Awesome Day of Fishing!

I got home from a Southern California fire assignment yesterday afternoon, picked up my new bike from the bike shop and headed out to Iron Gate Reservoir to do some fishing. I hadn't had time to pick up worms so I tried a few lures before being chased out by a storm.

After watching the storm roll in for awhile, I decided to call it a day and headed back up the hill to my vehicle.

On the drive home, I pulled over at the dam and tried to take pictures of an eagle's nest high up on a power pole. Didn't turn out to be much. I planned on riding my bike to the Mt. Shasta Lavender Farm the next day if the weather cooperated. If not, I could always grab a rain jacket and some worms and try my luck at fishing again.

This morning was chock full of errands I had to run. Went grocery shopping, got my tires rotated and balanced (what I really need is to buy a couple new ones) and got my eyebrows waxed. The girl who was tasked with removing my errant eyebrows from the areas of my face where they don't belong, said "You're going fishing in this weather?!" I could hear it pouring outside. "Maybe it'll stop."

Anyway, fishing is supposed to be more fruitfull when it's raining, right? When I left yesterday, I spotted a litle rock outcropping that looked like the perfect fishing spot. The water should drop of sharp right there, giving the fish their much needed "structure". Plus the rock there was low enough that I needn't figure out how to get the fish out of the water should I actually land one.

I grabbed my worms, pole, tackle box, cooler and fish identifying book (apparently in order to stay legal with my fishing, I actually have to be able to tell them apart instead of just saying "big fish" or "little fish") and drove out to Iron Gate. There were plenty of people at each little cove and I worried some one had taken my spot. After all, it was after noon. The plus side of my little spot is that the road down to it is now closed, so you have to park up top and take a little hike down. I think fishermen are generally lazy, because I've never seen anyone else at this spot.

I parked the jeep on the side of the road, gathered all my gear (this time being smart enough to grab my little net) and set off down the hill. I found a comfortable rock, set all my stuff down, and cast my line in with the last lure I used yesterday. After a couple tries, I decided to switch to worms. It rained on and off. I dropped my worm directly below me where I could see the rock drop off...and instantly landed a fish. A 4 inch bass. What's iritating about these little guys is that they swallow the hook whole. My pliers are not needle nosed enough to do delicate surgery. Poor things.

I pulled in a few more small bass, and one larger, just short of the 12 inch minimum. Getting tired of struggling to pull the hooks from the throats of tiny fish, I switched to a larger hook. I got several good size fish on the line but they kept slipping off. Frustrated, I reeled it back in and realized I had put a barbless hook on the line (required for fishing in the Klamath River). I switched it out for a larger barbed hook. Everybody ate my worm and no one landed ashore. I siwtched back to the original hook.

The wind and rain came and went some more. I was getting frustrated with the little fish. How was a big fish to grab this thing if I keep reeling in all these little guys? I replaced the worm and chose the next drop spot. Just below me looked like a nice deep spot. I let my worm sink far, then set the reel.

Bam! Fish on! This one felt big! It ran under the rock and into the weeds...no good! I had to drag him to the other side while climbing down from my perch so I could get him into the shallows to net him. I let him drag awhile then coaxed him over. He flashed about and darted around. I pulled him in and swept the net under him. Whooo! He was big! I grabbed my ruler (that also has a handy knot tying guide on it) and laid it next to him on the rock. It started to rain again as I realized this guy was a definate keeper. Close to 16 inches!

So here's an interesting concept about fishing. When you catch a keeper, you have to kill it. Yes, I suppose you could just let it suffocate. It will eventually die when left out of the water. You could also cut off it's head. I've never actually killed a fish on my own until today. I never killed one as a kid. That was my dad's job. And I don't really remember how he did it. A few years ago, I was talked through killing one while on a fire in New Mexico. I picked the little guy up and slammed his head against a rock. Twice.

This guy here was a little big to do that, but that's ok. I had a plan. I bought a little fish club just for this purpose. It looks like a small billy club. The idea (I guess) is that you hold the guy still and clobber him on the head... hard enough to kill him. Quick and painless. Ha. That's only if you do it right.

I took my little towel and grabbed him good and solid-like. Head pointing up. I took aim and swung, fairly hard I thought. Ugh. It definately stunned him (and me) but he didn't seem very dead. I hit him again. He slipped in my hand and the third strike landed on the side of the head. Hmmm. Looks dead. Now to gut him.

