervous and excited when I stand next to someone (especially a man) that is damn near a foot taller. It doesn’t happen very often and I love feeling small next to a man.

The truth is our society has made us believe that the man should be taller and the woman should be shorter. Period. Couples should be paired in this fashion. Men should be strong, women should be weak. People don’t say this but it’s assumed with the height and size differences. And as such I have always been attracted to men that are either taller or heavier than me significantly or both. Then there is this rule regarding the heels that comes into play. If I am dating a 5’10” man, I’m almost not allowed to wear my 4 inch Steve Madden wedge heels. It seems to bother other people. The expectation is that I should try my hardest to not be taller than that man.

I would like to say that I don’t give a crap what other people think and for the most part walking through the work café yesterday, I held my head high at 6’2”. And let me tell you, even the people that don’t say anything (the men in particular), were clearly bothered by my height. I got looked up and down several times (and no, not checking me out) and people were clearly uncomfortable.

My brother married a tall woman (she is damn near the same exact height as me) and I have to say I was excited with his choice. Finally a sister in law that I could share clothes/pants/jeans with! And my now almost 4 year old niece is likely headed down the same path as her mother and I. I mean, there could be worse things right? I just hope she remembers that her height does not define who she is. She should not limit herself to the basketball court or football field when choosing a mate.

Truth be told, we are all prisoners of time. We are all aging. Tall, short, heavy, thin, we are all going in the same direction and have no choice to embrace what we have and who we are. I’ve always tried going with the mantra that my body is the greatest tool I will ever own and to use it every way that I can. Even if I tower over every man and woman at the salad bar in my cute new Steve Maddens.

Let the Games Begin

2011-07-10T13:19:00.003-06:00

Her name is Stella and man can she run fast…when she wants to. It wasn’t a long run; about 7 miles and to date she hadn’t run with anybody but her trusty running partner Vern, who has got her by about 12 years. I wasn’t nervous and I certainly wasn’t scared. It was my first time meeting Stella and it came pretty natural.

Stella is a 3 year old burro owned by a guy named Steve. Steve is a 60 year old burro racing veteran who happens to be old racing buddies with my running partner Karyn’s boyfriend Rich. Got that? This is how I met Stella and Vern who is about 15years old and a retired racing burro. I told Rich I had always wanted to try burro racing: a sport indigenous to Colorado where man and beast form a team running side by side on challenging courses through the Rocky Mountains. Some courses are longer than others; almost all are trail, and some get up to ultramarathon running distances of 30 miles+. I got the running thing down. Now I just need to master the beast. The beast in this case will be Stella. Stella has never done a burro race to date. She is as Steve says, “very green”. Which makes the 2 of us “very very green” and possibly a good partnership for a shorter distance run in Idaho Springs in a few weeks.

I originally planned to just go up and watch the race to see what the sport was all about, maybe to spark my interest in it. But then Rich called Steve and Steve brought up Stella. Stella and I seemed to get along just fine. During the run today when Steve offered up Stella to run in the upcoming race, I couldn’t say no. Her big brown eyes and long eye lashes seemed to say, “Yes, of course I will run with you”. Not to mention that burro has some speed. She is one fast ass.

I need to train at least 2 more times with Stella before we race together. These burros seem to have a mind of their own. They’re highly intelligent but extremely cautious. They are not about to put themselves into harm’s way. Therefore your burro racing partner I’m told absolutely has to trust you. Trust you to lead them up and over mountain passes, over bridges, through streams, and even into a busy mountain town crowded with spectators for a race. This ought to be interesting. Stella and I will need to learn to communicate with one another and she will need to learn to trust me if we plan to finish a race at all. The stories are endless. Man and burro winning a race and burro decides to stop for no reason, and man and burro lose the race.

Trust is key.

And so hopefully training run #2 with Stella goes as well as training run #1 went. Let me tell you, Stella has some long lean legs and some pick up. She shot down one of the big mountain hills today and I don’t think my legs have moved that fast in a long time. If today was any indication of what the live burro race will be, it will be a lot of steady mountain running with short sprint bursts thrown in. Combine that with high altitude and a 3 year old burro that has never done a race before, it may make for an interesting combination.

And so it is an unusual pairing. A 33 year old Michigan ultramarathoner named Tracy seeking adventure with a 3 year old half wild female burro named Stella who has a mind of her own.

Let the games begin.

A new trail for a new start

2011-06-28T06:40:00.002-06:00

I ran in the evening in June. I thought it was going to be hot but it was just cool enough, a breeze and just the right amount of cloud cover. It was exactly what I needed. Running is an activity that can change oneself done alone and with others. This run was with a complete stranger, someone I had never met before, never heard of, never seen. It wasn’t a group, it was just the 2 of us; and for some reason I was comfortable. The words just flowed out of my mouth like I had known this person for years. Each step up the rocky trail more and more words flowed. I felt free. I didn’t know where we were going; we were on a trail I hadn’t been on before. We climbed up and up and in the the distance the Flatirons stood tall.

There have been many mistakes over the last 15 years of my life. A lot of learning. A lot of improvements and many more fall backs. And today it was time for an almost all too late change. I know it isn’t going to be easy but it has to be done. For me. For my friends and family and others around me that I may have affected with my actions in the past.

Some may believe that one cannot change. And I’m not here to prove to anyone that they can, I’m only here to do the best I can for me now.

There are some funny and unique things about one with an addictive mind. I can run and run and run and go go go without stopping; just as I can do with almost everything in my life. I don’t feel pain, I never think of the consequences. I can get lost in it so easily. Sometimes I am just not thinking, I’m only moving.

And so it begins, just as the seasons change; for me I hope this is my best season. I have the tools and the running shoes to make the change; now I just need to surround myself with others and use the knowledge that I have to do the best that I can. And I need to forgive myself for my mistakes. I am not my past. I am not my mistakes. My life can be what I make it to be.

It’s a new trail for a new start, a new path, and hopefully a new direction.

The Choice

2011-06-03T18:38:00.002-06:00

If I make it, I could win big time or lose everything. In one choice. Are our choices half chance or do we not really have any control over our decision making power at all? Is it all a façade, the idea of a choice? Is something bigger really holding onto the reigns of our life and we are mere puppets going through the motions and living with the consequences?

Sometimes I feel as though the choice still exists for me and other times I feel as though it has already passed me by. Sometimes I think it would just be easier if it would just pass me by so I wouldn’t even have the choice at all. Sometimes looking back things that I thought were small meaningless choices/decisions ended up framing bigger life changing events and consequences that I could have never imagined and may have never taken place had it not been for the smaller choices that at the time were once insignificant.

So my question is this. Who gives us the power to choose and why? Do we even have the power at all? Is it all a test? A test for what exactly? I am so scared of making a mistake that I have actually chosen to not make choices I am probably supposed to be making. I am in a bad middle place in many things in my life and I am at a standstill. I’ve chosen something time and time again with poor results so I’m having a hard time making that same choice again. I always want the result to be different but it never is. I guess I wonder ‘when do people learn’, ‘when will I learn’. Didn’t we learn as kids not to make the same mistakes twice? Or try something new at least twice to be sure we don’t like it or want to do it again, right?

Maybe we get less smart as adults, not more wise. Or maybe there is much more to lose. I want the love that I know could exist but I don’t know how to grasp it. My mind says no but my heart just burns every day. I ache with sadness and not making a choice once way or another feels harder and more impossible than making the wrong choice.

And so I sit. Trying to just let life BE and let things HAPPEN the way that they are supposed to but not really making the effort to make some choices that I think I need to make. The effort isn’t there. My mind is at a stopping point and can’t seem to budge. The loss could be too great to the point of making things never the same.

I heard a song today and it made my heart ache even more, Bruno Mars, Grenade. I just wish I knew what to do.

Make the choice one way or another…or don’t. I’m not sure it matters anyway. And so I sit and wait for something bigger to take the reigns of life and tell me what to do.

Hot N Cold, Black N White

2011-03-25T11:33:00.006-06:00

“So because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth.” Jesus.

I’m a black or white, hot or cold, up or down, on or off kinda gal. I don’t fall in between very often. I always have an opinion and I rarely ‘don’t have a suggestion, option, or recommendation’. I’ll never say ‘I don’t care’ because I always care.
Now there are up sides to being black and white; first of all I never waffle, I’m far from being a pushover and there usually is no indication of what I like or don’t like, what I am willing to do or not to do. Oh yes, and you’ll always know if I like you or not.

Now the downsides are there too. I’m not very flexible or accommodating. I’m not real laid back either. I don’t go with the flow and taking thing as they are (even if I don’t like them) feels very painful for me. I’m often trying to change things that aren’t meant to be changed which leads to frustration.

What made me think of this today was my boss leaving the company I work for. Most people would say that this happens every day and isn’t too big of a deal. To me, it’s a very big deal. Part of my “black and white” nature effects how I interact/relate with people. It affects my relationships both positively and sometimes negatively. When I like you and respect you, you’ll know it. I have a part of my personality that will be entirely loyal to someone when they show me respect; to the point where I will be your biggest supporter no matter what; no faltering, I’ll have your back. My boss had my back therefore he deserved my respect. My boss was more than a boss to me; he was a teacher, a mentor, and a friend. I let him in and he got it, he got me.

My question is this? If being black and white has so many positive and negatives, why would I want to change and be in the gray zone for anything in my life? Should I have to consider the gray zone for some things? To me the gray zone is boring, weak, and accommodating. Gray doesn’t have a backbone or passion. Passion in life is one of god’s greatest gifts. Taking something and giving it your all just makes life worth it; whether that be a relationship, a sport, a goal, or just your every day attitude.

Although I don’t believe myself to be chemically imbalanced (some who know me would disagree), I feel that being black and white is actually an asset not a hindrance. That said, I realize that this black and white lifestyle has limitations. Always having an opinion on everything can get exhausting. I’ve often been told to ‘pick my battles’; I’ve gotten better with this over the years but still have a long way to go. I enjoy ‘the battle’. I find thrill in the thought of a ‘fight to obtain a goal, finish a project, and score the winning point’. To me ‘the battle’ (not to be confused with ‘a struggle’) provides life with passion and zest.

So which are you today? Hot or cold or Lukewarm? Don’t deny how you feel. Have passion and intention for everything that you do and be exactly who you are, not who people feel you should be. My boss taught me that relationships with others mean more than anything else in this world, including a career.

Positive or negative, I’ll stick to being Black N White. It’s made the highs that much higher and life that much sweeter.

Do without doing

2011-03-21T20:17:00.002-06:00

I am a natural born pessimist. I figure if you never get your hopes up you’ll never be disappointed.

Expectations are the root of all evil yet we all have them. We have them about life, love, vacation, work, business, the future…how many people do you know truly live each day and take things as they come and are not disappointed because something did not turn out quite the way that they expected it to? I don’t know anyone like that. Even if we say we don’t expect a certain outcome, our human minds just aren’t built that way. Especially if we have any even the slightest bit of life experience, and if we have experienced any kind of happiness, elation, excitement, adrenaline pumping heart beating joy…we yearn for more; we never expect less, we always expect more.

Love sort of works the same way. When something is fresh and new, it’s like a drug. It takes hold and makes us forget who we are, makes us forget our rules, makes us do things we never thought we would do. We can lose ourselves. Lust is the same but works in a different way. Lust is short lived and lust never lasts. My question is, can lust turn into love over time? Or does true love start out as mere friendship that grows into something more. If crossing that friendship line happens to soon, can a friendship be possible later?

Being single is a difficult endeavor; especially in this day in age. Text messaging and online chatting have taken over as the prime form of communication and so much is lost in translation. Expectations can begin simply from a mis interpretation of a text/chat message then things are spiraled into something that a mere phone call or better, face to face contact could have resolved.

Dating just plain sucks. It’s a painful experience to say the least that I don’t wish upon anyone. I’d seriously rather go the dentist than go on a date right about now for a million reasons. First of all there are so many expectations with dating. Appearance, sense of humor, who will pay, what will you do, etc. Will there be chemistry? Will things feel forced? Why doesn’t he/she call afterwards? What does the text message mean? Should I contact again? The thought of dating makes me want to throw up. I’d seriously rather go to yoga with a girlfriend and spend $40 at whole foods than ever go on a first date with a random dude ever again. Actually no, I’d rather play in the highway or get punched in the face than go on a date right now. No seriously, I’d rather break my leg than be on a date right this second. You get my point.

My goals this week are to let go of expectations…expectations for myself about life, love, fitness, relationships, friendships, etc. It’s exhausting being so hard on one self. We beat ourselves up trying to be something we aren’t, forcing things that aren’t really there, and losing our dignity in the process. I’m tired of being rejected just as much as I am tired of rejecting myself. If only I put fewer expectations on myself and was kinder to me, then maybe I would expect less out of others as well and out of life. Maybe then could I truly accept what IS and not worry so much about what SHOULD BE.

Do without doing. Be without thinking. Live without expecting. These are my goals.

Easier said that done.

Beer & Fishin'

2011-03-07T06:14:00.004-07:00

Years ago a case of Labatt’s Blue and an afternoon of fishing completely satisfied me. I remember it like it was yesterday. College class in the morning and rush home to change into shorts, a tank top, and cub’s hat and hop into my college boyfriend’s red pickup truck and off we would head to his brother’s house an hour south to fish for an afternoon. God those were the days. We were both broke, so we’d scrounge up enough money for beer and snacks and head down. His brother lived in an immaculate cottage style home out in the country complete with a private fishing pond in front of the house and in back of the house. We’d load up the fishing boat and get sunburns, a buzz, and a bucket full of fish. We had a lot of laughs. It was a great time in my life….yet I rushed through it as fast as I could. I was what I thought at the time, in complete love. Love to me meant a cute guy who drove a pickup truck and wore his baseball cap backwards who thought I looked mighty fine in the passenger seat of his ride. He also thought it was pretty sweet that I could pound beer faster than any of the guys and still be funny and sober enough to tell his buddies the next joke complete with bellowing laughter. He carried a picture of me in a bikini holding a large mouth bass I caught on the dash of his truck.

