First Roll of the Season

I was awakened from a deep sleep at 4:45pm by a text message from Brian asking when we were going out for sushi. I texted back that I'd get with Jeff and let him know. Still half asleep I called Jeff, who despises text messaging.

"Refurb sucks!" he declared. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sleeping" I mumbled.

"I've been doing laundry all day and I just got my sleeping bag done. Did you get anything done today?" He asked.

I proceeded to tell him about how my car door had been left open in my haste to get to work the day we left for Arizona and since we had been gone 18 days, the battery had completely died and when Gwen and Brian came over to jump it, it set off the car alarm I didn't know I had. After push starting the car and dropping it off at the mechanic to get the alarm removed I had taken my second nap of the day. After picking it up, I went into my third.

Eighteen 16 hour days will take it's toll on anybody, and 2 mandatory (paid) days off afterwards are hardly enough to recover, let alone do everything that needs to be done to be ready to go back out again (refurb). Nasty, smelly laundry needs to be washed (twice?), refrigerators need to be cleaned out and stocked with boxes of opened baking soda to absorb the smell, sleeping bags need to be aired out or washed, and red bags (our away bags) need to be restocked with clean underwear, socks, a new t-shirt and another packet of baby wipes.

We took two days to reach Arizona, stopping briefly for gas and food every few hours. We prepositioned in Payson for the red flag weather they were predicted to have. After a couple days of doing project work for the local forest, we sprung a fire two hours north in Williams. The base of the fire was at 7500ft and the top at 9000. Imagine my horror. The first day was spent in 30 mile an hour winds with spot fires as far as a mile out. We burned between the fire and a dozer line in order to create a good solid black line to stop the fire. We all got take-out Denny's for dinner: steak and mashed potatoes and slept in sleeping bags.

The next couple days were spent hiking around in the high altitude in steep terrain in deep sand and gravel. Northern Arizona is actually quite pleasant with lots of pine trees and some terrific weather. It's also got it's brutal altitude though. A couple nights we "spiked out" on the fire line. Helicopters flew in supplies for us as well as our sleeping bags and food and water. We made a camp fire, ate MRE's and slept in our bags. The first night up there I awoke to the sound of tools scraping in the dirt. I figured some one was just trying to put out our camp fire that had gotten stirred up in the wild winds. After awhile of listening to it, I decided to check it out. I put on a pair of pants and threw my boots on over bare feet. I didn't bother to lace them up, grabbed a headlamp and took off toward the sound. I made it to the camp fire and no one was there. The sound was coming from down the hillside a ways, but I definately recognized it as tools scraping in the dirt. I went down the hill until I could see headlamps and an orange glow. I looked around wondering what to do. I had no idea who was down there or why, but I had seen the captain get out of his sleeping bag a little earlier. He must be down there.

I started down the mountain towards the lights. I cursed myself for not putting my glasses in my flight bag and I hadn't taken the time to put on socks, let alone contact lenses. The lights were futher down than I anticipated and I stopped briefly to consider what I was doing. What if those guys weren't from my crew? There were 3 other crews up there. What if they weren't friendly? I put aside my doubts and continued down. When I got close I called out the captain's name. To my relief he answered. One of the guys had gotten up to put our camp fire out and had noticed the spot fire down below us. It was a good thing he had, it could've taken out all 4 crews up on the hill. Since I had no helmet, no tools, and no long sleeve fire shirt, I served as a lookout to make sure they were safe. Three hours later the fire was out and we crawled back into bed. Two hours after that, we were back up and working.

We spent a couple nights there and then left that fire and went to a fire in Alpine, AZ. The weather was just as nice (highs of about 80) but the altitude was 9000ft. Thankfully the terrain there was relatively flat. Back at the fire in Williams, a new nickname for me was born. For some reason most of my nicknames don't stick, maybe it's more of a guy thing. After a grueling hike up the hill, my superintendent approached me and said I need to get more leg strength. He said I have plenty of endurance but lack the strength to go uphill with a 35lb pack on my back (at a good speed). I agreed and said my legs felt like little noodles trying to get up the hill. He laughed and said that's my new nickname: Noodle. A couple days later he sent a guy down the hill to help put out some burning logs. He said "Take Noodle with you" then asked if the name offended me. It didn't, I actually found it quite funny.