I got out my fillet knife and set the fish on the rock. His gills moved shallowly. Really? What the hell? Is he for real? I'm thinking he was at least unconcious...at least that's what I'd like to believe. Well, if all else fails, cut the head off. Bah! Eww! It went fairly squemishly, and the spine resisted all attempts of me trying to cut it. I was fairly certain this fish was alive and suffering until I was able to sever the spine. After attempting a few times, I finally stuck my pliers in there and snapped it. I finished cutting the head off and realized I did a crappy job and also had removed a good portion of the body. Yeesh. At least it was finally dead.

I slit open his belly and pulled out the organs and slipped him into a plastic bag. It started raining harder. My adrenaline was going pretty good from my thwarted efforts to bludgeon to death a fish and I was feeling a bit of guilt from my first kill. I decided to call it a day.

Hmm...I thought about it. The big ones are just starting to bite! The wind was worse and more chilly and the rain fell harder. I packed up my stuff. There's more big fish waiting under that rock!

Ahh, ok, one more attempt.

I threaded a new worm on the hook and dropped it down by the rock.

Fish on!! Holy moley another big one!! Again, I coaxed it towards the shallows, landed him in my net and measured.

Another keeper, this one around 14 inches. I vowed to do better at putting this one out of his misery. I took careful aim and snapped the club down into his head. His fin seemed to straighten up and twitch but I couldn't tell if it was the wind or not. I slit him up the belly and removed his innards...including a partially digested fish. Geez, this is gruesome. I put him in the bag with the headless fish and put them in the cooler. I packed up my stuff and headed up the hill.

As I drove home I started thinking about how I was going to fillet the fish. It would be easiest to google how to do it. Sure enough, there were plenty of youtube videos on how to fillet a bass. I watched it a couple times and then went to work. The headless one was sloppy and I ended up more with chunks instead of fillets. I got to work on the second one.

A little better cut, but I still left some flesh. The other side went much better.

Ready to fry.

In the pan with some coconut oil and "Joe's Dirt" seasoning.

Lunch.





Best Ride Ever!

This morning I set out on a 20 mile bike ride through Shasta Valley towards Table Rock. I checked out the route first on mapmyride.com and chose what looked like the most interesting route. I geared up in padded bike shorts, a bright floral sleeveless jersey, bike shoes and a helmet and set off towards the east.

For the first mile I rode through the residential streets of Montague on Highway 3. Less than 2 miles in, Highway 3 ends and turns into Little Shasta/ Ball Mountain Road. Around here roads are given names for where they lead. Montague/Grenada takes you to and from Montague and Grenada. Yreka/Ager takes you from Yreka to Ager. Little Shasta takes you to the town of Little Shasta, which I don't think is really a town, although it kinda says so on the sign. At mile 3, I turned off the highway and onto the continuance of Ball Mountain Little Shasta Road. I use the term "highway" loosely. It's a two lane road where vehicles whiz by every 2-3 minutes.

Ball Mountain takes you through a few ranches over a relatively flat road with maybe a slight incline. I waved to the occasional rancher that drove by in a pick up truck, wearing a cowboy hat or the more farmer type hat. Cows watched me curiously as I scoped out the view of Mt. Shasta and the Marble Mountains, still covered in snow and glaciers, rising high up above the green valley below. Irrigation ditches gurgled and rushed by on the side of the road. I watched a crop plane fertilizing the fields (treating it? Who knows.) and circling above my head before diving down again and repeating the circle above me.

I rode by a two story brick house with the bright white pillars that reached all the way to the top and it reminded me of the old houses in the southeast. An old man sat on the front porch and I waved, but a pillar passed between us and I had to get my eyes back on the road, so I didn't see if he waved back. In the corral next to the house, a horse bucked and ran back and forth. He seemed fairly agitated. Two little quail ran across the road to get out of my way.

I came upon a sign that said "Unimproved Road. Passenger vehicles and trailers not advised". I wondered, What about a skinny bike tire? I supposed at any point if the road got too rough to continue on a road bike, I would just turn around. It wasn't all that bad, some pot holes and rough road conditions, but I wanted to reach ten miles and I could see Table Rock in the distance, so I pressed on.

My brain did not make the connection with the road name "Townsend". Even though road names are actually quite descriptive out here. I mean, what is really meant by "town's end" when you've been far away from any sort of civilization for miles now? Totally irrelevant....or was it?

