A Short Thought

I'm reading a book about overhydration in endurance sports and how we've taught for so long to drink as much water as we can and how that advice is killing people.

At work yesterday I had a conversation with a coworker who is giving up meat because studies have shown it contributes to cancer in genetically predisposed individuals.

Shortly before leaving work yesterday, I skimmed the Yarnell Fire Serious Accident Investigation Report. In 122 pages it said absolutely nothing. I knew it would. Our agencies have a knack for covering their asses and sugar coat anything that happens in order to keep people's feelings from being hurt and keep themselves from being sued.

From what I understand, from not being there, looking at facts and conjectures, who ever was in charge of the crew at that time made a poor decision.

The report diagramed where each man lay, the condition of his shelter and the condition of his clothing. My coworker looked at it over my shoulder. "Who's number 20? I'm number 20, what's his name?"

I scrolled down to the name and got the connection. I looked at where number 8 lay. I'm number 8. We're all numbered. The superintendent is 1. The captains are 2 and 3. The squad leaders are 4 and 5. Seniors are 6,7,8,9. Then apprentices and temps. I wondered what made them deploy their shelters in the position they were found in. Number 8 laid next to 5. Were they friends? Did 8 trust 5's judgement more? Or was it just where they were when the fire got too close and they had to drop what they were doing and deploy?

I read how their shelters were incinerated, how their helmets melted, their pants and shirts burned off, their leather gloves shrunken. There was a chart showing the temperatures and destruction of certain materials. Fire shelters: 2,000 degrees. Fire resistant clothing, gloves. And a two word phrase I've never seen before. Human tenability- 300 degrees. I don't know, but I can guess.

My superintendent went to Yarnell to help with the critical stress debriefing of all involved. When he came back he didn't say much, but he said this: "They did not die easy".

No, they did not.

Everybody dies. You can eat the perfect diet, drink the right amount of water, do all the right exercises, watch your weight. The outcome is the same. So go ahead and eat meat, drink wine, eat cheese. Kiss your loved ones.

Moment of Bliss

I'm having a brief moment of bliss before the rest of my day takes hold. I'm home from the gym, sitting at my breakfast table having a cup of coffee. It's cold outside (32 F) but cozy inside. There's a fire crackling in the woodstove and the warm sun is just starting to glow through the house. It's quiet, warm and peaceful.

It's moments like this that I don't want to let go of my current life to move on to another. But then I'm quickly reminded that this is not the majority of my life. This is a very brief moment that will pass all too quickly and I will rush off to work, load up in trucks and drive out a long slippery road. I will throw my gear on in the cold winter air, grab a drip torch and proceed to hike around a steep mountain slope, slipping and falling on the slick pine needles, lighting piles of brush.

I don't want to go out. It's nice inside. I'm tired from the gym. A week of the gym actually, and all the burning we did yesterday. If this moment right here were my life, if I could afford this house and frequent plane tickets home, if I could stay indoors when the weather was too hot, too cold or too rainy, I think I would stay right here.

My favorite time in this house is right now. When it's warm inside, cold outside. The sun hitting the east windows casts a warm glow into the house despite the winter chill outside. My coffee cup is warm in my hands, My sweats are soft against my skin. It's quiet. It's so incredibly quiet.

But this moment will pass, and I will have to get ready for work. For now I will drink my coffee and listen to the silence.

Photography Day!

I set out this morning to take some more pictures of the balloon fair, hopefully with one that had Mt. Shasta as a backdrop. They didn't launch this morning though, probably due to weather. But I had a small window of opportunity for some awesome pictures.

I bundled up (it's cold here now) and hopped into my jeep and headed north. I knew just the place I wanted to set up. By set up, I mean park my jeep on the side of the road and start snapping away.

As it turns out, both Shasta and the neighboring mountains got a fresh blanket of snow. Sunrise over Shasta Valley (where I live).

 

 

 

This picture here is an attempt at a scene I've been wanting to capture for awhile. But usually I don't have my camera. Here, I've got my camera but the light is just not right. I need a day that's a bit sunnier. I feel like it's the quintessential Shasta Valley: pasture and cows, the Little Shasta River, and of course Mt. Shasta. The sun wasn't cooperating though. Oh well, another day.

 

 

 

The eastern edge of the Shasta Valley has a line of foothill mountains with a larger range behind it. The clouds were rolling over the foothills like ocean waves. I love black and white photography but also had to capture a color photo since the colors are just so gorgeous out here. 

 

Around Montague

The Montague Balloon Fair is this weekend, and while I've worked most of it, today there should be a launch as well...as long as the weather holds up. It rained pretty hard here yesterday. On Friday though, as I was getting ready for work, I went out on my front porch and realized I could watch the balloon fair from my house! Here's a few photos.

 

 

And then yesterday as I was driving home from work, I captured these few images:

 

 

 

The other night I missed a great opportunity at a gorgeous shot of the harvest moon sitting on the shoulder of Goosenest Mtn because I didn't have my camera with me. So I'm trying to make a point to have it near more often. 