College was a great time; it was also a rough time. College to me was a challenging combination of classes and studying (I obviously had to do some level of studying to get a degree), drinking and partying (I obviously did some level of partying), and pseudo dating (does fishing and drinking beer count as a serious relationship?).

My fishing guy was also the first boyfriend to cheat on me and I’ll never forget it. I read his email (duh, who doesn’t do that to someone they are dating!?) and found that on his recent cruise with his family to Alaska of all places, he had a pretty amazing time with a pretty amazing performer on the cruise ship. The worst emails were the ones from him to her, particularly the statement that he “came home to nothing”. I was nothing. All that beer pounding, country music listening, and fishing was for nothing!?

The hilarious thing about this story is that I remember it like it was yesterday; I am cursed with an acutely sharp memory. My parents still owned the Raspberry Farm. I was at his parent’s house that summer afternoon when I got my grubby little hands on the email. He got home from work, we had words, and I left with dramatic intention like the scene out of a movie; hopped into my Brown ’87 Caprice Classic and tore out of the driveway taking his parents beautiful mailbox with me on my bumper. I drove the 2 hours from Niles, MI to Lowell, MI crying the entire way. I pulled up to the Raspberry patch where my mom was picking Raspberries. She had on a hat to keep the sun off her face. I don’t think she understood a thing I was saying I was sobbing too hard. She was empathetic but not too surprised and certainly not too concerned looking back probably due to my age and my lightness of the situation and the relationship.

I ended up forgiving the guy (I was 21 what can I say) then it ended shortly thereafter. His dad got a chuckle out of my destroying of the family mailbox. (I do remember his parents being quite the fabulous people).

The morale of the story is this. Had I known then what I know now, I ask myself if I would’ve gone through with the experience? My answer is always yes. I would’ve never had those long afternoons fishing, beer in hand, and laughing until I cried. We would always stay until the sunset sometimes just talking on the tailgate of his truck. We had some great times with his parents that summer, playing cards, going to dinner, going to church on Sunday mornings. I learned a hard lesson about trust and loyalty that summer. I’ll never forget how bad it hurt but I’ll also never forget the fun I had. I was carefree and I absolutely threw caution to the wind. I hope I never lose that about myself. I can’t believe that was 12 years ago; it feels like a lifetime ago.

Maybe it's a blessing to be unaware of the pain that may result from a situation at the time; that knowledge could prevent us from truly living and make us so cautious that we may not experience all the good that can come from the mystery of life.

Enjoy the Ride

2011-03-03T06:59:00.003-07:00

As I approach another birthday I often reflect back on my life. My mom asked me a very important question when she was in town this past January. She asked me if life was what I thought it was going to be so far. We don’t typically dive into conversation with such depth but while driving through the Eisenhower tunnel back from our weekend trip to Frisco and skiing in Breckenridge somehow it just came naturally. Maybe it was the blue skies of Breckenridge and the fresh mountain air. Maybe it was the talk of the end of my 5 year relationship with who I thought for a long time was the right one; my other half. Either way the words just flowed and I didn’t hesitate with my answer.

Even after watching the end of my relationship dissolve in front of my eyes, I said these words: “Life has been better than I ever thought it could be. Much better.” Never in a million years as a young girl growing up in the country of Western Michigan did I ever think I would have been able to see and do and experience all the things that I have. The people I’ve met along the way and the lessons I’ve learned have been priceless and nothing short of incredible.

To me life is a funny thing. I often try to live with the mantra that tomorrow will never come. That’s why throwing caution to the wind is one of my priorities. I’d find it a tragedy to go down not doing something ridiculous/hilarious or both so I try to incorporate both as often as I can on a daily basis. Learning something new is so important. Life is much too short not to try something new at least twice.

I’m often asked why I haven’t found that someone. And I am starting to believe that there may not be just one person for everyone else. My life has been blessed with people (romantic and platonic) whom I’ve shared incredible times and made some amazing memories. My mind is bursting with thoughts and reflection of the elaborate (vacations to the Virgin Islands, Hawaii, Costa Rica) and the simple (backyard BBQ’s, quiet Thanksgiving dinners for 2, sunsets after a day of wakeboarding, riverside camping, etc.). I try to look at everyone I have ever met, good or bad, as a lesson. I’d like to think that there is something to be learned from everyone and there is always a purpose for crossing paths with a particular someone.

33 isn’t a number I particularly like. 30, 31 and 32 never bothered me, don’t ask me why. As I smear olive oil on my forehead and eyes at night, I try to remind myself that beauty isn’t everything. I’ll never be the most beautiful person in the world and aging is happening but I hope that I’ll always be the person who can laugh at the craziness of life and provide a friend with the company/laughs they need. If I come to the end and know that I made a difference in someone else’s life, I’ll think it was all worth it.

I heard a song this morning that I loved, “Rhythm of Love” by Plain White T’s. Reminds me a bit of being in Hawaii. My favorite line is “my head is stuck in the clouds”. Maybe just acknowledging and focusing on all the beautiful things in this world and letting the chaos somehow pass by is the best way to live.

So I start another day. My goal today is this: I plan to not have a plan. Someone I once knew would find that statement very comical coming from the queen of planning. Happy Thursday. Enjoy the ride.

CHERRY RIDGE JUICE

2011-02-09T14:08:00.002-07:00

http://www.doctoroz.com/videos/amazing-antioxidants-tart-cherry-juice

The Wall

2011-02-06T11:57:00.003-07:00

I’ve watched videos about “The Wall”, I’ve read articles, and I’ve been to The Wall website after taking a demo of “The Wall” at Iron Yogi Studios in Boulder last week. The Wall trainers make it look very easy. Even a video of a trainer with a supposed Rookie to The Wall made it look very easy. Rookie? They haven’t seen anything yet.

Thursday I took my first FitWall Class. 45 minutes of pure heart pumping torture. My hamstrings and chest were already sore going in from a personal training session the day before therefore I knew this was going to be a challenge. I followed the advice of a trainer on one of the FitWall videos going in…whatever you do; try to ‘stay on the wall’. I knew for me this was going to be the ultimate challenge, as I dropped off the wall several times in the 30 minute demo last week. I mean, I didn’t give up mentally, my arms and legs just decided to turn to putty in the middle of an exercise. The Wall also worked my core unlike anything I had experienced before. For someone who doesn’t really know how to ‘engage their core’, there is no getting around it on The Wall. To stay up, you have to squeeze. Even when I squeeze I can still feel the elastic on my gym shorts pinching into my muffin top (I typically try to wear a shirt that covers this); maybe The Wall will shrink this region of my body that I’ve been stuck with for years. Let me tell you, I had a hard enough time just staying on The Wall let alone doing moves off and around The Wall.

This was a class of men, well 2 men + me + Peter. While waiting for class to start, I struck up casual conversation with The Teacher, a first timer to Iron Yogi and to FitWall. He asked me if I had tried The Wall before. I told him that I tried a demo of the class a week prior and I almost puked several times during the 30 minutes. (Pathetic on my part I added) His eyes grew wide; maybe I wasn’t the best motivator for a newbie signed up for the class for the first time. I quickly added that I was planning to just ‘do my best’ and that Peter was a great supporter. I mean, if Peter can help me, anything is possible. He smiled and said he would do the same.

The full Wall class was much like the demo, it was non-stop strength training with some high intensity cardio thrown in I think for fun; often times I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. I just don’t get that from running distance. I certainly wasn’t able to do everything; I tried but some of the exercises I was only able to do a few reps of each. I had a hell of a time with the rubber band things attached to The Wall.

Peter had us standing ~5 feet or so away from The Wall with one leg up on the bar behind us. We were to do a lunge. The kicker was when raising your body up the lunge; he wanted you to do a shoulder press with the bands with handles attached to The Wall behind you. Every time I got down in the lunge, the bands tried to pull me back and snap me against The Wall. Peter lowered the resistance. It still felt impossible. I guess The Wall challenges even your balance, let alone your strength, your core, and your mental toughness. Either that or the makers of The Wall are truly just plain masochists.

I’m going to stick with The Wall to see how things go. I’m certain I’ll never become an expert but I’m certain I’ll see benefits if I stick to it. After all The Wall is unlike anything I’ve ever tried before and I do love a challenge.

Colder than Hell

2011-02-02T09:45:00.002-07:00

It was -20 when I left the house this morning to meet Jerry. It has now warmed up to -13. Yes I wrote that right, negative 13. I know what you are thinking, I grew up in Michigan I should have thick skin, I should be used to this type of weather. But honestly, NEGATIVE 13? I’m not used to that. The Colorado Front Range rarely sees arctic temperatures that dip below zero. Sure we’ll have a day that’s zero degrees, but 10 or even 20 below? Very unusual.

My running schedule has me set to do an hour today. I’m drinking coffee, watching the sun come up outside trying to mentally prepare myself for the cold run and I’m having a heck of a time. I know I’ll be bundled up in layers upon layers of not only running gear, but snow gear. I might even throw on the Mountain Hardware Down jacket to top everything off. This is cold I tell you, just brutally cold. It is a day like this that you wish it was just plain hot outside (you know when you’ll trade -13 for 113).

Speaking of hot, I just finished up visit #2 with Jerry. I’m trying to think of a good nickname for Jerry. “Jerry the Great” just doesn’t cut it. I’m wondering how an Alaskan guy can stay that tan year round…well…that tan and that ripped. I thought it took years for a man to build up a physique like that. Jerry must have gone to bed in Wasilla one day a boy and woke up the next day a man. I am starting to see why Peter and Jerry get along. Jerry is just a great guy: charming personality, upbeat, and pleasant; Jerry is the perfect package for a personal trainer for the average woman. He provides undivided attention, professionalism, direction, and humor; not to mention he certainly isn’t bad to look at in between sets.

Well, this is it. I’ve killed 30 minutes trying to mentally prepare myself for this cold and the sooner I start, the sooner it is over with. My shoulders kinda hurt and my back feels sore. Maybe the cold will numb things. God I hope I can survive FitWall tomorrow night. If I can survive an hour run in this weather, I can survive anything.

Negative 13 here I come. It is seriously Colder than Hell.

Something New

2011-01-26T06:14:00.007-07:00

I’ve never worked out with a trainer. As said I’ve dedicated the last 7.5 years of my life with passionate focus on distance running. Running has changed me in more ways than I can describe. Physically it has made me able to maintain my weight pretty consistently over the last decade. Mentally I believe it has made me happier, more calm, more patient…it is my ‘drug’ after all. Spiritually I feel just more connected, more self aware. It has taken me places I never thought I would see or be. Running has been a blessing and has meant more to me than just putting one foot in front of the other.

I think it is now time to focus on a more broad view of fitness for myself. Running won’t go away but I’m going to try some new things to change things up, perhaps even improve my running along the way.

I’ve been sporadic about yoga since an old friend and yoga instructor introduced it to me in 2004. I found yoga very challenging as everything that running seems to do to the body goes against everything yoga tries to do. Running restricts and contracts; Yoga lengthens and stretches. Needless to say, my downward dog is a pathetic bent over pose with bent knees, bent elbows, and my face beet red. I love when yoga instructors tell you to ‘relax in downward dog’. Relax? Anything but downward dog is relaxing!

I knew of Peter Seamans from my days going to the Boulder One Fitness Center. He is kind of hard to miss. A body builder with a shaved head, Peter has a loud voice that carries, and a confident presence that goes along with it. Peter opened his very own studio in the last few years and dubbed himself the “Iron Yogi”. Trust me you’ve never seen anything so amazing: a body builder practicing yoga better than the pretzel wrapping long lean yoga chicks. I’m still not sure how he twists those big muscles into the poses that he does…but he does. Peter is very woman friendly; in fact a lot of his classes are women only. He makes you feel important and comfortable, why wouldn’t he? He is running a business marketing none other than himself. Ever since first trying his Turbo Vinyasa Yoga, I’ve been coming back for more.

Peter has launched other successful programs at his studio including a women only class called Turbo Bar (I tried it once and I couldn’t sit down to pee for a week), and now a new class called FitWall.

Yesterday I attended a free introductory session at noon on my lunch hour to try FitWall. FitWall looked like a really fun and interesting concept, especially for the girl who really hates to lift weights. FitWall is a modified climbing wall complete with bars and steps and traditional climbing wall handles. It ‘looked’ fun before Peter got me up on the wall. 5 minutes into the training session next to “SuperWoman” herself (a 42 year old mother of 2 who has arms more ripped than Kelly Ripa and abs to match), I’ve never felt so weak and so out of shape. I’ve always considered myself extremely fit from the running but I’m slowly realizing that running doesn’t make up for everything. From a cardio standpoint I am fit, from a strength, agility, and flexibility standpoint, I am far from. Peter and another trainer Jerry (a 21 year old Alaskan hockey player better looking than Brad Pitt) stood behind me trying to encourage my moves while SuperWoman next to me kicked my butt and then some. I actually thought I was gonna puke at one point, Biggest Loser style (you know when they fall off the treadmill and barf in a nearby garbage can). After one set of lunging off the wall about 50 times, I actually glanced around the studio looking for a can. I wish there hadn’t been a mirror in that studio. There was me, big and bulky struggling with every move next to SuperWoman, petite and fit, doing lunges like she was born to lunge. I mean, what a freak of nature…2 kids? Seriously. Standing next to her made my belly look bigger than it has in years.