The rough road continued on a little longer and I rode past a herd of cows that regarded me warily. Some started a decent trot away from the fence, a few moo'd but none of them decided to run. Up ahead I saw a sign that read "Historical Marker Ahead". Oh really? Cool.

Immediately after that the paved road ended at a T with a dirt road. Good lord. Remember, skinny tires. If you don't know the difference between a road bike and a mountain bike, or even a recreational cruiser bike, you just wouldn't understand. I'm also not quite the seasoned rider, so I don't completely know the capabilities of my bike, skinny tires in general, or even myself as a rider. I know at some point in your career in a certain sport, your comfort level reaches a maximum, and your bike in this case would just become an extension of your body. I'm not there. I equate it to how I am in the water versus how a novice swimmer is in the water. I can just tell by their body language that they are not 100% comfortable in the water, whereas I'm completely at home. I have never ridden a road bike on anything other than pavement. I thought I remembered something about how in the Tour du France (or however that goes) they ride over gravel roads or cobblestone streets. Same kinda bike, just more experienced riders. I can do this.

I stopped in the intersection and turned to see the historical marker sitting right there. In my panic of finding a dirt/gravel road in front of me, I nearly missed a site of historical interest. Tailholt: one of Siskiyou County's "lost cities". Here used to be the site of the Tailholt Post office, which was moved down the road where it still stands today (not sure if it's still in service or not, didn't go down that road). This little town, which is now just a historical maker at a dirt intersection, used to have a saloon, racetrack, baseball field, harness shop, blacksmith shop, slaughterhouse, meat market and grist mill. You can read a little more about it HERE. By the way, I had to look it up, but a grist mill is where grain is ground in to flour.

I was only at about 8.5 miles and my goal for the day was 20 miles total. I can get very mission driven on rides and runs, which is why I didn't have my camera with me and I really wish I did. I eyed the road for a little bit and then decided to give it a go. If Lance Armstrong can do it, so can I. Not really, for several reasons, but you get what I mean. Anyway, if I crashed way out here (past Town's End) there would be no one to make me feel embarassed. And being as the crash would probably be a low speed one in which I could not control my skinny tires in gravel and dirt, I would probably be ok. Yes, I carry my cell phone.

I saddled back up and pedaled up the road where I met another intersection. Of course there are no road signs out here (other than the unimproved road warning signs) so I didn't know which road was which, but I had a mental note of the map I checked out online before setting out, so I took a right towards Table Rock. The road was dirt and gravel, rutted out and washboarded. I was so busy focusing on the road that I couldn't tell I was going uphill. I thought maybe my tire was flat or something, but trying to check the back tire while you're riding your bike is a pretty sketchy ordeal. I don't recommend it, especially if you don't have great command of your bike to begin with.

At one point, I was charged by a squirrel and it scared the crap out of me. Up to this point on my ride, I had only merely been threatened by birds along the road. None of them took a dive at me, but they chirped excitedly as they tend to do in the spring time when some threat is upon them, and flew around me a few times. In a week or two that will turn in to dive bombing. Right now they don't have any babies to protect.

Anyway, back to the rabid squirrel. Out of the corner of my eye (remember I'm already tense from trying to steer my bike on a dirt road) I see something run at me from the side of the road. It continues towards me at great speed and I turn my head to see a squirrel sprinting towards my bike, where at about 6 inches away, it stops, flattens down and then disappears back to the side of the road. Geezo. I continued on. Obviously I am faster than a rabid squirrel, even on a dirt road.

In the shadow of Table Rock, right before I reached a ranch house, I hit 10 miles, dismounted, took a drink of water, turned around and headed towards home. This is when I realized I had been going uphill for quite some time. As my bike picked up speed without any help from me, I pondered whether I would have more control over my bike going fast or slow. I guess it depends. I could feel my rear tire fishtail out every once in awhile and it made me awfully nervous. I lightly touched the brakes, being as I felt braking hard would really make me lose control. I visualized the effect of crashing in the gravel and how it would feel to have dirt and gravel embed itself in my skin. I slowed down a little more.

On the way back there was no sign of the crazy squirrel. You know, you might laugh, but hitting a squirrel while riding with skinny tires (I'm telling you, if you don't understand the skinny tire deal, just go ride one) could cause some serious damage to myself and probably my bike. More to myself though, being as my speed was probably less than impressive at this point. I skidded and slid all the way back to the historical marker where I turned on to the pavement. On the side of the road was a sign "Rough Road". I had to laugh. I suppose it depends on your perspective. I was so happy to be back on pavement. It felt smooth under my tires and I relaxed a bit as I greeted the cows that moo'd at me.