So I went 11 days without a shower, a new record for me. It would've been 12 but my scalp was itching so bad on day 11 that it was affecting my ability to work. Most pairs of underwear lasted 3 or 4 days before being changed and my socks went for about 4 or 5. My t-shirt, fire shirt and nomex pants went 16 days. On the 2 days travel home, it's tradition to travel clean. That way we don't offend the public or otherwise make a bad name for ourselves.

No one snapped on this roll, which is a good sign. Usually on long assignments there's at least one person that "snaps". It's like the postal service thing, only this one is usually caused by lack of sleep, camp crud and living in too close of quarters with 21 other smelly people who are just as tired.

Ahh, onto what hurts, what did hurt, and what's going to hurt tomorrow when I put my boots back on. Right now my feet still hurt. My knees and ankles are doing a lot better. So our boots have a hard wooden shank, or footbed. It's wood for a couple reasons. Number 1, it's strong and sturdy. 2, it doesn't heat up as much as a metal shank like other work boots have (but still gets plenty hot, believe me). 3, It can't be a nice soft cushy rubber because rubber melts when you walk through hot ash, which we do on a regular basis. Ever walked in dutch wooden clogs? Ever walked in them on a steep slanted slope with a 35lb pack on for 16 hours every day for 18 days? At one point, my ankles and feet were so swollen that I could hardly get them back in my boots in the morning. I considered sleeping in my boots to eleviate the problem. People have fat pads on the bottom of their feet, kinda like a natural built in cushion. Mine no longer exist. They disentigrated on day 6. By day 10 I was popping 4 ibruprofen and a vicodin every six hours. They hurt so bad I could hardly stand. I watched the other guys shift their feet back and forth to try to take the weight off. On steep slopes, we dug a little trench so we could stand on flat ground, if only for a few moments. I cannot describe how excruciating it was.

So now that I've been off them for 3 days, they aren't so bad. They hurt a little so I try not to walk around much. I bought a couple shoe inserts that I'm going to try. Hopefully it helps.

We got home the day before yesterday and are on day 2 of our 2 days off. Not nearly long enough. We go back to work tomorrow and will probably work the 4th of July holiday, which takes place on one of our regularly scheduled days off. I just got a massage and have been taking long deep naps every couple of hours. As a matter of fact, I think I'm due for another.

At one point it occured to me that we were working 80hr work weeks. For 2 weeks. Not at a desk or in a super market. On steep rugged terrain carrying heavy packs and swinging tools. Today at my massage, the therapist was working on some lymph nodes or something, kinda close to my armpits. It was quite uncomfortable, but she laughed and said I sure was tough "Not even a flinch". Maybe if I expose myself to enough pain and discomfort I'll become immune to it.

Home

I dreamed about my dad last night and woke up missing home. We were going out to eat at an Italian restaurant, much like the last place we went out to eat together which was DiMille's in San Diego. The place was crowded so until the waitress could find us a table, we danced on the dance floor. I woke up and rolled over to stare at the oversized painting on my wall of an elegant woman wrapped in thin linens. It reminded me of when it hung on my bedroom wall in La Mesa and Emily asked if that woman was me. For days the three of us would go back and forth and Candace would get Emily to say it was Mommy and I would get Emily to say it was me. That was an awesome house and I loved how my room was almost seperate from the rest of the house, with french doors that opened up to my own private patio where Candace and I would sit at night and have a glass of wine or a few beers. I needed a change in my life though, as I was stuck in a stale cycle of routine that was leading me to make bad decisions about my life. I'm definately happy where I am though and have some great friends up here. One of my friends here from San Diego asks me if I think I'm here for good. We wonder about it and talk about how we never really know, because after all, we somehow ended up here to begin with, but San Diego is still home.