So I’m up this morning and I wondered why I had trouble peeling myself out of bed. My arms and legs don’t seem to be working. My back has never been this sore and my butt muscles are on fire. My coffee mug feels like a 30 lb dumbbell. Here’s the scary part, I’m signed up for a personal training session tomorrow morning at 6 am with Jerry the Great. I figure if I’m gonna do this, I might as well go all out. I’m also signed up for another FitWall class next week. I must be nuts. I guess it’s time. I turn 33 in 2 months so it is now or never to try and get in the best shape ever. I’m not getting any younger and just running doesn’t cut it. Peter says the best way to reverse aging is by weight training. I guess I’ll give it a whirl. I sure wouldn’t mind looking 23 at age 33 although he never said weight training performed miracles.

So try something new, something you’ve never heard of and strive to live your best life. You only have one body, one life…it’s amazing what we can do when we really push ourselves.

www.ironyogi.com
www.fitwall.com

Happy New Year

2011-01-15T08:14:00.002-07:00

Happy New Year. I had a 2 week break from work and was able to spend it in Michigan with my family; it was wonderful to have the time off work and be there with them. The weather made running a bit of a challenge as we saw everything possible in those 2 weeks: ice, snow, rain, slush, sun, etc. One day you would need Yak Trax to get out the door, the next day you wouldn’t. We snowshoed Pickerel Lake when I was home as well, which is a great nature preserve near Cannonsburg in Western MI. I took my nephew snowboarding, got to go sledding with the whole family, baked 2 carrot cakes, took a butt and leg burning boot camp class with a woman I swear just got released from the marine corp, jugged cherry juice; slept, ate, and ran. It was a great holiday.

Work has been extremely busy since being back in Colorado. Good for job security I suppose. Makes it even more important to get up and get those morning runs in before work. The early morning run before a long work day makes everything in my day go smoother.

A New Year typically brings new running goals for me. This year it brings a new running goal for my mom. My mom will be running her first ever marathon June 25th in Charlevoix, MI. My mom has been running for about 2 years but she has naturally been able to pick up longer distances with ease; running a 25K last year without training (she was signed up for the 10K but I convinced her while picking up our race packets: you can run ~15 if you have run ~10). So we are following a beginner training program together and I can’t wait to run the race with her in June. 26.2 miles…it will be awesome.

After my last ultra, I thought for sure I would be chomping at the bit to run Leadville this year; my first ever 100 mile ultra. I’m still unsure. 50 is pretty brutal; I hung in there pretty strong until around mile 47 this last time around. I definitely lasted longer without extreme pain this past year than the year before but it was still brutal at the end. Hills from mile 42-47 about destroyed my already jello-like legs; so 47-50 wasn’t pretty. That said, I did beat my time by about 13 minutes (that’s not a lot considering I was still running for 9+ hours). The more I think about 100, the more I wonder if it is really possible for someone mortal such as me to finish. I’m just not one of those stick like bearded crazy running mountain men that I see out for their casual 30 or 40 mile jog. Their stride is effortless and I wonder if they even know what a burger tastes like; they either have magical metabolism or they snack on kale and leafy greens from sunrise to sunset. I, on the other hand, love food; real food; I stick mostly to whole foods (if it comes in a box I steer clear) but I do “eat a lot for a girl” (as my boss has said on several occasions).

Food and body composition aside, I’m still unsure of 100 for this year or ever. For now, I’m going to train for a June marathon, and just enjoy Colorado. My snowboard and snowshoes are going to get more use this season than ever before; and I’m starting to think I’d rather venture into things I’ve never done before this spring. Those that have crossed my mind are: mountain biking, 14’er climbing, maybe some adventure racing. There are things on my list such as hiking Pike’s Peak & Long’s Peak that I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t yet done after living in CO for ~7.5 years. It’s time. I’ve dedicated 6.5 of these years to distance running and although I’ll never give it up, it’s time to see what else is out there. After all it’s a new year. It’s the best time to embrace the new that’s out there and find the new in you. We have this one life to live, therefore it’s our duty to let ourselves be free, and do what comes naturally.

…To my dear loyal friend who is moving to Manhattan Beach in February, I want to see you embrace this time in your life in a new place, in a new space…do everything possible/available in Southern Cally: run on the beach, hike in the hills, find a quaint coffee shop and spend an afternoon….it’s a new year.
Happy New Year.

Chilly Colorado Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T16:16:00.002-07:00

Happy Thanksgiving! I found out today that running at 8500 feet is tough; not because of the thin air so much but because of the wind. The wind today was treacherous (gusts of 15-23 mph) which made a 3 miler feel like a 15 miler. It was the kind of wind off the Continental Divide that whips straight through you. You lean your body right into it and it takes your breath away. On several occasions I had to turn my head to one side to get a big gulp of air to keep moving forward; the wind was relentless. It was beautiful outside though, chilly, high of 7 degrees. I was actually quite proud of my 3 mile trek through Bar-K ranch in conditions such as this. Plus it’s nice to at least get the blood flowing before eating a big Thanksgiving meal.

The holidays are one of my favorite times in the whole year. The food, the family, and of course winter are right around the corner. I love the winter season. I’m often asked what I do in the winter and I never know how to answer; I run of course. Winter running is some of my favorite running; snow and cold don’t seem to bother me and the gear they make these days makes any kind of weather tolerable (anything except hot weather which I cannot run in at all). There is nothing quite like breaking trail on a cool crisp winter morning.

I did finally buy snowshoes this year and can’t wait to try them out! It’ll be something different that I can mix in with the running and there are so many great places to go in Colorado. Speaking of Colorado, Vail has had 96” of snow so far this season and 5 new inches in the last 24 hours. This is the first year that I’ve gotten a ski pass and I look forward to snowboarding more this season than I ever have. Prior to this season, I would often turn down invitations to go because the $100/day lift tickets were just too hard to swallow. A season pass is the only way to truly make skiing/snowboarding worth the money but they need to be purchased early (Nov 21st this year was the last day to get a season pass). My pass gets me unlimited access to Keystone, Arapahoe Basin, Breckenridge, Vail, Beaver Creek; and a few other resorts out of state that I will likely never visit. The price was worth it given I get up enough times to enjoy it.

So it’s a Happy Thanksgiving today. I look forward to getting through the next 3 weeks of work and heading back to Michigan for 2 weeks for the Christmas holiday. I can’t wait! Happy Holidays!

Le Grizz Round 2

2010-10-07T12:25:00.001-06:00

In 2 days I will take part in a second round of running torture in the form of The Le Grizz Ultramarathon. I thoroughly enjoyed running the Le Grizz last year in Hungry Horse, Montana. I also was certain it was not something I would ever consider doing again. I remember getting into the rental car at the finish line last year telling my mom, “I will never ever do that again, ever.” Yet here I am 12 months later and 1 year older ready to participate once again.

I’m not sure what is wrong with me really. Maybe it was the Montana air in the fall, fresh and clear; addictive. Maybe it was the unmatched camaraderie of the people. Maybe it was the views of white capped peaks on the race course. Maybe it was that slice of Huckleberry Pie or driving through the amazing Glacier National Park. Maybe it was simply the feeling of pure accomplishment, satisfaction, and ultimate surprise at my own ability to run 50 miles and being elated as I crossed the finish line with my mom by my side.

Whatever the reason, I’m headed to Montana tomorrow.

I go into the race this year more prepared and more knowledgeable. I know Advil on the course is a must and Coca-Cola Classic tastes unbelievable after running for ~9 hours. I know that pain is inevitable and how you tolerate the pain is the true test of an ultramarathon, not the distance. I know that finishing is possible and I am capable of running that far; yet it doesn’t keep me from being nervous.

I’m doing the Le Grizz again because I loved the race and I loved Montana. And I love running. This year’s Le Grizz is also a test to see if I am crazy enough to register for the Leadville 100 Trail Run (“The Race Across the Sky”) for next August here in Leadville, CO. Registration opens Nov 4, 2010 and the race caps out at 500 people. I keep telling myself if running 50 miles is possible, surely 100 is, right?

My legs ache from the taper and lack of running right now and I feel like a pig. My body is truly tired of eating but I know that means I am ready to run far on Saturday. I’m not going in too confident however because like any good distance runner knows, anything can happen over 50 miles…and I mean anything.

So off I go, to Hungry Horse, to the “Huckleberry Capital of the World” as my mom would say; where I will spend a day in the Montana Wilderness with 95 other crazy people in search for something and to experience something special. I wish I could put into words what I get out of running races but I can’t. It’s confidence, a sense of achievement, euphoria. It’s a challenge and I love a challenge. Easy just isn’t fun in my mind. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

"Run with Me or Run with a Bare Behind"...Le Grizz Motto

Simply the Best

2010-09-27T18:48:00.002-06:00

I’m on an international search for the world’s best sushi. Of course I should have Japan on the top of my list; and I do. However Alaska is above Japan for obvious reasons. #1: Proximity to Colorado and #2: Lower funds to get there. I’m hoping Alaska is in my 2011 travel plans. And I will be sampling sushi there, that I can promise you.

I am in North Carolina at the moment. And I went out for sushi. It was very average. It wasn’t a chain sushi/Asian bistro, but a sushi restaurant with decent reviews. It was very very average. So far I’ve had sushi in the following locations: Vancouver, Houston, Dallas, Portland, Los Angeles, Boulder, Denver, Grand Rapids, Cleveland, Tampa, DC, Kauai, Maui, and now Charlotte, NC. (even more locations that I can’t think of at the moment) Quite the variety let me tell you. Now of course you are thinking that Hawaii had to be the best sushi, it had to be. Sushi on both of 2 of the islands of Hawaii that I visited was very very below average and very disappointing. Sushi in Vancouver was good; I remember that much. Of course I remember my rental car being towed in Vancouver even more; which means maybe I was just hungry and the sushi wasn’t as good as I remember.

This weekend (Saturday night) I had sushi at Sushi Mara in Louisville, Colorado. It is hands down my favorite sushi restaurant of all time. The place is small, a side restaurant to a larger Magnolia (steak restaurant) next door. The sushi bar probably only seats ~8 and there are enough seats at the regular tables in the restaurant to seat ~25-30 people. Small and quaint not to mention some nights the sushi chefs aren’t even Asian. Non-Asian sushi Chefs?! No, it can’t be!! Trust me, I know. There is nothing I would like to see more myself than a seasoned Asian sushi chef behind the sushi bar, slipping a knife through some fresh Toro kung fu style or whipping out some handrolls from freshly made Spicy Tuna like it’s second nature. But let’s not judge, men (and women) of any color can make good sushi; Sushi Mara is proof of that.

Don’t ask me how Sushi Mara brings in the good stuff. They are in Louisville, CO for god’s sake. Landlocked and tucked against the Rocky Mountains, you’d think this is the last place you would find mouth watering Unagi (Fresh Water Eel for you non-sushi eaters-shame on you!) and “Melt like Butter in your Mouth Salmon Avacado Handrolls”. Let me say that again, “SALMON AVACADO HANDROLLS”. OH-MY-LORD. If I die tomorrow God, please let me have just one, Salmon Avacado Handroll from Sushi Mara. This handroll, this piece of sushi inspiration, is so simple yet oh so good. The seawood cone is perfectly crisp and crunchy (always fresh, never stale), the Salmon has perfect texture every time-marbled and raw, not too cold, not too warm (for all you non-sushi eaters, cold sushi is ick, room temp is best), and sweet buttery avocado. Put them together with just a touch of sticky rice and you’ve got, hands down, my favorite food on the entire planet: Sushi Mara Salmon Avacado Roll.

I ordered some handrolls tonight at Sushi Enso here in Charlotte. They were just okay. The seawood cone didn’t have that crisp cruch, and the tuna wasn’t the bright bold red color indicating very fresh tuna/fish. Come on, aren’t we closer to the ocean here in NC, than in CO?! Really people? Shouldn’t your fish be better?

I am officially a boneafide sushi snob.

I will give the place props on some decent Toro tonight. But seriously? How on earth can one go wrong with the belly of Bluefin Tuna? The stuff is more tender than filet mignon (even Kobe beef filet). Hard to not hit the mark with Toro anywhere.

I do however stand firm. To date, the best sushi I have had is in Louisville, Colorado. Alaska, you're next, I'm counting on you for some great fish.

Life's too short to eat bad food

2010-09-14T19:45:00.002-06:00

Thank god I’m running another 50 miler in 4 weeks. Otherwise Al would be in big trouble.

Alright so Al reminded me tonight that my career should have been in “food”, not packaging food but eating food, enjoying food, talking about food, and making food. Is there such a thing? I’m not sure but I am certain that I am a boneafide food-a-holic. I am limited by nothing when it comes to taste. There is no such thing as a food I do not like or will not eat therefore the sky is the limit when it comes to tantalizing gourmet creations and mouth watering masterpieces. Steak = love it. Sushi = umm yeah. Wild Game = absolutely. The Al is Al Biernat. He reminded me how much I love food tonight and why food is my calling.

Tonight I dined on oysters. 3 Rockefeller style, 3 raw in the half shell. Rockefeller at Al Beirnats steakhouse in Dallas means baked with spinach and cheese with breadcrumbs. The half shell oysters were raw and huge…perfection. With a side of habanera cilantro salsa for a spicy hot dipping sauce; yes please thank you very much.

When the server brought my side Caesar salad (yes fattening, oh so bad for you) the romaine may have very well melted in my mouth while still giving me a sweet flavorful fresh crunch all at the same time….and when they brought me my 10 oz Kobe beef filet, I think I actually shed a tear because placed in front of me was a piece of beef heaven, medium rare cooked to perfection. The steak knife slid through the meat like a hot knife through butter. I squirmed around in my seat like a little girl on Christmas morning. It needed no sauce, no salt, no nothing. It was the first perfect bite (one of many scrumptious bites) of red meat paradise and it was all for me.