Then the road got real bumpy again. My bike vibrated so badly beneath me that I had a hard time holding on to the handle bars. I gripped as hard as I could but was only able to manage a loose grip. I passed Townsend again and it wasn't long before the road smoothed out for good. I came upon the two story brick house again and waved at the old man. Looking a little more closely I could see he had his chin to his chest. Probably sleeping. Maybe he's dead. I wasn't going to be the one to check. I rode on.

The road opened back up to pastures and the crop plane continued to swoop through the valley. I passed a couple cattle chutes, some that looked more advanced than others. I relaxed and pressed my shoulders down away from my ears and switched my grip on the handle bars. I merged onto the highway with 3 miles left to go and went up and down a few more hills before hitting the residential streets of Montague. I shifted my hands back to the brakes to cover them in the event a car pulled out in front of me, shifted to a higher gear and picked up the pace for the last half mile. 7th street...8th street...bright yellow pedestrian crossing sign....and took a right turn onto 9th. I unclipped my left foot, pulled up in front of my house and leaned left. Thankfully I also went left. With my left foot on the ground, I unclipped my right foot, dismounted and clicked up the driveway in my bike cleats.

What an awesome ride. 20 miles in one hour and 22 minutes. That's an average of 14.5 miles per hour... which would've been quite a bit faster had it not been for the dirt road portion...which I survived.

GRE- Take One

This morning I took the GRE test for the first time. Now that I'm done mourning over the exam, I can begin studying more to retake it. I got some of the results right away but need to wait for the essay scores. The GRE consists of two essay questions, 2 verbal reasoning sections and 2 math sections... as well as an additional section in one of the areas that isn't graded, but you aren't told which one is just for study purposes, so one of the sections don't count towards your score.... but you don't know which one.

It takes about 3.5 hours to get through the exam. That's 3.5 hours of staring at the computer in a frenzy to answer all the questions in the alloted time. You start with an essay analyzing an issue and are given 30 minutes to read the prompt, put together your stand on the issue with supporting ideas, review your work and submit it. Then you get a 60 second break if you want it...and since it takes several minutes to check in and out of the exam, that doesn't give you time to get up from your seat. It's enough time to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and click "Continue". Then you begin another essay where you are given an argument and you have to analyze that argument. You're given 30 minutes for this one as well. I think I did fairly well on both of these, but they must be submitted to an actual person who will read them over and give you a score of 0-6 on each essay. A 4 is acceptable. Anything less is just not good at all. This is the only area that any of my colleges have a required score in. After reviewing all of my schools, I need to get a 5 or better. I might be ok in that area.

After another 60 second break, I dove into the verbal reasoning section. There are 25 questions and you're given 35 minutes to answer them. Some are complete the sentence, some are articles with questions attached and others are fill in the blanks. You get another 60 second break and dive into the quantitative reasoning section. You get 40 minutes to answer 25 math questions. This is not a lot, regardless of what that looks like. As I struggled to set up formulas to solve the problems or comparisons, the clock ticked away. It was awful and I knew it. I marked ones I didn't know and came back at the end of the section to guess away at 5 or 6 of the questions.

Then there was a 10 minute break. I peed and got a sip of water and sat back down to start verbal reasoning section 2. There was a 60 second break after that and into math section 2. Knowing I did badly on the first math section, I tried harder to solve problems I knew I could solve...given the time. But I wasn't given the time, and then was shocked to see that I was out of time and had to go back and review another 5 or 6 questions that I had marked. In less than 2 minutes, I randomly selected answers to about 6 questions. I was exhausted and dejected. But I was done.

BUT WAIT! Another verbal reasoning section popped up. Son of a bitch. Excuse the language, but seriously? Ah yes. The dreaded "extra section that doesn't count towards your score but you don't know which one that is" scenario. So there were 3 verbal sections and one of them didn't count. But I didn't know which one so I had to give this last section all I had...which wasn't much.

At the end of the exam, you get the scores for your math and verbal, and then the essay scores (average of the two) are mailed in about 2 weeks. I really did not want to see my scores, I was pretty irritated with the testing process by that point. But I clicked through to see my scores anyway...because I kinda had to.