Slow Start to Fire Season

I realize it's warm and dry elsewhere, but for most of California there's a lot of rain going on. I figured I'd post some of the websites where you can get fire information just in case you're curious. Everyday we pull up our local weather as well as the "Incident Management Situation Report" (or "SIT Report"). It tells us what is going on in the world of fire. It sometimes hints at where we might be going next or if we have any hope for a fire season at all. It can be found at www.nifc.gov/ and select "Fire Information" and "Incident Management Situation Report". IMT's are incident management teams. Our most complex IMT is the Type I IMT. When you start seeing lots of Type I's committed, we've got fire season going on. Type II's are pretty big as well.

Also, there's a forum for wildland firefighters and their families at: www.wildlandfire.com. There's a bunch of info on there as well as a bunch of firefighters chatting. If you click on "TheySaid" you can read the goings-on of firefighters across the nation. "FamilySaid" is a good support forum for families of firefighters, and I guess it's mainly used during fire season when everyone's firefighters are out and about. "HotList" has up to date information on new fire starts as well as continuing incidents.

Right now the best shows are in Alaska and Arizona. Alaska is expecting more dry lightning and therefore, more fires. My vote is for Alaska, but I would take an Arizona trip in a heartbeat. Any day now...

Handy Man Wanted

The refrigerator repair man is here right now fixing my refrigerator. My landlord is paying for it. My attempt at fixing it went badly, obviously. It has occured to me that it's so much easier to hire some one to come over and do things than to struggle with them myself. While there is one guy in town that would come over and do things for free, he's incredibly annoying and I wouldn't want to encourage him or cause him to think in any way that I need him to take care of me. He has offered to fix my fridge (but watching the pro do it, I can see it would've been too big of a job for the other guy)and build a fence in my back yard. I hate to think how that would look.

I don't even need a maid. Just some one to do stuff around the house. Put together furniture, build my fence, mow the lawn, etc. Maybe if I ever get rich I'll hire one.

Keeping Up With the Boys

All my life I’ve been trying to keep up with the boys. I had two brothers and not a lot of girlfriends, so I’d hang out with them and all their friends. Where they went, I would tag along like a puppy not wanting to be left behind or left out. When they would climb trees or shimmy up the wall between our house and the lumberyard next door, I would follow- and get stuck. My mom or dad would have to come haul me out of the tree because I couldn’t get down myself. I would follow my brothers on bikes and on cross country excursions through town before one of us got picked up by a police officer while the others ran off into the bushes. My parents always found out.

In high school I joined the boys’ freshman football team because I just wanted to play like I had with my dad and brothers. The difference of course was that my dad and brothers didn’t tackle or run into me. I stayed on the team even though I couldn’t run as fast, hit as hard, or kick or throw the ball as far as the boys could. Always trying to keep up.

When I joined the Forest Service and started working as a firefighter on a wildland fire engine, I was once again trying to keep up with the boys. Whether it was on a run, a hike or a hoselay, I was bringing up the rear, trying desperately to keep up. I wanted to be as strong as the boys, as big as them, as fast and as fearless.

Now when I hike with my Hotshot Crew I’m once again bringing up the rear, scurrying up the mountainside falling behind the pack. Every once in awhile I’ll look up and see the line of guys tightly knitted together as they march up the hill and the big gap between me and them. I feel so small buried under my heavy gear and moving my little legs as fast as I can. I hear the voice from my childhood in my head- Wait for me guys, I want to come too! I keep my mouth closed and the voice hidden because I’m an adult now, I’m supposed to be able to keep up. We aren’t kids anymore, this is serious business. But there I am, tagging along behind the boys, just trying to keep up.

Thinking this through...

I'm 13 minutes from the Boston qualifying time, which over 26 miles comes out to 30 seconds per mile faster. I don't think I need to put that kind of stress on myself. I think I'll save Boston for 2012. I could make that my aim.

My Marathon

So I just finished the Avenue of the Giants marathon. Sometimes I really have to ask myself why I wasn't born a sprinter. I can't believe I just trained 5 months to inflict pain and extreme mental and physical discomfort on myself for nearly 4 hours. I'm really not sure why people, and more importantly, I, do this sort of thing. What's worse is that I actually did it quite well which only guarantees that I will be doing it again someday and pushing myself even harder, which can only lead to more pain and discomfort. Here's the recap.