Sides included still crunchy steamed asparagus and “fried sweet potatoes”. Yes they had a side option of fried sweet potatoes. If there is such a thing as the “Fancy French Fry” this was it. The seasoning was garlicky and hot and peppery and the fries were piping hot to the touch. I don’t typically eat French fries, I don’t typically order French fries, yet these were more than fries. These were hand cut, steaming hot, seasoned with fresh herbs and spices, these were Al’s own signature sweet potato fries. These were instantly my new weakness…

Between the oysters, the meat, and the sides, the overall dining experience was exquisite. I’m not kidding you I had a smile on my face the whole time. I laughed with excitement with each dish, each course, eat bite. And I better have. It’s not every day you eat a $78 steak that tastes what it costs.

Al’s steakhouse in Dallas. It reminded me that I should have had a career in food….even if it is just talking about it. Unbelievable.

Article on Al’s: http://snootyfoodie.com/restaurantfull.aspx?id=14

Pushing Limits

2010-05-29T17:57:00.002-06:00

I remember in 8th grade when they made us run a mile in gym class. I thought I was gonna die. I literally did not think a whole mile was possible to run by a human being. I didn’t even know really how far a mile was or long it should take a 14 year old. I wish I could remember what I ran my first mile in. I don’t think it was pretty but I just wanted to get it over with. I remember thinking that was the hardest thing I have never done.

Today I rode my bike to Ward. The whole ride was 50 miles. It was my first ride to Ward of the season and boy was it hard. I took 4 hours and 21 minutes and according to my Garmin was 6,667 feet of elevation gain. I have to tell you that the final push to the top to the town of Ward was just brutal. Huffing and puffing trying to keep my bike on the road I reached deep into my gut to keep my legs turning. I was barely moving. And I’m asking myself, “Why the hell am I doing this to myself?” It’s a great question. It’s not my job. Nobody is paying me to do these masochistic things to myself and my body. Nobody is chasing me, so my life definitely doesn’t depend on this bike ride or this climb to the top. It’s hard to explain why I do these things. A workout? Sure…I guess a small part of it is for the physical. But really there is something so mentally and spiritually rewarding about pushing your body (which in all reality is pushing your mind) to the limit.

I guess you could call me an adrenaline junkie. There is a high when you are that exhausted, a place where your mind goes when you question your judgment and your sanity while continuing to push your body forward. It happened today, it happened while running my 50 mile ultra marathon; it certainly happens in every marathon I have ever run.

Why do we push the limits?

I guess because we can.

I have the privilege this year of becoming a coach for the first time and mentor to an individual for a training group called Beyond Limits here in Boulder. Either by chance or by fate, Henry suggested it. It has been nothing short of inspirational training a group of mentally challenged and disabled adults to run the Bolder Boulder 10K on Memorial Day. I eventually was paired up with a girl name Alexis. Alexis is 22 years old and Alexis is FAST. Her goal time for the Bolder Boulder is under 50 minutes and I am determined to do everything that I can to help her reach that goal on Monday. We will definitely be pushing some limits. My challenge will be to ensure that I am pushing her just enough to take her over that edge but not too far as to hurt her in any way.

I can see it in Alexis’s eyes how good ‘pushing it’ feels. It’s the one thing her and I have in common as we are running side by side in our training runs over the last few weeks. We are connected through running and connected through a passion to test what our physical (and mental) limits really are. The inspiration for me comes from watching these athletes push the limit. Volunteering to train this group has really made me reflect on my own life. It’s hard to think things are that bad when you got dealt (as I have) a pretty good deck of cards: a great family, a wonderful childhood, health (mental and physical-although many would question my mental health with some of the things I aspire to do), a job, a roof over my head, and most of all: the freedom of choice.

How will you ever know if you can’t do something until you try to do that something? I can imagine that most of the people in the Beyond Limits Running Group never thought they could run a 10K. But thanks to Henry and their ability to push limits, they can.

http://www.thedenverchannel.com/video/23705062/

“Bravo Mademoiselle!”

2010-05-03T04:40:00.003-06:00

Saturday I ran my fastest marathon to date, 3 hours and 40 minutes flat. It would’ve been closer to 3 hours and 39 minutes had I not dropped my water bottle at the end of the race when some Frenchman was yelling at me to ‘show my race number’ which was on the shirt tied around my waist (at least this is what I think he was saying to me).

Finding the village where the finish line was located (Combs de Ville) went without a hitch. The shuttle bus picked me up along with a multitude of other runners to drop us off at the starting village of Tigery. Tigery is also the home of a tiny little Patisserie with Pain Au Chocolat that is to die for. I got to the race start way too early and it was very cold so I walked to the Patisserie where I got another damn Pain au Chocolat (Seriously man? Weight Watchers here I come!) which melted into my mouth and made my already protruding belly stick out and actually hang over the elastic on my running shorts. I then walked to the start line (while wiping the melted chocolate off my face) thinking this is going to be my worst marathon ever. Lack of sleep and overconsumption of buttery flakey goodness in France is not a good way to start a marathon.

Boy was I wrong.

The race start cracked me up. American music seems to be all that is played. One second I hear a sea of French around me. The next second it is C&C Music Factory on the loud speakers blaring in plain English, “Everybody Dance Now!” and the whole crowd sang the words (yes in English) throwing their hands up in the air and bobbing their heads. I actually laughed out loud to this whole scene. I can’t describe it really. It was just funny to see. It would be like the start of the New York City marathon and a Spanish song comes on and everyone in the crowd starts singing it IN Spanish, then they go back to speaking English like nothing happened. It was awesome.

The race was spectacular! The course took us from village to village in the Senart region of France and for some reason, I was just trucking along at a very good pace. The miles were flying by and when I reached mile 19 I knew my body eventually was going to start hitting that wall but that wall never came. “Bravo Mademoiselle!” “Superb!” were the words of the day. I high fived kids, I was patted on the back by Da Police. The crowds and people and community support of the event was really unmatched by any marathon I have ever run to date. It definitely gave me a new perspective on the French people.

This race made me see 2 things:

1. The marathon is really a Universal Language. There is something about pushing your body and mind to the limit that brings people together. People speaking all different languages but running together. I passed a few people at the end of the race and they never hesitated to tell me “Bravo” and a few other things that I assume were positive (maybe they were telling me ‘I know what you had for breakfast based on the way your belly is hanging over your shorts’ but who knows). I just smiled and waved and said, “Merci Beaucoup!” (Thank you very much) which is pretty much the only French I know besides, “Pain Au Chocolat sil vous plait” which means, “A massive oozing piece of croissant stuffed with chocolate please to make my ass grow even larger”.
2. French Pastries must be the secret weapon to a fast race. Seriously who knew that oatmeal just doesn’t cut it? I didn’t even have coffee before this race and I always have coffee. Never would I have guessed that a Pastry was the key to fueling your body to run hard and swift.

It was a great day and a great race. It was a great experience but I am still ready to go home. It will probably be the only race where the words of the day were:

“Bravo Mademoiselle!”

Paris

2010-05-03T04:30:00.003-06:00

I arrived in Paris Thursday early afternoon. The drive from Kortrijk was a lot longer than I expected due to some crazy traffic about half way there on the A1 highway. Getting into Paris (the city) was a driving experience in itself. It is a free-for-all. There are no marked lanes therefore traffic makes as many lanes as they can fit at one given time. You end up sharing these unmarked lanes with semi and delivery trucks, bicycles, and motorcycles all speeding down narrow winding streets honking, swerving, nearly side swiping each other at each turn. It’s quite scary. It looks like the tour de France actually except in cars, everyone is elbow to elbow just going with the pace around every corner hoping to not rub shoulders too closely with another car or pedestrian and crash. If you tend to get angry in traffic or have the slightest road raging tendencies, I suggest you do NOT drive in Paris. Please take the train.

I found my hotel (the Hotel Britannique) which was really more of a Bed & Breakfast than a hotel. The room was tiny but clean and I actually got the best night sleep Thursday night than I got in the whole trip. That will tend to happen when you haven’t slept in 3 nights straight. After checking in I decided to find a café for some lunch then walk around the city to take advantage of being in Paris.

After lunch and some mega strong coffee, I stopped at the local Patisserie for a “Pain Au Chocolat”, my first one of the trip. A Pain Au Chocolat (directly translated means Bread with Chocolate) but don’t let that boring description fool you. The last time I had something that tasted like this was in my Pastry Arts program. This was made with the traditional methods (I purposely found a Patisserie off the beaten path with a line out the door). This pastry is croissant dough folded into a small fluffy pillow of heaven, complete with a thin piece of chocolate that has been baked in the center. When you bite into the flakey airy piece of paradise, the chocolate actually squirts out the sides into your mouth. What you get is a combination of real butter, chocolate, a hint of sweetness, and a crispy exterior combined with a fluffy airy soft interior. The result is a face full of chocolate and a tighter pair of pants. Although there was no sugar per say in or on the pastry the golden brown crust had a subtle sweetness that I cannot explain. It made me want to run back to the Patisserie for a second one but I resisted temptation and found the Notre-Dame de Paris (Notre Dame Cathedral) for a tour.

The Notre Dame Cathedral is something else. Saying it is “huge” doesn’t even scratch the surface to how big this place was. I did a walk through of the place and tried to take some pictures but the pictures just don’t do the place justice. It is one of those things that you just have to experience to believe. It’s quite impossible to wrap your mind around the enormity of the task it took to build such a place, the architecture and art capturing the most miniscule details. Everywhere you turn you were shocked and surprised at another unique piece of brilliance from the grand stained glass to the statue of the Virgin Mary to the votive candles numbering in the thousands. Next time I come to Paris I would like to have a more formal tour of this Cathedral to understand the history better.

I decided to check out the musée du Louvre (Louvre Museum) after this. Although it looked like a heck of a walk on my map, I knew that the Pain Au Chocolat that I devoured in record time was slowly creating bulges around my midsection that never existing before and a walk was the only way possible to fend that off. Typically I would’ve gone and run 10 miles after consuming something like that but I knew that my marathon was Saturday and it was Thursday not to mention I had already run 5 miles that morning in Kortrijk.

I spent 2-2 ½ hours at the Louvre Museum and I probably saw less than a ¼ of it. That doesn’t include the 20 minutes it took me to find the entrance which is located 2 courtyards away (One courtyard is larger than Central Park by the way) under the glass pyramid. I went down the stairs and paid my 9.50 Euros for entrance and took one look at the map and didn’t know where to start. I tried breaking it up in sections but felt lost most of the time. I enjoyed the sculptures and some of the larger paintings more than anything. I had to make a stop to see the famous “Venus” as well as the “Mona Lisa” although getting even remotely close to Mona was impossible due to the sheer number of tourists taking pictures of each other in front of the painting. If I had a choice I would do the majority of Paris sightseeing in the early morning next time.

After the visit to the Louvre I went back to the hotel and took a nap, got up and had some sushi and went back to bed. Like I said it was by far the best night sleep that I had. Having the windows open to the bustling city below didn’t even phase me. I needed the breeze as it was ~85 degrees on Thursday. I was just that tired.

Friday morning I woke up at 5 am and startled the reception at the hotel (I don’t think they are morning people in France) so go out for my short run pre-marathon. The desk clerk had to unlock the doors to let me out and I ran up the street to see the Arc de Triumph and the Eiffel Tower before my departure from Paris. Both were quite remarkable and again a picture cannot do them justice. I hardly scratched the surface seeing all of what Paris has to offer but I did the best with the short amount of time that I had.

Bruges, Belgium

2010-04-29T08:53:00.001-06:00

Yesterday we finished up work and headed up to a city about 30 minutes north of Kortrijk called Bruges. Bruges is a spectacular medieval city in Belgium and a most see if visiting the country. Trust me it is worth it. Bruges is laid out in an oval pattern with unique cobblestone winding streets all different from one another. They twist and turn with boutiques, shops, cafes, and restaurants around every turn. It is a bustling city and it attracts many tourists but somehow it still retains its charm and authenticity. There was a carnival complete with ferris wheel (not sure if this was seasonal or something year round here-it appeared to be permanent), many parks, museums, and rental bikes to ride throughout the city. The cafes were all packed with outdoor seating and the town square had some impressive architecture.

We didn’t get much time (only a short evening) to explore this city but it has definitely made my list of must sees in the future.

I ate dinner with my co-worker Steve at a small quaint Italian restaurant called “Sale E Pepe” down one of the winding side streets off of the main town square. It was magnificent. Excellent food, great service, and seating for only 4, 2-top tables outdoors made it an ideal place to enjoy a good meal.

We hopped the train back to Kortrijk and called out week of work complete early on Wednesday evening. My time is now winding down in Brussels as I head to Paris for the rest of the trip and finally a marathon south of Paris on Saturday.

Mr. Harper

2010-04-26T17:51:00.004-06:00

It is 12:30 am at the Park Hotel in Kortrijk, Belgium and I cannot sleep. Let me explain to you why I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep because there is a body in the hallway. This body is laying right in front of the door to my room, face down. He is a relatively large “Norwegian” looking man, mid to late 40’s, blonde hair, maybe 220 lbs and 6’1”.

I woke up to the sound of Mr. Harper (I am assuming it was him anyway) pounding on my door and trying to open the door. I then could hear the sounds of metal clanking around outside of my door. I’m sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase that leads up to my room watching my door handle move up and down while someone repeatedly pounds on my door. It is 12:30. I am in Belgium. There is pounding on my hotel room door. Then the pounding stops. I go back upstairs thinking it is over.

A little while later I bravely decide to peer into the hallway and open up my door (You are never supposed to open the door-didn’t I learn anything from horror movies growing up?). There laying on the floor face down is a man’s body. Who knows if he is dead or alive. I scream bloody murder and run up the steps and call the front desk. A few minutes later they come up and I can hear them trying to wake a “Mr. Harper” as they call him. When they cannot wake him (or revive him, who knows) they just leave him there. I check 15 minutes later to ensure that the body is gone and sure enough it is not. Mr. Harper still lays unconscious face down in the hallway of the 1st floor of the Park Hotel in Kortrijk, Belgium as we speak. Nice.