So the scoring works like this. Between the two math sections, you can score between 130 and 170. And then the same applies to the verbal. You get one math score and one verbal...and then 2 wks later, also one writing score. The lowest score you can possibly score on the math and verbal is 130. The highest is 170. So basically 130 is equal to zero. I scored a 158 on the verbal and 150 on the math. Pretty freakin' terrible. Especially the math. Putting that in perspective, there are 40 possible points in each subject matter (170-130 = 40). So on the verbal I scored 28 out of 40 (70%) and on the math I scored 20 out of 40 (that would be a whopping 50%).

I got home and googled what the averages to these exams are. Obviously, a 70% is fairly average, and so my verbal score is not terrible. Had my math score been in that range, I could just let it go. Of course, as long as my written score is 5 or above, I could still just let it go. But then I would be telling my potential grad schools that not only am I terrible at math, but I'm content in staying that way and am not going to make an attempt at getting a better score. Being as I will be required to take 3 semesters of Calculus, I just don't see that as being a wise choice.So I'm starting again.

I've got a new study book for math and will focus on each section until I feel I have it down so well that I can fly through the math problems with ease (because that is what's required if you want to do well). Most of the problems I can answer given enough time to struggle through it, but that obviously does not work in this case. I can't take the test more than once in a 30 day period and not more than 5 times in a year. So in June I'll do a mental check on where I'm at with the math and schedule a second exam. Of course I will also continue to study my vocabulary words so I can get a better score in the verbal as well, but the concentration will be on the math.

When I got home from the exam (it was an hour drive one way to the testing center) I took a nap. I dreamed I had run a marathon that I wasn't totally thrilled with, but I figured since it didn't take that much out of me to begin with, I'd just do another one. This is funny because I just realized that the exam took me about 3.5 hours to do, and my marathon time is 3:31. If only I had energy gels and water with me throughout the exam (you can't take those in with you) and two bathroom breaks as opposed to the one. Pretty funny.

GRE Scheduled

I've got a date for my Graduate Records Exam! May 9th at 8am Pacific whatever Time. I can never remember if we're saving daylight or in the standard version. Anyway. It's a 3.5 hour exam testing everything I've forgotten since elementary school, but I'm becoming well prepared.

The first thing I bought was the study guide to the GRE published by the company that makes the GRE, figuring that would be my best inside information. It came with details on the GRE, tips for studying, and in-depth help with each of the sections: Analytical Writing, Verbal Reasoning and Quantitative Reasoning. There were practice questions and it comes with 4 practice exams: 2 in the book and two on the accompanying cd. After going through the whole book, I took the test on the cd because it is the most close to the actual exam. Boy was it a mess.

I feel I did fairly well on the analytical writing. Better on the second one than the first. But when I got to the verbal reasoning section, I was incredibly dismayed. Lugubrious. Abject. Those are a couple of my new words, because apparently I lack an sort of substantial vocabulary. I consider myself an eruidte young woman but the language used in the verbal reasoning section was abstruse at best. However, I have aplomb that my assiduousness will help in my endeavor to ameliorate my vocabulary.

Who talks like that, right? Large sections of this exam, that's who.

In the math sections (quantitative reasoning) I did pretty well. Better on the first section than the second. During the first section I ran out of time and had to throw out random guesses for the last three questions, so I went through the section quicker on the next round and didn't do so well. On top of reviewing the subject mater of the exam, I'm also learning test taking strategies.

I got a second review guide "GRE For Dummies", a vocab builder book that uses some words commonly found on the GRE and ties them in with funny mnemonics, a vocab flash card type game for my kindle, a book of practice questions for the math section and a book entitled "How To Get Into Grad School (Even if You're Broke, Dimwitted, or Spent Your Undergraduate Years so Smashed You Can't Even Spell GPA)". That last one's a good one. Cynical, but informative.

I've been spending what free time I have studying and stalking prospective professors who I can convince to vote for me when they review applications for grad students as well as one who might take me under their wing and mentor me through school, and sponsor me so my tuition can be paid or waived. I have some really great leads but my priorities are currently on doing well on the GRE, so most of that will have to wait another couple of weeks.

That's all for now!

Big Changes

A couple weeks ago on a flight to Phoenix, I sat next to a nice lady who spent the entire 2 hours telling me her life story. I don't remember most of it as she wasn't entirely clear on what it is she does. But as we were landing, she turns to me and says "I've been going on this whole time and never asked what it is that you do". I wasn't prepared to get into another long conversation, being as we were landing, and said "I'm a wildland firefighter for the Forest Service." I don't know if it was how I said it or if she was already poised to ask the question, but she tilted her head and asked "Is it your passion?"