The Price of Habit

People speak so highly of will power and self-discipline, but I find those characteristics miserable. I crave habit- the result of a few weeks of will power and self-discipline. When I no longer have to dig deep for motivation to get me out of my soft, cozy bed when it's still dark outside.

I'm working on getting back into my winter routine: gym in the morning before work and another workout at work. I've been to the gym a few times lately and have done a couple runs. I'm out of shape, tired and unmotivated. Some of you might scoff in disbelief. Hey people, it's hard for me too!

This morning I awoke to the sound of my gurgling coffee pot. My bed was warm and soft, my body tired from a weekend of yard work, cleaning the house and moving and stacking two chords of firewood. Not even the coffee pot could lure me out of bed.

I watched the clock. 5:10. Yeah you're fine now but in two weeks you have to actually be arriving at the gym right now. Get up!

Without turning on any lights I stumbled to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. Yes, I pour my coffee in the dark. Lights are harsh. I brought my coffee back to bed with me and sipped it in the dark.

5:20. Geez! How did that happen? Guess I'm not making it to the gym at 6am. I turned on the lights and got dressed.

I made it to the gym at 6:15, grabbed a 30lb barbell and took it to the basketball court. I did a couple warm up lunges with no weight and then lined up on the red line behind the barbell. I would lunge across the gym with the barbell and go immediately into a one minute plank. Repeat for 3 sets.

Go.

My balance was off and my knee hurt from putting it down on a nail while painting the house- full weight of my body onto the thin edge of the head as it lay on the ground. I made it to the end of the court (lengthwise), set the barbell down and lowered myself to the floor.

And there it was.

I don't even know what to call it. It's this child-like whimper of a voice that cries out from the depths of my soul. This is what I battle day in and day out. You could say it's weakness trying to take over,  but that doesn't even begin to describe it.

It was in that very brief moment that I realized exactly how much aggressiveness successful weightlifting depends on. And at that moment my very heart and soul lay curled in a fetal position, whimpering on the gym floor. What's a girl got left to hold on to?

Habit, I told myself. I glanced at my watch, put my elbows down and planked. You have done this a hundred times before, you will do this now. One minute, sip of water, repeat.

Awesome. Demon conquered. Now squat.

I managed to half-ass my workout, did a decent stretch and slunk on home. The weather called for rain. I stayed in my gym shorts and headed for work.

Clouds loomed overhead. I was going to get rained on. Thankfully another guy at work was going to run as well. So off we went, a bit faster than I had planned on going. We got rained on, but finished the hilly 3.2 mile run.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, can hold a candle to the power of habit. Once established, habit will get you out the door and running in snow storms. Relying on will power and self-discipline leaves me naked and ill-prepared for that whimpering child that tugs me back towards bed or the nearest floor. I've heard it takes two or three weeks to develop a habit. Let's hope it's two.

Habit does what self-discipline and will power cannot. Habit hears that whimper, puts on a pair of headphones and gym shoes and walks out the door- leaving that whimpering child at home in bed where she belongs.

What we endure to get by

Sitting on my front porch with a pint of Raspberry Brown from Lost Coast Brewery, I consider the lives of the van Goethem girls in the book I just finished. Their father dead and their mother lost at the bottom of a bottle of absynthe, the three sisters struggle through life to pay the rent and put food on the table by dancing in the opera, working in a laundry house or working as a prostitute. It's a harsher side of life than the one myself and my family live in, but it makes me think about the things we do to get by.

My forearms are covered in scratches from hauling brush and trees away from the fire side of a razor-back ridge. During a swing shift of 10am to 2am I attempted to rescue an unresponsive tree from the fate of smoke inhalation. Gagging and choking on hot smoke, I pulled embers out of the "green" and tossed them into the black to prevent spot fires from flaring up. My eyes burned and my nose ran snot into the back of my stinging throat. Through the smoke I got a glimpse of a silhouette of one of my crewmembers, hunched over, frozen by the thick astringent blanket of smoke.

"Hey! Are you alright?!" I shouted. There was no response. I felt the other crewmembers around me grow silent. The figure didn't move, didn't respond. I had to get him out of this smoke! I blinked my tears away and lunged toward him.

"Hey!" I shouted as I reached my hand out to grab his shoulder. My hand went straight through a tangle of branches. What the hell?

I stepped forward and parted the branches. It was the tree we just cut down that had caught fire on the wrong side of the line. There was no person there. I knew my crewmembers were somewhere in the smoke, awaiting word on the crewmember in trouble.

"I'm talking to a tree!" I said, loud enough so everyone could hear.

"Carrie, get out of the smoke!"

I laughed and stumbled out to cleaner air.

Days of disjointed swing shift up a steep mountain, taping the wounds on my feet with duct tape as it is the only thing that can withstand the rigors of steep terrain and 16 hour days of hot sweaty boots. I think of the back pain, the bug bites and the scratches on my arms that will take another week to heal. Then I consider the letters to all the professors, praising their work and asking to join their research team and I wonder who I'm selling my soul to this time.