Needless to say I don’t think I’ll be running in the morning here. I’m scared to death of what is probably nothing more than a local drunk who wandered into the hotel and finished off the room service food that I left on a tray in the hallway. He then proceeded to pass out and they are unable to revive him at the moment. I watch too many movies. Right now he looks like the guy passed out in “Saw” that they think is dead. Scary.

I don’t think the Belgian police are in too much of a hurry to remove a drunken local from the hallway of a hotel. Probably bigger crime to fight right? Unbelievable. I’m starting to miss the Holiday Inn Express in Sulphur Springs, Texas right about now. At least there are no bodies in the hallways and nobody pounding on your doorway for 2-3 hours straight. I’m thinking I’d even be willing to settle for the Subway and Chilis in Sulphur Springs right now too…

I hope Mr. Harper is gone in the morning. And I hope I’m not a witness to a murder or some kind of crime. That’s all I need. I’ve seen “Locked Up Abroad” on National Geographic Channel. I really don’t need to get involved in anything compromising while I’m here. I miss America. I even miss Texas. I’m scared shitless. Who knew you needed a pitbull and a loaded weapon to travel to Europe.

Notes to self:
1. Never complain about the first room given to you or you’ll end up in the one Mr. Harper frequents in his drunken stupor on late Monday nights
2. Never leave the leftover room service food tray in the hallway; at least not in a European hotel; it probably attracted Mr. Harper in the first place
3. Accept that I am not staying at the Fairmont Copley Plaza in Boston like I was 2 weeks ago…you know, the ~$400/night hotel where you can rent a dog to run up the Charles river with and you can see Starbucks from your window. I am such a spoiled American. I doubt they would’ve allowed Mr. Harper to get even remotely close to my room
4. Be cautious but try to not be paranoid. Have you ever seen that old horror movie, “The people in the walls” or something like that? Before I realized there was simply a drunken Norwegian man eating my leftover room service food then proceeding to pass out outside my hotel room door, I thought this place was haunted like that movie. In the 1980’s horror flight there were these scary monster like possessed people in the walls haunting this old house. For some reason I was more okay with that scenario than the latter.
5. Next time travel with a partner, preferably a man, a very large and very intimidating man, or a dog, a very large, very intimidating dog
6. Bring drugs to sleep. The kind that will have you sleep though a “Mr. Harper’s wasted again and simply snacking on the leftover smoked salmon salad from your room service tray outside your window and will eventually pass out on the floor in front of your door after pounding on it several thousand times trying to get in scenario”. Question is do they really make drugs that strong? KT is a drug rep, she would know
7. Go easy on the imagination. Everything from, “Oh my god the Slovakian drug lords with prostitution rings are coming to kidnap me” to “The hotel is simply haunted” to “Someone is just going to beat my door down and beat me with the metal pipe they are carrying” thoughts all need to go. I may not be in Kansas anymore but I don’t think I’m in Afghanistan either.

So I am going to try to get back to sleep. I hope Mr. Harper isn’t in the hallway in front of my door when I get up in the morning. God help us. God help Mr. Harper.

Jet Lag, it is funny when you're tired

2010-04-26T17:48:00.003-06:00

Hi my name is Jet Lag, nice to meet you.
Day #1, Monday, Kortrijk, Belgium, Park Hotel

After 11.5 hours of flying Sunday night/Monday morning, I have finally arrived in Belgium. I missed an entire night of sleep and I’m literally on my 3rd or 4th “wind” today/tonight/whatever you want to call it. I’m currently 8 hours ahead of Colorado time and 6 hours ahead of Michigan time (You should always know what time it is where your mother lives! Shame on you if you do not!). Now I know why they call it ‘jet lag’. I’m “lagging” all right. I’m down right exhausted. I think I had 6 or 7 espressos today. And the last 4 I took black/straight up. I never drink it black!

I got lost driving from Brussels to Kortrijk today. I ended up in a traffic circle National Lampoons style exclaiming to the plant manager who was riding in the passenger seat, “Look Kids Big Ben” as we went around and around and around the traffic circle about 6 or 7 times. We were unable to get out of the traffic circle along with being indecisive about which direction we should actually take. I thought this movie line was so funny that I nearly caused an accident while bursting with laughter and trying to drive at the same time. We were both laughing…we were both tired. It’s one of those situations where you “just had to be there” but please let me tell you that it was just damn funny.

It was even funnier when we stopped and asked for directions and me with my best French accent yelled “Merci beaucoup” to the man as we drove away only to find out an hour later that they actually speak Dutch here, not French. How the heck was I supposed to know, it all sounds the same to me? Seriously, Dutch sounds like French with a little German thrown in. The road names have like 24-32 syllables and when you mash them all together, they all sound the same anyway.

All in all it has been a long and crazy and funny day. Not to mention truly exhausting. To make matters even funnier, they are doing construction here at the hotel complete with hammering and pounding right on the roof above my head. So I am ready to go to sleep and the pounding is non stop. Normally I would call up and complain but I already switched rooms due to the first one I got had matching twin beds and no shower (only a tub sorta thing like you see in a doggie shampoo shop, complete with a an attached rubber hose and nozzle). I’m all about being adventurous but call me crazy, after flying for almost 12 hours, I sorta prefer the kind of shower that actually shoots hot water over the top of my head. I thought that wasn’t too much to ask, right? So I, being the high maintenance American tourist, asked for a room change and instead got a room complete with a king size bed and a REAL shower; but it also seems to be next door to the construction workers who have been pounding, and sawing non-stop all day (which to me feels quite like eternity at this point). But I do have to laugh. You can’t have it all. I got a real shower and now I don’t get it real quiet. Hilarious. I mean it’s funny but it’s not funny.

By the way we stopped at the Soy Plant today for a quick plant tour. Either I was totally delirious or the plant manager was a combination of Richard Gere and Brad Pitt. No, I am not making this up. Seriously the guy glowed he was so pretty. He had the longest eye lashes I have ever seen on a man actually and I kept thinking to myself, “You are the plant manager here?” “Are you sure you aren’t the local celebrity or underwear model”? I was so tired as he was giving us the plant tour that the only thing keeping me awake was me being totally mesmerized by his dark blue eyes and long dark eyelashes. Like seriously, this guy was like a work of art. Really? Had he not looked like a modern day Ken doll, I probably would’ve belted out some really long yawns today and a couple head bobs as he explained the soy extraction process to us. Oh well. After I left the plant, I even found that funny….which part you may ask? Oh I don’t know, the whole thing!? You watch, the guy will look like Jack Black tomorrow after a good nights sleep. Now that would be funny. Everything is funny when you are tired. Some things are only funny when you're tired.

Welcome to Jet Lag. Welcome to Europe.

Bon voyage! Où le marathon est ?

2010-04-22T15:00:00.004-06:00

Off to Euope I go! I’m a few days away from my first marathon in Europe and I'm very excited to travel across the pond to make a quick trip to Belgium & France and experience some European culture. Although I am traveling primarily for work, I will get a few days to see Paris and run a race south of the city. I’m not sure what to expect. All I know is the name of the town that I need to go where I will be staying in France and the fact that I’ll be making the 3 hour drive solo from Kortrijk, Belgium to Lieusaint, France next week Thursday. Lieusaint, France is 30 minutes south of Paris. I’m hoping that finding the place to pick up my race bib and the bus to take to the start of the marathon isn’t difficult with my very limited French vocabulary.

I’ll be flying to Brussels, Belgium on Sunday April 25^th, Denver to Newark (~4 hours) then Newark to Brussels (~7 ½ hours) landing in Brussels on Monday morning (April 26^th) around 7:45 am. I’m not sure how I am going to do on a plane ride throughout the night, even when sitting in what is called “Business/First Class” which is a combined class that does not distinct between the 2. I’m in seat 1D and unless the seat lays 180 degrees flat, I won’t be sleeping. Missing an entire night of sleep will be a challenge for the girl who can’t function on less than 10 hours of sleep a night. All in all this will be an adventure to say the least.

Monday-Thursday will for the most part be spent working at the manufacturing plant outside of Brussels in a town called Kortrijk. I’m still trying to research what this city is like and I’ll find out pretty quickly what running in Kortrijk will be like after a few days there.

Thursday will consist of checking out of my hotel in Kortrijk and making the 3 hour drive south towards Paris where I plan to check into my hotel.

Friday I need to figure out where to pick up my race packet/bib number then I plan to spend the day in Paris being a total and complete glutton, sampling pastries and allowing myself food that never in a million years I would probably eat anywhere else.

Saturday I will be running the Marathon de Sénart. I will likely make the drive back to Brussels in the later afternoon Saturday and my flight back to the states will be Sunday morning. I leave Brussels at 9:45 Sunday morning (May 2) and land in Denver through Newark at 5 pm (Gotta love saving all that time flying West) same day.

The whole trip will be an experience, everything from the travel to the work to the race. I do wish I had more time and my mom there with me to explore Paris and see more things but I’m thankful to even have the opportunity to go at all. So I'm off.

Dit-moi bonne chance!

A Love Affair with a Town

2010-04-15T09:14:00.003-06:00

I just spent 4 days on the road for work and although I’ve written about the downfalls of business travel before, I can’t help but reiterate how horrible and awful business travel actually is. The biggest issue I have with business travel is simply leaving the paradise of the town that I live in…the town of Boulder. I am truly obsessed with Boulder; I ultimately have a love affair with the town of Boulder itself and the surrounding areas. There is nothing more devastating to me than actually leaving Boulder unless of course it is to fly to Michigan to see family or to an island somewhere for a vacation. Other than that, I am perfectly happy in Boulder all of the time.

Boston, Mass (Sunday-Tues); photo above

I flew into Boston on Sunday. My flight left Denver at 12:30 pm so I left my house at 10 am on Sunday which really cut into my weekend I must say. I landed at Boston Logan Airport at 6:30 pm. A long flight and a 2 hour time difference really killed a day (another reason I really hate flying to the east coast). But I must admit that Boston was really a gem of a city (and this is coming from a girl who hates cities and the east coast). I was about 4 blocks from the Charles River and therefore did have time Monday morning to run 10 miles along the Charles on the running/biking path. The run was quite fantastic for a city run (with more people around than I would like), and the 5 mile trek out actually took me right over into Cambridge. I ran past rowing teams, bikers, and Harvard Square. The churches and architecture were actually quite impressive and the city itself just had a character to it that I have not experienced in other cities out east to date. I spent the day Monday working in Boston and the morning Tuesday and hopped on a 1:30 pm flight from Boston to Atlanta.

Atlanta, GA (Tues-Wed)

I landed in Atlanta from Boston around 4:30 pm Tues afternoon. I had been through Atlanta before (flying and driving) but had quickly forgotten how enormous, spread out, and busy Atlanta is. First of all the traffic is horrendous. This is not anything like Boston. There are no sidewalks or running paths in Atlanta and you have to drive to everything. At least everyone was walking/running/biking in Boston. Atlanta to me was just….well….gross. As soon as I landed in Atlanta I could not wait to leave Atlanta…immediately. Thank god I only had to be there for one night. The only other city I feel that is as awful as Atlanta is perhaps Houston. You could not pay me enough to live in either city.

Denver, CO (Wed pm)

I landed in Denver last night from Atlanta and was thrilled beyond belief to be home. Well almost home. I do not consider Denver home.

Boulder, CO (Wed pm)

I rushed immediately to Whole Foods on Pearl Street in Boulder when getting to town last night and loaded up a massive organic salad piled with fresh veggies from the salad bar and a tray of sushi (tuna avocado roll). I also grabbed a big bag of apples. I got up this morning and ran up Sunshine Canyon in Boulder with Henry marveling at the views, the deer, the fresh air, the snow capped peaks, the rushing Boulder Creek, and the quiet of nature surrounding me. It was surreal. It was like experiencing Boulder and the foothills for the first time. Boulder could not be any more different than Boston or Atlanta. Boulder is small, quirky, unique, a bubble, tucked away from reality and most of society. I have a love affair with this town and this place. It has a beauty and a character that I cannot put into words. Part of it is the surrounding nature but I actually love the town itself as well. I will never leave this place and I’ll hold it close to me on all of my travels just wanting and waiting to get back. I appreciate Boulder. I love Boulder. I have a love affair with a small town in Colorado, a town that just fits me somehow, a town that gets me, and a town that never lets me down.

Have some balls, run with the bulls

2010-02-28T07:25:00.003-07:00

The world is one big place. Lately, I have been thinking about some places on my list that I would like to travel to in hopefully the next ~5-10 years or so. It makes no sense whatsoever not to take advantage of having a good job, one that has me traveling, and the fact that I do not have a family or other responsibilities holding me back. A little bit more vacation time might help! I am all about taking full advantage of any place that I travel. I’m pretty much crazy and willing to do anything, try anything, and taste anything once; maybe even twice. What is a life worth living without taking some risks?

At 31, I have yet to travel to Europe, Asia, Africa, or South America. I would love explore the history, food, culture, and architecture of many different countries in Europe, sea kayak New Zealand, climb Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Africa, run the Greece marathon, explore Chile, and see the pyramids in Egypt. Also, although it sounds odd, I would love to see the running of the bulls in Spain. A part of me actually wants to run with the bulls instead of watching others do it. I don’t think my mom would be the first to sign up for that trip. I would have to master some speed work to run the 0.5 miles very fast. I would also love to see Machu Picchu in Peru.

Here is a list of places that make my wish list to visit/travel to in the near future:

Alaska
Chile
Egypt
Greece
India
Italy
Japan
New Zealand
Peru
Spain
Sweden
Tanzania

Certainly there are others and many more places in the US that I have yet to explore. Of course I would find a way to get my running in, at all of these places one way or another. After all, running in a place is by far the best way in my opinion to see that place.