I hesitated. I suppose if it really was my passion my reply would've come a lot quicker. I thought about it, kinda thrown off by the question. No one has ever asked me that before and come to think of it, I've never really asked myself that before. I told her I really enjoy my job, it's fun and exciting....

She recommended that I go online and do some career tests to see if maybe there's something out there that I hadn't considered. I told her I would. I thought about it for a few more days until I was back at work. Bored, I logged on to the computer and took a couple career assessment tests. I don't even remember what they said, but there were a lot of "analyst" words in there. Senior analyst this, executive analyst that. What a load of crock. Me? An analyst? Remember, I'm practical, not logical. Just ask my engineer uncle.

I've been thinking about changing careers for quite some time. Don't get me wrong, I have a great job, but I've gotten to the point where I've kinda had enough. I really miss being able to see my friends and family on a regular basis. I miss the warm weather of San Diego and the convenience of living in a city. I've been wanting to go back to school and get my master's degree for quite awhile but I haven't been able to figure out what it is I want to do.

I also wondered if I would miss being in fire. When I saw a big plume of smoke on the horizon, would I long to be on the responding trucks, blowing by the road blocks past members of the general public that were fleeing the area?

After much thought, here's what I will not miss: not having a summer, loading 45 lbs on myself and hiking as fast as I can up a super steep mountain, poison oak, sleeping in abandoned lots behind gas stations in towns such as Laramie, WY, fire camp food, driving for hours across the US trying to keep myself dehydrated so I'm not "that guy" that has to ask for a restroom stop, cutting line all night and in to the next day, driving the top heavy buggies on poorly maintained roads, trying to burn piles in the pouring rain (and wondering why they won't light), Christmas Toe, how eaten up my scalp gets from going 14 days without a shower,and wearing long sleeve, long pants and wool socks in the middle of summer...in Arizona.

Lately I'm coming to realize that our lives are so short and go by so fast...and we only get one. I'm already at the age where I marvel at how time has flown by. And as my friend Corey said to me, "This life ain't no trial run". Amen to that. I keep thinking about how long I have until I can retire... so I can really start living my life. Well, that's at least 15 years from now and I would hate for those 15 years to go by without me.

Having helped raise Emily for the first few years of her life, I felt terrible leaving her to move up to Frazier Park, but I was still close enough that I could go home on the weekends. Now I'm not and I've missed a pretty big stretch of time in her life. When I went down to San Diego to be with Candace and the family for the birth of her second child, Charlotte, I really realized how much I want them in my life. I've never wanted my own children, so Candace's girls are the closest I'll ever have to children. On the day I left, I held Charlotte in my arms and felt absolutely terrible for leaving. By the time I came back, she'd be only a few months shy of a year old...old enough to wonder who the heck the stranger is that just showed up and pretends to know her. I don't want Charlotte to forget me and I don't want to miss out on any more of Emily's life. A good majority of my friends are in San Diego and I'd like to get back there.

I would like to one day own a dog. I suppose that's the closest I've ever had to a ticking biological clock. Obviously in my current job I cannot have a dog...or even a live plant.

I would like to quit beating myself up so much physically and mentally for my job. I would love to have a "normal" job where I can go home every night and use my energy for cooler things, like marathons, triathlons and century bike rides. I'd like to get back into swimming. I'd like to return to surfing.

Do I have a plan? Yes I do. Being as this post is already as long as it is, I'll sum it up and leave out all the crazy background.

I'm currently studying to take the Graduate Records Exam (GRE) which is the required exam for my major. I will take it around June, maybe a little earlier depending on how the studying is going. That gives me enough time that if I don't do well, I can take it again. From September to November I'll be sending in my applications to graduate school at San Jose State University, UCLA, UC Davis and San Francisco State University to get my master's in Meteorology or Atmospheric Science (the programs differ a little from school to school). When (if?) I'm accepted, I will resign from the Forest Service, sell my house and go back to school. At that time I will be close to major airports where I can buy a $50 plane ticket to head down to San Diego for the weekend, or hop over to Phoenix or Denver. Right now it's around $400 and involves driving an hour to the nearest airport.

After graduating with my master's degree in meteorology, I will look for jobs in the San Diego area either doing forecasting (not broadcast forecasting- I don't need to be on tv or the radio), research, or teaching. I can work for the government (not a fan) or private industries. I can teach at community colleges and universities, or I can get on research teams that are focusing on global climate change or weather monitoring and early warning systems for severe weather. I would absolutely love to do work with storm systems.