Avenue of the Giants is a gorgeous, almost flat marathon, half marathon and 10K. Just so we get this straight, ALL marathons are 26.2 miles. If it is not 26.2 miles you cannot call it a marathon. If you're running a half marathon, you must call it that and be clear that you are not running a full marathon. 13.1 miles is not a marathon. Not even close. Just had to put that out there. Trust me, if you ever run a marathon, you'll forever be irritated by people who say they are running a marathon this weekend, when they're only doing half. Moving right along. So the race follows the scenic Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt county (northern California) through groves of enormous redwood trees. It's quite breath taking. It's also hard to run while looking up at the sky in search of treetops. The weather was quite cool and the route was gorgeous. Amoung the trees are thick blankets of fern and giant clovers. Apparently there's also giant poison oak- I squatted in it to pee around mile 10.

Every once in awhile I passed by little waterfalls running under the road into the huge river that we followed most of the way. The trees allow for a lot of shade (I'm not kidding when I say they're huge) so it was nice and cool. So cool in fact, that I over hydrated, causing me to have to stop 3 times in the first half of the marathon to pee. Thankfully a few aid stations had bananas because I was starving. I had scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast but I get so hungry when I run these days.

I was actually quite surprised by my ability to stay in the moment for the majority of the run. Usually I get through a run, mentally, by envisioning what it will be like to stop and be done. Since this was going to be a 4 hour trip I decided that wasn't a good idea and I was going to have to settle in and get comfortable (hahaha). So I pictured it to be a day trip. It worked well for awhile and I was way ahead of pace. I just wanted to be under 4:30. When I ran my first (and only) marathon years ago, I hadn't trained very well for it and ran a 5:29. Kinda sad, but whatever, it was my first one. So I had been training to get under 4:30.

I just tried to focus on being in the present and not let myself think about being done (because it was hours away). I did great with that until about mile 18, then things started to hurt. I was worried because I knew I had been running quite a bit faster than I had planned and trained for, which in a race that long can lead to absolute disaster- like having to be carried off the course by an ambulance. My breathing was doing really well though and I had tried to slow down several times during the race to no avail. Sometimes your legs just want to go a certain speed, so you do.

Around mile 20 I began to wonder why on earth I would do such a thing to myself. It was stupid and painful and I didn't want to be doing it anymore. So I just ran faster. I started to pass by a bunch of walkers (fast people who couldn't run anymore)and picked it up even more. The sooner I got done, the sooner I could stop running. There was a point around mile 21 or 22 that I actually almost cried. But I reminded myself that if I cried I would have a much harder time breathing, so I choked back the tears and pushed on. The last 4 miles were the longest of the entire race, but once I got to mile 25 my brain quit working. I just ran. I pulled ahead of so many people in that last mile. As I crossed the finish line, I heard my name being called over the loud speaker "Carrie Bowers from Yreka!" and I almost cried again.

Then I stopped and walked. I had made it in 3:53. An awesome time for me but not quite Boston Qualifying-- which, why the hell would I want to do that? If you've ever done a marathon, the ending is always the same. You stop running, then walk to the people giving out finishers medals, then to the water and food corral. It's literally like herding cattle. I stuffed my face with food (this is instantly, like 30 seconds after finishing) and grabbed a bottle of water and drank several cups of electrolyte replacement drink. I was hurting so bad at that time that I was ready to cry again. Everything hurt. And it hurt deep down to my bones. I hobbled to my car and grabbed two motrin and a leftover vicodin from my surgery. Then I hobbled back to listen to the awards ceremony and eat more food.

Now I'm offically on bed rest. Boston Qualifying time for my age group is 3:40. Everyone is talking about it. Lame. See, Boston is a fairly respected marathon. I guess it's like the marathon of marathons. It's in April. A couple people have already talked to me about it. Here's the thing. You have to qualify for it first. You can't just enter. So if I want to run Boston (ick) not only would I hve to run that one, but I'd have to run one before it and go a 3:40. I'm going to avoid this for awhile.

So I texted my buddy Brian, who is one of those fast marathon runners (much faster than me) and told him I don't know why I do stupid stuff like this. He said it's because I'm psycho like the rest of them. Grrr.