Someone recently said to me, “We are all gonna die of something, why let that keep us from living”. That said, I found online the top 5 reasons typically there are no women participating in the “Running of the Bulls”:

5) We experience enough bull on a daily basis, thank you
4) Unless we're in the mood, we try to limit our exposure to horny creatures
3) Bulls are nothing. Real women run in high heels for big cash prizes
2) Like attracts like - we want to compete with our own kind. When they create a women-only Running of the Cows, we'll be there

And the number one reason?
1) We're just not that stupid

I disagree entirely with this list of reasons even if it did make me laugh. The world is one big place. Life is way too short. I may be stupid but I feel like having some balls and running with the bulls.

2010 Ambitious Race Schedule

2010-02-27T17:31:00.003-07:00

I think it is time I start deciding what races I will run this year. After all next week is the first week in March. My recovery time from the Ultra I ran last fall in Montana was significantly less time than recovery from any marathon I have ever run. I think this was due to the slower pace at which an ultra is typically run. The races I am thinking about running are ambitious from a mileage standpoint but I’m excited to participate in some races that I have never done before; in places I have never seen before.

It is looking like I will be making 2 separate trips to Europe this year for work. I have never been to Europe so that alone will be an experience for me. I just think there is no better way to discover a place than to run a race in that place. So I’ve been busy researching marathons and other races in the time frames that I should be in those areas. My dates are not locked in for the business trips yet so that makes things very tough; but the European Marathon Calendars for 2010 that I have been looking at look very promising. (Meaning there will some race I can participate in that is an easy driving distance from where I will be staying.

I’ll plan on just staying the weekend and running the race that I choose when I decide to book my travel.

There are also several races in the states that I plan on running this year. Some are repeat races that I’ve run in years past that I just enjoy too much to miss out on. At the same time, I am trying to branch out and try new races in new places that I have never seen before.

Here is a list of tentative races that I plan on running this year. The 2 races in Europe are dependant on my business travel dates. The Marathon de Senart in Tigery, France however looks very promising as I just found out Friday this week that I will have to be in Brussels, Belgium the week of April 27th for work. The plan for me would be to make the 3.5 hour drive from Brussels, to Tigery, France and participate in the race Saturday morning. I would then plan a flight back to the states on Sunday or Monday. It certainly doesn’t give me a lot of time to explore but being able to run a race in another country is something that I have yet to do. Yes, I will make a stop in Paris on my drive for some French Pastries. I am still looking for a new June/July race as well.

April 18, 2010, Horsetooth Half Marathon (13.1 miles): Fort Collins, CO
May 1, 2010, Marathon de Senart (26.2 miles): Tigery, France
May 8, 2010, Old Kent River Bank Run (15.53 miles): Grand Rapids, MI
May 16, 2010, Greenbay Marathon (26.2 miles): Greenbay, WI
May 31, 2010, Bolder Boulder 10K (6.2 miles): Boulder, CO
July 31, 2010, Swiss Alpine Marathon (26.2 miles): Graubünden, Switzerland
October 9, 2010, Le Grizz Ultramarathon (50 miles): Hungry Horse, MT

I am currently following a marathon training schedule that targets me for the May 16th Greenbay Marathon. I will also start following an ultramarathon training schedule that will target me for the Oct 9th Le Grizz Ultramarathon. The other races seem to fall nicely into the schedule and I am sure they will only add to the training that I’ll be doing. I’m excited to go home and visit my family for the Old Kent River Bank run in Grand Rapids. I’m also excited to participate in the Bolder Boulder 10K that I didn’t run in last year. All in all, my schedule is exciting. I can’t wait to break the 10 hour mark in the Le Grizz this year and run a sub 45 minute 10k as well.

PS: 3 marathons and 1 ultramarathon in the same year might kill me; well, it won't 'kill me' but it might hurt....a lot. I look forward to it. Yay for me!

Meat and Me

2010-02-13T17:10:00.003-07:00

Something made me think the other day about Meat and what Meat means to me. Let me tell you what Meat means to me. Meat is happiness. I adore Meat. Meat of all kinds: Red meat, White meat, Pork (also known as the other white meat): ground, grilled, stewed, braised, fried, raw, etc. Mark my words: I will never not eat meat. I will be shoveling in a rare T-bone steak on my death bed along with every morsel of the grizzle. Oh so yummy in my tummy.

Today was an absolutely wonderful day. A lazy day. A day filled with running, sleeping, and Meat. How these 3 things have the ability to make me so incredibly content and happy is beyond me…but they do.

I had nothing to do today except my 14 mile training run. Did my house need to be cleaned? Sure it did. But I did not clean it. Did my car need to be washed? Certainly. But I did not wash it. Did I need groceries? Absolutely. Did I go grocery shopping? No, I did not. Sometimes we just need a break, don’t you think? Take time to just sit down, relax, and eat a huge slab of Meat.

Dawson and I slept 10 hours last night. We didn’t wake to an alarm, we got up and drove out to start our 14 miler at Tom Watson park solo (KT was up in the mountains this weekend). Doing long runs solo can be tough. Typically I am talking KT’s ear off on a 14 miler; believe me, it makes the miles fly by for the both of us. We gossip and tell stories; and usually on the back half of the run we talk about the foods we are craving: sometimes burritos, sometimes enchiladas, other times we just want a fruit smoothie. Today I wanted a few things but I didn’t have anyone except the dog to tell it to: I wanted apples, grapes, a crystallized ginger chocolate bar from whole foods, and large quantities of tasty Meat. Even when running by a field full of cute furry cows around mile 12, I looked down at Dawson and she looked back up at me with her big brown eyes; we both licked our chops and I knew we were thinking the same thing: burger.

So I came home and took out some Ground Beef to start. I then ate 2 apples, a large quantity of grapes, my crystallized ginger chocolate bar from whole foods…then I polished off a massive cylinder of Venison Sausage. Oh my lord, that Venison Sausage was incredible. I don’t think you are living until you’ve had this Wisconsin shot deer made into mouth watering Venison Sausage. (Thank god the meat doesn’t come with nutritional info or I may have stopped myself after a few slices-yeah right). But I didn’t. Dawson and polished it off. I then iced my shin that was bothering me on the run, talked to my mom on the phone, then took a shower and took a nap.

I woke up craving more Meat.

So I got up and went to the grocery store and got everything I need to make homemade Italian vegetable beef soup. What a perfect day.

Running, Meat, Sleep. No plans, no responsibilities, no worries. Pure happiness. Meat: could a girl really want anything more?

Inspiration

2010-02-06T12:16:00.003-07:00

Have you ever asked yourself why you meet certain people who seem to have an impact on your life in some way? How is it that certain people can come into our lives at certain times and make such an impact on us? Are these things coincidence? Fate? Is there really a master plan being carried out for our lives? Do our choices even matter? Are they not really ‘our’ choices at all?

Serendipity is “is the effect by which one accidentally stumbles upon something fortunate, especially while looking for something entirely unrelated”.

I believe life is full of Serendipity; maybe even every day. I’ve been finding very positive things come out of quite negative things lately. As if everything negative that has happened actually has a reason to it; a lesson to be learned. I hope that I never stop learning. The day that I stop learning should be the day that I die.

Inspiration can come in many forms. Karyn and I were inspired of the story of my mom’s run this morning (she called to tell me how far she made it) and that inspired us to push further than we really ever planned to go. I’m inspired by those who do things that otherwise you wouldn’t believe would be so capable of doing.

Today I feel inspired. By people. By this time. By the curious and miraculous world we live in and the way in which we all ebb and flow amongst each other. I’m inspired by coincidence. I’m fascinated by the universe and the way in which things work or don’t work out. I wonder if everything that ‘is’ was always meant to ‘be’. I wonder if I can change the universe’s mind or if everything in store for me is already planned that way.

Sometimes spending energy trying to solve the mystery of life takes away from the actual living of it. I’ve chosen to throw myself in head first and attempt to conquer everything thrown my way. Someone once told me I would “fight the wind” if I could; I’m attempting to do less fighting of the wind and more allowing the wind to take me where it wants me to go. This is easier said that done. I’m not your “go with the flow” type of person. I’m more of a “manipulate the situation and plan to the extreme” type of person. Maybe letting go of some of that ‘manipulation’ could do me some good (letting go of the planning will never happen).

“If you want to make the gods laugh, make a plan”.

And Bo thought I never listened to a word he said.

Inspiration. My life has been blessed by people, places, ideas, books. I am thankful. What/Who inspires you?

Gun totin’ feminist

2010-02-01T15:59:00.003-07:00

If I didn’t know me any better, I’d say that I was a gun totin’ feminist.

I’ve been pretty down lately about my job and my career. At times, I’ve questioned if I made the right choice; the right decision for me regarding my life and my work. At times lately I’ve found myself complaining a lot about my job, saying that I felt trapped and I felt as though it wasn’t providing me the “quality of life” that I so desired. The main thing that I felt that was being taking away from my “quality of life” was my time home due to the travel. I felt as though I’ve been living out of a suitcase, being whisked away on airplanes from city to city and coast to coast; not sleeping well, not eating well, being out of my house, my comfort zone, and worst of all, away from my trusty pet and companion, my dog Dawson. Then I started to read. Books. Lots of books. Spiritual books. Novels. Chick Lit. Fiction. Non-fiction. History. Poetry. You name it, I’ve been reading it.

I cannot sleep on airplanes. It’s the curse of a stomach sleeper to be unable to sleep on ones back or sitting upright for that matter. So I read. Even on a red eye flight I read. I particularly enjoy books about women or where the main character is a woman; I like to relate to authors or characters and their stories. I particularly enjoy memoirs/biographies with true stories and facts about place and times.

The reading has slowly made me realize something. My life is a sugar coated paradise. Ha. I shouldn’t ever complain ever again. The fact that I ever complained at all much less thought about complaining; is one big giant joke.

My life is a cushioned life. Sure I travel a lot; more than I’d like. And perhaps, it’s not my deep innermost passion what I do; but you know what, it’s a job; and it’s a great job with a great company at that.

I’m tired of the pity and sympathy I get from others regarding my job and my travel. “You are headed to Baltimore today? Oh wow, that sucks, I’m so sorry to hear that”. It is what it is. I’ve been trying to stay very positive about the travel aspect of the job. Then the reading today hit me for some reason. I realized all of the freedom this job is actually giving me rather than trapping me. I always felt as if I was a victim of Corporate America; when in actuality when seeing the big picture, I have more freedom, more choices, than I will ever know what to do with. For one, I have financial freedom. I have freedom to the location I call home. I have freedom to whom I spend my time with. I don’t rely on anyone but myself and I don’t find this to be a lonely fact whatsoever. It’s actually an empowering one. At 31 years old and a single female, I felt awfully powerful today. And I honestly should feel that powerful all of the time. I’m not stuck in a bad relationship or marriage for one. I’m not trapped in a house somewhere trying to raise a family I’m not sure that I wanted either. I’m healthy, I’m traveling, I’m making a living and a good one at that; and I have the power of choice.

Now I’m sure you are asking where this feeling of power came from. Well it must have come from some of my books. One book that I just finished was set in the 1890’s. Let me start off by saying that they would’ve burned me at the stake in the 1890’s. More than one time in the book men were making serious conversation about how simple and small the brain of a woman is and how they are simply inferior; the inferior gender. That makes me smile. It made me smile getting off the plane today in Baltimore. It will make me smile when I am surrounded by men tomorrow in a manufacturing facility, with ME, a woman, being the engineer on the project.

My life is bad? I don’t think so. I just need to see the bigger picture and also I need to start reacting to it differently. Instead of feeling all pissed off, with a feminist chip on my shoulder, I need to embrace all of the power and freedom that I possess. I have the ability to choose almost anything in my life right now. A man. A pet. My bedtime. My lifestyle choices. Even my behavior. My food. My books. Everything. I don’t rely on a man for money or shelter or protection. I take care of me and that power, that choice, is intoxicating.

This may very well be simply my women’s lib day. Whatever it is, I feel pretty damn good. Even while sitting in a Holiday Inn Express, in Frederick, Maryland. Thanks Mom for giving me all that you did and in turn I got the power to choose anything that my heart so desires. (Hawaii here we come) Life is good.

Like nothing on earth

2010-01-25T22:33:00.005-07:00

Before I took my first snowboarding day trip up to Vail this past weekend, I decided to check out the Vail Resort website. The site claims that Vail is “Like nothing on earth”. Now I’d like to think that I’ve seen some pretty incredible places in my 31 years on this planet. But they were indeed correct with what they said. Vail was in fact like nothing I had seen to date on earth.

I had been to Vail and Vail Village prior to this snowboard day trip. I had even participated in the Teva Mountain games 2 summers ago and ran the 10K race which makes you run UP one of the ski hills on the front face of the mountain (yes it was brutal) but I hadn’t been up ON the mountain at Vail snowboarding yet since I had lived in Colorado.

First of all, Vail is expensive. A one day lift ticket will set you back $97. Thanks to my friend Lesley I got a buddy pass for $65 for the day. I justified it by calling that my “monthly entertainment expense”. I don’t watch the ski or weather reports and I don’t check out the ski web cams either before I go. I only learned to snowboard 2 years ago and didn’t get up last season compared to how much I got up my first season. I regretted how little I got on my snowboard last year so I vowed I would go more this year. I didn’t get a ski pass because I typically enjoy the smaller more quaint ski areas that I had been to. Not only are these less crowded but they are significantly less expensive and just as fun. I don’t see myself ever really getting a season ski pass; they really cover the more popular resorts (what I call the I-70 ski places) and I don’t like going to the majority of these places simply because they are too crowded. I also don’t like dealing with I-70 weekend traffic. Next time I go, I am going to take a vacation day or 2 in the middle of the week (likely next month sometime) and go when the crowds are few and the snow is great. I will likely use one of these days to go back to Vail even though Vail is a bigger and more popular resort. Vail is special. Vail is different. Vail is….well Vail.