I will have a well-paying career that continually ranks high in the "Best Jobs in America" type surveys, I will be home, I will have a dog, and maybe be able to buy a house again. I'm going to do a triathlon and ride a century bike tour. I'm going to have nice weather year round. I will own (and keep alive) several plants and I might even enjoy camping once in awhile. I will be around to spend time with and support my friends and family.

After all, life is not about the end result. As cheesy as it sounds, it is so definately about the journey. I'm really excited to be moving on to a new chapter in my life...nervous about getting in to colleges of course, but who wouldn't be? It's going to be super exciting! I'm even excited about gaining a new capacity for logical thinking. I have to take 3 semesters of Calculus and 2 semesters of Calculus Based Physics (what?). Strangely enough, I'm kinda looking forward to those classes.

I'll post updates when they come around, but I'm looking at starting school in the spring of 2014 or in the case of UCLA who accepts applications a year ahead of time, fall of 2014. For now I'll continue stufying for the GRE and writing my Statement of Purpose.

Back In The Sneakers

Here's a link to my marathon photos (Click HERE). Don't judge, it was a rough day. I had also preplanned not to smile because I wanted to look tough and intimidating. It had the opposite efffect. I ended up looking like I was suffering the whole way. Well, I guess I kind of was. There are a couple of me smiling which look pretty decent so next time I'll try to smile more.

So I've pretty much been convinced by friends, family and bystanders to do the Boston Marathon next year. From what I understand it's a fairly prestigious event and "people train their whole lives to make it to Boston". Yeah, crazy people maybe.

Out of curiosity, I would like to find out what would happen if I added some speed work to my training and actually trained like a serious runner instead of the half-hearted runs I've been doing. That's not to say I've been slacking off, it's just that simply doing the mileage is hard enough as it is, let alone pushing the intensity while doing it.

I've decided to try out some training techniques that "real runners" use and see how I do in a half marathon at the end of April.

Today was my first day back to running. I only took 9 days off running since that will leave me 12 weeks to train for the half marathon. I did our lovely signature run up the mountain behind our station. It's only 3 miles round trip but it kicked my butt.

Trying to get myself out the door to even do the run was tough. It occured to me that I just don't really enjoy running. I love the benefits of running. I love how it clears my head and keeps me in shape. And obviously, accomplishing things like qualifying for Boston is pretty cool. But the actual run. Nope, don't really enjoy it so much. I guess sometimes I do, but not when it's cold outside.

It wasn't even that cold, relatively. It was 44 degrees but cloudy and windy. I wasn't thrilled. But I laced up the ol' trail sneakers and took off up the hill.

I should mention I've been absolutely exhausted lately. Since the marathon I've been really fond of daily naps. Sometimes even twice daily. I got home from San Diego on Wednesday night and Thursday morning I drove out to San Francisco (a 5 hour drive) to recertify my Wilderness EMT. I had class Friday, Saturday and Sunday and then drove back home Sunday afternoon. I got home at 6:30pm, ate and went to bed. Yesterday morning it was back to the drawing board: up at 4:30am, off to the gym, then to work.

Yesterday I had a work physical and it appears I've got some white blood cells in my urine. The doctor says it's probably a bladder infection (which I don't really have any symptoms of) but I'm also wondering if it had anything to do with just having done a marathon. They're sending it in for a culture. It could explain why I've been so tired lately. I thought it was just from my run. I guess we'll find out.

So my run today was slow, and pretty tough but that's ok. I don't want to push too hard too soon or there could be consequences. I just wish the motivation to get out the door would get easier.

The Marathon

Debbie and I survived the marathon...mostly. We're hobbling around the house this morning popping advil and wondering how we're going to go about our day.

The marathon started fairly early as far as marathons go. 6:15am. Debbie lives 45 minutes from the start so we ended up leaving at 4am. It was drizzling pretty hard and all I planned to wear was a tank top and shorts. Debbie and I poked a head and arm holes in trash bags and put them on.

I always start out too fast at the beginning of the marathon due to excitement and adrenaline and the large crowd. I planned to be around 3:45 for the finish so I started out following a pacer that was toting a small sign that read 3:40. I was wearing my Garmin GPS watch and it told me I was running way too fast for a 3:40. I wondered if our official pacer was wearing a gps. He was doing terrible at pacing. Around the second mile he turned to the group and informed us we were a bit ahead and then started making excuses about satellite reception and this and that. Irritated, I decided to pass the group and do my own thing.