Vail is really unlike any place I have ever snowboarded. First of all, it’s huge. No…let me rephrase that, it’s enormous. It’s 5,289 acres of freeride terrain, and 31 lifts. And it is stunningly beautiful. Even when snowboarding on the first real powder day that Vail has seen this season with all of those people, at times it felt like I was the only one there. The powder (52" base with 9 inches of fresh snow) was waist deep and it felt as if I was floating through layers upon layers of fresh fluffy snow. It was unreal. Several times I actually experienced vertigo. The snow was coming down so thick and I could not see my board, but I was floating down the mountain not being able to gauge my speed, distance, or the angle at which I was moving down the mountain. It was really a whole other experience this day at Vail for me. It was a high. The snow, the fresh mountain air, the chill of the wind, the day…amazing.

I did manage to bury myself in around 5 feet of snow in one of the back bowls at the beginning of the day. I literally had to dig myself out, unclip my board, and then hike my way out of the bowl. I got such a feeling of being so small at that moment that I was buried. It was so quiet up there and I felt as if I was the only person on the mountain. I couldn’t see anyone around, the snow was coming down so hard and blowing, and it was so peaceful, serene. Such a beautiful spectacular place. Such a perfect day.

If you come to Colorado, you must ski/snowboard Vail. It is worth every dime. It really is like nothing on earth.

"Please God, just get me home for Christmas"

2009-12-18T15:11:00.003-07:00

They were playing, “I’ll be home for Christmas” as I trudged my way through the LAX airport this afternoon; no I’m not making this up. Babies were screaming, people were yelling and swearing at United agents, bags were being tossed all around. And I was on a mission. I had Michigan on the mind. It was loud and there were taxis and rental car buses and shuttles cruising up and down outside Terminal 7. The place was buzzing. I thought LAX may be slightly busy the Friday before Christmas but I never anticipated this. The airport is full of uniformed service men. The bar at the airport is packed. Did I mention babies are screaming? (Maybe they too can sense the chaos) Palm trees and 75 degrees; this is not what a Midwestern girl grew up thinking Christmas was like.

I was outside of LA all week this week for work and it felt like the week just couldn’t go fast enough. We were trying to cover all 3 shifts at the manufacturing facility (the plant) for our trial this week and that felt impossible. On Monday we arrived at the plant at 7 am, stayed until 7 pm, got dinner, stopped back until around 11 pm, left to sleep for ~2 hours and got up at 1:30 am and stayed until 3:30 am to be there for several hours during 3rd shift. (technically now Tuesday) We were in bed again at 4 am and back at the plant at 8 am for 1st shift on Tuesday. For the girl who sleeps 10-12 hours a night, that itself was chaos.

Then I got food poisoning. I suggested a really cool authentic “Hole in the wall” Mexican restaurant near the plant for lunch Tuesday. 3 guys who work for the supplying company and me. Kevin and I got chicken-he a chicken burrito and me chicken tacos. The other guys got steak. Tuesday night was a night full of sitting on the toilet and puking my brains out in the bathtub. I finally brought a pillow into the bathroom. Needless to say it was also a night of not sleeping. Kevin didn’t get his sickness until Wed morning. He was taken to urgent care where he threw up every 10 minutes and was put on an IV for most of the day. I sipped on water and tried to tough it out.

The week was a long one. I was scheduled on a 6:30 pm flight heading back to Denver originally today but was able to change it to 3:30 pm. I’ll be home for the night and leave tomorrow morning for Grand Rapids to go home for Christmas for 2 weeks on a 10:12 am flight to GR. 2 weeks that I have been waiting for and counting down to since I was home in September. I always take 2 weeks off during the holidays. I love being home, I love seeing my family, and I love being in Michigan for Christmas. There is no place that I would rather be.

I sit here at LAX and smile watching the chaos around me. Holidays apparently create anxiety for most people. The only anxiety I have is the logistics of getting home for the holidays. But once I’m there, I imagine I get to curl up on my mom’s couch in my pink puppy dog flannel pajamas (yes I am 31 years old), curl up next to my dog Dawson and fall asleep. Peace and quiet. No cars, people, swearing, babies crying. No luggage throwing, car screeching, flight announcements, etc. Just quiet. For me Christmas means peace and quiet, a lot of laughing, being with my family, and enjoying Michigan; enjoying HOME. Sleep and long runs in the snow, good food, and great family. And my trusty dog Dawson by my side.

I’ll be home for Christmas every year. It doesn’t matter if it is a plane, train, automobile, boat, or getting there on my own 2 feet. I’ll get to Michigan whatever it takes. And remove myself even if for a short period of time, from the chaos that exists in this world. The chaos of big cities, the chaos of Southern California, the chaos of business travel, the chaos of life. My peace from the chaos is in Michigan; this is where I’m headed. Los Angeles to Denver, Denver to Grand Rapids. Starts now.

"Please God, just get me home for Christmas".

Mice & Men

2009-12-12T07:14:00.003-07:00

I’d like to think of myself as a very independent woman. This is what I’d like to “think”. I view being dependent on someone else, especially a man as a sign of weakness. I say these things, then I find myself sharing my house with mice; or dealing with a flooded basement or a partial electric outage in my house and I say to myself, “It sure would be nice to have a man around”. But I do not like living with men. I do not want to live with a man. I do not want to clean up after a man, cook for a man, or wash a man’s clothes. I work, I wash my own clothes. I take care of myself. To me, having a man is like having an insurance policy. You may or may not need it but the peace of mind to have it may be worth sucking up having the toilet seat left up or having a few extra clothes to wash.

I enjoy being independent. I pride myself on knowing how to do things that a lot of women cannot do. I pride myself on being able to drive a stick shift, the ability to install a new shower head, and how to relight the pilot light on the furnace when it goes out. I even know now how to shut off the water main to the house and a one or two things about my breaker box. I know that WD-40 can fix almost anything and you should always have a roll of electrical tape on hand. I’m proud of these few things that I’ve learned from my dad over the years.

Then there are things like mice that I don’t particularly want to deal with. No, let me rephrase that, I CANNOT deal with. My house was infested with the varmints last year for 6-8 months and nothing would work. My landlord hired an “Au natural no-kill Exterminator” to pleasantly try to capture and kill the mice (without inflicting any pain on the animal). I, being the new age, organic eating, yoga doing, mediating, slightly granola Boulderite that I am, thought that the concept sounded fantastic. Who needs poisons and toxins to take care of a rodent problem?” I exclaimed. “We will do this the earth friendly way!” I felt so good about myself going into the mice removing escapade after meeting the “Organic Exterminator” named Tim who explained to me he was an ex-professor with a PHD in Biology and Ecology and used to teach at the Colorado University in Boulder. We were to set traps called sticky traps and lure the mice to the traps using Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup (apparently mice enjoy the Organic version but any brand will do) and the sticky trap works very simply, the mice “stick” to the sticky pad and they cannot move. Supposedly they die from the exhaustion and struggle of trying to remove themselves from the sticky trap. When you find the dead (humanely killed by the way) rodent on the sticky trap, you simply spray down with bleach solution, place in a bag and throw away. No fuss. Although I didn’t like the idea of seeing a dead mouse (or an alive one at that), I was on board with the plan. 6 months of setting sticky traps and the “Organic Exterminator Tim” never caught one god damn mouse. But the mice were obviously happily living in my house. They would haul dog food into the couch and snack on the couch cushions and leave nice little trails of mice poo in my silverware drawer. As you can imagine I didn’t do much cooking in these 6 months.

Throughout this whole escapade my parents (specifically my father) in Michigan listened helplessly to me complain about the mice problem. I knew had I lived in Michigan my dad would have had this taken care of in a matter of days. My dad insisted that a little something called d-CON would do the trick. I proudly explained at first to my father how d-CON was bad for the environment and the ecosystem and how we would be actually poisoning the helpless animals, they would go outside to die and another animal would eat them and be poisoned. Boy was I stupid.

The conversation with Organic Exterminator started off friendly and positive. 6 months later, I about had it with the granola eating mice fighter with a PHD who in my opinion had never caught or killed anything in his entire life. I followed my dad’s advice, bought d-CON and poisoned the bastards. And thank god I had a man around at the time to pick up the remains. I was sick and tired of mice, dead, alive, or their droppings.

Mice problem solved. Bob once again is my hero.

My dad is the man. He can do everything, this man. He’s a builder, a plumber, an electrician, a chef, a mathematician, an exterminator (a real one), a history buff, a scientist of sorts, and by far the smartest and most compassionate man I know. So this is what I expect out of a man. Is that too much to ask?

As the cold season is upon us again, I’m bracing myself for the sound of pitter patter mice feet in my walls and hoping that I don’t have to get out the d-CON again. I’m wondering if moving home to Michigan would just make life so much easier. They just don’t make men the way that they used to. I’m convinced there isn’t a guy out there that can do what my dad can do. 31 years and I am convinced.

I Dream of Rome

2009-12-02T18:36:00.002-07:00

To me Food is Art. I was very possibly a food critic or a world class chef in another life. I may have also been a gardener; growing fresh tomatoes and green beans, and herbs to cook spectacular creative fresh dishes with. I have had an urge to have my very own garden for several years now. I’m talking a big, beautiful garden; colorful and fragrant, blossoming with all kinds of fresh vegetables, fruits, and flowers.

I’m reading a new book called “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert. Although I just started it on the plane ride to Chicago Monday for another business trip and I’m not quite a quarter of the way through the book, she has literally put me (my mind, my thoughts) in Italy, specifically in Rome, Italy where she starts her travels. Her description of the city and the Italian language, and the culture and the people and the food already has me researching travel to Italy. She also talks about her divorce in the book and how when she turned 30 in the marriage, she knew that she didn’t have the desire to have a baby, yet it was expected of her. She explains how society has made it feel so wrong and almost immoral to be women in their 30’s and simply not have that desire to have a baby and be a mother. She explains how the desire to travel and to write and to learn about herself (as selfish as it may sound) was something she felt inside of herself that she could no longer ignore. So she left her husband (she doesn’t quite go into details of why) and goes on a quest to find herself starting in the country of Italy and the city of Rome. Of course a book deal was signed before she even went on trip which funded the trip. She goes on to spend 4 months in Italy, 4 months in India, and 4 months in Indonesia (she is still in Italy in the part of the book I am at). The strange part about reading this book is I feel as though I am reading something I wrote. I almost feel like I am hearing myself. Of course there are some major differences, I was not married, nor divorced; but her drive and passion for finding the inner truth (finding herself) is something that I feel as though I think about and face every single day. Of course I certainly wouldn’t mind traveling as she is as a method of not only “finding yourself” but enriching your self in ways that can only be done by experiencing and seeing the world, different cultures, and just the history of mankind in general.

I’ve never been overseas (to Europe) but to me the most fascinating thing about it would be the history. We really have nothing truly “Old” in the United States since it was founded so late in the game you could say. Europe has buildings that still stand that are dated back to 700 A.D. Pretty amazing stuff. Maybe I really just want to go for the food. Sample authentic French Pastries, Fresh Italian mozzarella and what she describes as the most amazing pizza in Naples, Italy that was more than a pie, more than a taste; but transcendence to a dreamlike place and time. This lady is speaking my language.

To me Food is Art. And Art is someone’s Truth. We all may not be creative but just experiencing Art (in any form) in my opinion is a way to find something in ourselves that we may have never known before. I will go to Italy someday and it won’t be when everyone says is the right time to go (when I am in my 60’s and retired). I will go in my 30’s and I will bring my mom. And we will stroll the streets of Rome taking in the culture, the art (in the form of food, architecture, and work done by some of the world’s most famous artists), and maybe find out a little about ourselves along the way that we never knew before.

I Dream of Rome.

Montana Pics

2009-10-20T16:28:00.010-06:00

Happiness

2009-10-17T09:54:00.004-06:00

What is happiness to you?

To me happiness is finishing a 10 miler on a Saturday morning with KT, coming home and slipping into my XL fuzzy fleece pants and XL red REI fleece sweatshirt and brewing another fresh pot of coffee. I got a hand warmer mug when I was in Montana that has pure happiness written all over it. Happiness is buying a plane ticket for a nonstop flight to Grand Rapids from Denver to go home for Christmas and counting down the days to having that full 2 weeks off from work and spending it with my family. Happiness was getting to run with my dog this morning and seeing her turn 9 years old this winter and still look and act not a day over 2. It’s sleeping 12 hours, hiking the foothills in the fall, and waiting to show my dad the beautiful incredible Rocky Mountains for the first time this Thanksgiving.

It’s being thankful for my family, my health, and yes, even my job. It’s being happy that I am not in an airport today or on a plane or in a rental car driving somewhere. Happiness is enjoying my own house even when it’s dirty just because I appreciate being here with my coffee pot and my dog and my own bed. It’s reading a book, buying groceries and making homemade soup. To me happiness is pretty basic, pretty simple. I could probably get by on far less but I’m thankful that I have what I have.

Happiness is seeing my new plant grow buds, buying flowers for myself just because I can, and putting clean crisp sheets on my bed. Happiness is getting out my snowboard gear; getting it all lined up and ready to go; ready to make its debut run in fresh powder.

Happiness is pretty simple for me these days. It’s not luxurious. It’s just being home. Just being me. Good food, a warm bed, and a good night of sleep. An early morning hike and some good coffee. My dog. Colorado. Seeing my family. Life.

What is happiness to you?

Against Nature

2009-10-15T17:51:00.003-06:00

The biggest struggle I have in life is my struggle with wearing the mask that I must wear when playing the game called, “Corporate America”. It isn’t natural, this thing called Corporate America. It isn’t my Nature. I’ve known for many years now that my true self belongs outside, breathing fresh air, and enjoying natural settings and surroundings. I’m not sure how one can incorporate this into a means to survive and pay back things (also very unnatural) like student loans. Someday I have to find a way. I do not belong here in this role, in this place.

Traveling for business is hard. That’s it; just plain hard. It’s a life I wouldn’t wish upon anybody. It’s a world of chaos and goes against everything nature intended us to be and to do. It has us flying on fuel filled jet liners across a country to stay in man made hotels and consuming pre-packaged fake food. It’s a world of rental cars and shuttle buses, and long lines, and traffic, and crowds. It’s noise. Lights. Chaos.

I closed my eyes several times today and swear I could smell and breathe and taste Montana. Around me was noise. Just noise. Machines working and people performing manual labor in a man made plant just to make a living. Signs displaying chain restaurants and advertisements for television shows and people talking about football: the NFL teams, and college sports and things that I know nothing about. It all seems and feels so unnatural to me. It’s all just not me.

Several people asked me about my race today. “How did it go?” “That’s insane”. I can’t describe to people anything about my weekend or my trip, how I felt, what it meant to me, and what a wonderful and amazing time I had with my mom there. Words cannot describe such a thing. And when they asked me what my next adventure would be, I told them I didn’t know. You cannot plan such things. Ha! This coming from the girl who plans everything.

All I know is that this is a means to an end. Sometimes I wish I could take a pill so I would not be conscious on days and trips like this; just so I could get through it painlessly. My mind, my soul, belongs in some other far off place. I belong outside. I belong in nature. I know this. Sometimes I feel like a caged animal on these business trips. Something inside of me is just dying to get out. I ache when I am on these trips. I ache playing a part, and acting a way, and wearing a mask. The true me is silenced. I am not the true me when I am here in these places. I want to be me.

Part of me thinks something else calls to me. Something that is me. Something that doesn’t go against my nature, or that of man; or in my case, woman. I don’t know what it looks like exactly but when I’m there I’ll know it. I’ll be me, there will be fresh air, and I’ll feel the way I feel when I am outdoors going with nature instead of against it.

Flathead County, Montana

2009-10-12T20:15:00.003-06:00

My mom and I spent 3 days in Flathead County, Montana and everything we saw, everything we experienced together was nothing short of spectacular. Every winding road had us viewing another piece of heaven and I felt as if we were viewing the pages of a National Geographic magazine. We spent a good portion of the day Sunday exploring what remained open of Glacier National Park. We both decided that we will return here to visit this place again. What an amazing area.

I failed to mention in my previous post the beauty of The Le Grizz race course itself that followed along the west side of the Hungry Horse Reservoir. Although I omitted describing the scenery, the scents, and the overall energy of the race and the course itself, I never failed to acknowledge the beauty that surrounded me during the race, even in my lowest moment.

There was something special about this place, about these people, about this race that I have never experienced in any of the other races that I have ever participated in…ever. I’ve always tried to choose races that are smaller and have fewer people, sure. And I’ve always tried to choose races that have spectacular scenery. The Le Grizz had both but the Le Grizz had more. It wasn’t just the scenery that blew me away. It was the people. This race had something special. It touched me in a way that I never expected it to; and not because I ran 50 miles. I felt transformed in a way from participating in this particular event, at this particular time in my life, with my mom by my side. It was as if it was all meant to be. I’ll cherish the memories from this event and this weekend for a lifetime for many reasons.

My mom said it best when she said, “It was so beautiful I almost started to cry” about the race course itself, the pines, the mountains, the water, this place: Montana. There was just something so special about it all: almost as if all the stars had aligned. A moment in time. An extraordinary place. With my best friend by my side. Flathead County, Montana: October 2009.

The Le Grizz Ultramarathon

2009-10-11T20:47:00.002-06:00

Let me start off by saying that I had 2 angels yesterday get me through my longest, most grueling & difficult race to date: my mom and some stranger with drugs.

I didn’t expect to have a moment of lost hope/pure desperation during the Le Grizz 50 miler but I guess that’s what happens in an ultramarathon. I have to thank some runner’s mom/wife on the side of the road around mile 30 for the magic 800 mg of ibuprofen that she gave me and my mom for running the last 5 miles of the race with me, or I wouldn’t have finished at all; in fact I can’t explain enough how close I came to dropping out of this race. I had entirely given up mentally around mile 28 thinking that running 50 miles was not possible by the human body.

Let’s start off by saying that the race day temperature at the start at 8 am was zero degrees Fahrenheit (That’s correct ZERO). 91 runners lined up for the Le Grizz ultramarathon in the dark just south of the Spotted Bear campground ~50 miles south of Hungry Horse, Montana. I was one of those crazy people. My eyelashes were frozen and my ponytail resembled a snowball. My teeth chattered uncontrollably at the race start waiting anxiously for the gun to go off so I could start running to thaw my toes out and get my body temperature up. Even after starting I could not feel my toes for the first 30 minutes or so of the race. They were frozen.

I took the advice of everyone I talked to and everything I read and started off the race as slow as possible. It was hard not to run a 10 min/mile which is very comfortable for me and settled for a nice slow 11 min/mile. I noticed I was the only one in the first 10 miles not taking walking breaks. That really threw me off. Was I supposed to take walking breaks before I needed them? I know it sounds crazy but I started taking short walking breaks myself and later realized that I don’t think would’ve finished if I hadn’t.

I ate well in the first 30 miles of the race. For breakfast I had a bagel with peanut butter, a banana, a Clif bar, and coffee. During the first 30 miles of the race I had 2 string cheeses, a half a bagel, 3 Gu’s, one packet of Justin’s Maple Almond Butter, some electrolyte sports drink, and a few sips of Coke at the aid stations. I didn’t eat anything after mile 30.

I started the race off breaking it up in my mind into 5 milestones. I needed to make it to mile 10, mile 20, mile 30, mile 40, and finally mile 50. Getting to mile 10 was easy. Getting to mile 20 was pretty effortless, around mile 23 that familiar marathon burn/ache pain set in. As I passed the mile 26 point, I realized that I had just finished a marathon and still had a 24 mile run left. That’s when things got ugly. My legs decided they no longer wanted to work properly at mile 28. I started making deals with my legs. “You run another half mile and I’ll give you a walking break.” It was my mind versus my legs and my legs were winning. Every time I tried to get the running motion started again, they just were not having it. I actually started to cry at mile 28. I knew that my body wasn’t going to carry me any further. I was walking up a giant hill (yes walking) wondering if I was going to call my mom to come pick me up or ask one of the runner’s support vehicles for a ride. It was going to be a big moment of swallowing my pride. I was a failure. I had failed.That’s when I met my first angel of the day. A nice woman asked me what she could do for me. She wasn’t an aid, just some runner’s mom/wife/sister/friend there to help riding along in a support vehicle. I said, “Nothing, I’ve lost hope”. She asked me again, “Tell me, what can I do for you” and I replied sarcastically, “Drugs, I need drugs”. She said she had ibuprofen and I asked if I could take it while running. She said it was fine, her husband and daughter do it all of the time during ultramarathons. That was enough convincing for me. I hobbled over to her car where she dropped 2 perfectly white tablets into my hand saying they were 400 mg each. I was at the point of pain where I was taking drugs from a stranger. I started running from there and around mile 33, it felt like I had been drugged. It was the greatest feeling of euphoria. I wasn’t there anymore. I couldn’t feel my legs even moving and I was gliding over the gravel road. I looked at my Garmin and I had a 12 min/mile going. I felt like I was flying. I smiled and continued running non-stop all the way through mile 45. I had been reborn. It must have been a combination of super Advil plus endorphins. Either way, the timing could have not been better.

My mom was waiting for me at mile 45 so I just kept telling myself I had to make it to mile 45. It was disheartening to know at mile 35 that I had to run 10 more miles to see her but she was my goal. My Garmin died at mile 42 so I no longer had any sense of time, distance, or pace. Which was good. I was all alone in the mountains of Montana running; and believe me in this race you are truly all alone. I could only hear the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement (mile 36-50 were on paved road; the first 36 were gravel). My breathing sounded funny I thought, it was perfectly in sync and was deep. My throat felt funny. I had been running since sunrise and the sun was coming down. I was in a dream. A euphoric state. The pain I had felt in my legs at mile 28 was now magically gone at mile 41 and I only felt an ache. My feet felt good. No pain.

I saw my mom just before the big Hungry Horse dam and I was so happy to see her. I wish I could say that I full on sprinted the last 5 miles home but it just wasn’t that pretty. I had to start taking 1 min walk breaks (where I was able to pull out a speed walk 14 min/mile) then get running again. We finally made it to Lion Lake and we had to go up a wooded embankment (the bush-whack section they called it) up to the road that led into the wooded picnic area to the finish. My mom ran with me. I crossed the finish line around 6:15 pm, ~10 hours and 15 minutes after starting and I have never been so happy to finish a race before in my life.

50 miles of Montana Wilderness, one mental breakdown, 800 mg of ibuprofen, 10.5 hours, a Zero degree start, and accomplishing something that at one low moment in the race that I truly did not think was possible; at all. Mile 28: the hardest point in race, harder than any of the 30’s or 40’s. Just over a marathon and further than I had ever gone before. Until now.

Huckleberry Pie

2009-10-08T18:26:00.005-06:00

Hungry Horse, Montana must be known for their Huckleberries. Every menu has Huckleberry pie and breakfast items have Huckleberry pancakes. There is even a Huckleberry gift shop with jams and coffee and their own version of Huckleberry pie. Now I couldn’t possibly visit a tiny town in Northwestern Montana without sampling the local fare. I’m not a huge pie fan but I wanted something sweet and what better time to try a sinful dessert than 2 nights before a big race; after all tonight is my most important pre-race meal along with my most important night of sleep.

I strolled into the Huckleberry gift shop and ordered a slice of Huckleberry pie. I don’t even know what a Huckleberry looks like. Isn’t “Huckleberry” a nursery rhyme? The pie was delectable. I couldn’t finish the whole slice; the thing was like 2 inches think of filling. But the crust was light, buttery and flakey (and I know, I have a degree in pastry arts). The filling of the pie was a tad on the sweet side for my liking but tasty and delicious just the same. Huckleberry Pie in Hungry Horse, Montana. That should be a country song.

It is chilly here. The town of Hungry Horse is very small. It seems that the locals ride 4- wheelers around town as much as they drive their pickup trucks. Everyone in town has a pickup truck and I’m pretty sure that the local clothing stores offer one print: camouflage. I have no problem with camouflage; but I literally haven’t seen this much camouflage since I was last at the Smyrna bar in Michigan maybe 5 years ago. I wouldn’t be shocked in the least to see an elk carcass on the back of some hunter’s 4-wheeler here; or a freshly killed grizzly bear. This is just *that* kind of Montana town.

The drive north from Missoula was stunning; absolutely breathtaking with Flathead Lake being my favorite scenic area. The town of Polson sits south of Flathead Lake, which is an enormous and pristine lake surrounded by giant pines. Shoreline Road snakes around the lake and you can’t help but gasp at her beauty and size. It makes you want to do nothing more than grab a fishing pole and get on the water. The premier mountain range on the drive was to the East (which is odd for me because in Colorado the mountains are always to the West). The rivers, the mountains, the hills, the pines; a picture could not do any of it justice; and I saw only a very small portion of what Montana has to offer. There is something to be said for towns with such simplicity. Towns that have taxidermy, a local motel, a gas station, and a grocery store. Sounds like paradise to me. I know for a lot of people getting dropped off in a town like this would be hell; but not for me. To breathe fresh air, take in incredible scenery, have space, peace & quiet, serenity. These things are simply priceless.

I’m getting up in the morning and going for a short walk to loosen my legs up and gauge the wintery conditions that I’ll be spending the day and perhaps part of the evening in on Saturday. Then I will head to the airport to pick up my mom. I can’t wait for her to see this place. I feel like a kid, excited to show my mom what I’ve found. Such a serene and spectacular place. Almost hidden from the rest of the world; nestled in the Rocky Mountains. Taxidermy. Fresh Elk Jerky. Camouflage. Huckleberry Pie.

Wild and Precious

2009-10-08T06:39:00.002-06:00

I was surprised and shocked when I received an email from my mom this morning telling me she would be flying into Missoula tomorrow for my race. If I could pick one person to be there for me for the race, it would be her. I don’t think she believes I am particularly crazy to be running 50 miles; and I don’t think she is particularly crazy for buying a last minute plane ticket from Michigan to Montana. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I am thrilled that she will be at my race. Funny, as selfish as I am and as addicted to running as I am; a part of me thinks that the race doesn’t even matter anymore. I could die happy today just knowing someone cares about me enough to drop their own life to come and see me live a part of mine; many would say that’s what mom’s are for. Perhaps. I’m not sure there are any moms, dads, brothers, sisters, husbands, or wives that would do what she has always done: support my brother and me through thick and thin, never turning her back on us. I feel very lucky today.

So now I can’t decide what I am more excited for: my race or picking her up from the airport tomorrow. Neither one us has ever seen Montana and for that alone, I’m excited. As much as I enjoy time to myself, times of solitude & reflection, etc; I do enjoy sharing things with someone I love. Those are the things that money cannot buy and things that will stay with you for a lifetime. When I am old and my joints are shot from all of the pavement pounding, I doubt I’ll remember every race or the names of the people I worked with day in and day out in Corporate America. But I’ll remember the things that mattered and the things that touched my life in some special way : Riding the donkey ride with my niece on my lap at Uncle John’s Cider mill, snowboarding with my nephew, finishing the Muddy Buddy with my brother, picking peaches with my dad, and climbing Bear Peak with my mom.

It’s good to remember the things that matter and remember that all the other stuff is just that, just stuff. You only live once. What will you do with your one wild and precious life?