Only a mile or so later, I found myself approaching another pace group. I noticed most people would slow down quite a bit going uphill, so I was pretty thankful for all the training I had done on the mountain road behind the station. As I neared the group, I read the sign: 3:30. I told myself I was going too fast and it would only be a matter of time before I just bonked and would probably either end up walking to the finish line or not finishing at all. I hung back, maybe a hundred feet behind the group... as if that changed the fact that I was way too fast.

After I caught up with them again on the next hill I decided I'd hang with them for awhile and see what happened. The spectators lining the street cheered for us as we passed and shouted that we were the largest pace group they had seen and to stick together, we were doing awesome. Yeah, awesome but I was going too fast and was going to suffer from this before long.

A pace group is made up of a couple people who are trained to run at a certain pace and they carry a little sign that reads when they plan to pass the finish line. Mind you, I was in a pace group 15 minutes faster than where I should've been.

I started to picture myself going a 3:30. My last marathon was a 3:53 and it just so happened that the Boston Marathon qualifying time for my age group is 3:35. I was not planning on running Boston and really didn't have any reason to try to qualify. It just didn't appeal to me.

It wasn't long before I became obsessed with trying to keep up with the group. It was such a change from the isolated runs I had been doing. The cheers from the crowds lining the street, the cowbells they were ringing, the view of the brightly colored sneakers pounding the pavement in front of me. It felt like I was in a race...which technically I was. But when running a marathon, there's a large spread of finishing times. It's one of the few sports where you can combine elite athletes with more mortal athletes. The first place male went a 2:19, the first place female went a 2:30 or something. So in reality, I was not in the race. But it felt like it anyway.

Coming down a large hill, my pace group that was supposed to be running an 8 min mile, was running a 7 minute mile. Despite the fact that I was now going a whole minute and a half faster per mile than I should be, I continued with my obsession of keeping up. I consider this a personality flaw but I'm not going to get into analyzing that.

As we got to the bottom of the hill, I ran into Debbie on her way up the hill. We slapped a high five and exchanged words of encouragement.

At the halfway point, we were at a 1:45 which is quite a bit faster than I've ever run for a half marathon. I thought, "Wow, that's really fast!" Then I did the math in my head. Half a marathon at 1:45 plus another half at 1:45 would have me finishing at a 3:30. So in order to finish at 3:30 I was going to have to run another 1:45. Why didn't I think about this 10 miles ago? Terrible move.

Of course by this point I had totally committed to the group. My body was starting to hurt. My hips and upper butt muscles were feeling a lot of impact. All the packages of sugary gel were hurting my stomach. I had already sloshed a recovery beverage into my right eye and water into my left. I was getting quite a bit of rub on the bottom of my left foot. The group continued on...so I followed. My gps quit receiving satellites.

We got back on the ocean front road and I tried to "sight see" and looked over at the waves watching for dolphins. I was in too much discomfort to watch for long and I focused again on the flourescent sneakers in front of me. The ladies leading the group promised us that we were about to turn around and head back and it would be downhill with a tail wind the rest of the way back. I believed them.

After mile 18, I had to poo. Sorry folks, gotta be blunt. I pulled over to one of the porta potties and had a few minute stop. When I came out, I looked up the hill (that's right, UP the hill) at my 3:30 group and wondered if I'd ever catch them again. I told myself to take my time, I had about 8 miles to catch up.

I ran too hard and caught up within a mile. It was another bad move. Once I got in with the group again, I took a mental inventory of how my body felt. It was pretty bad. But there I was, committed again.

We went over several more hills and I was starting to fade. By mile 20 I didn't want to run any more. I wanted to walk but I knew if I did I wouldn't start running again. It would be over.

By mile 22 I got pretty agitated and couldn't handle the sight of the shoes in front of me anymore so I moved up and ran next to the pacers.

At mile 24 I had had enough and just wanted to be done. So I pulled ahead of the pacers and took off running. By that point the marathon runners had merged with the half marathon runners and there were plenty of half marathon runners running much slower than the marathoners at that point. I felt like the large blister on the bottom of my foot was going to split wide open. I struggled to get around the slower runners and began to get angry.

I ran faster. As I hit mile 25 I realized I had pushed too hard. My hamstring was on the verge of a major spasm and I was on the verge of collapsing. I didn't know what else to do so I ran even faster. I had to get to the finish line before I fell over and needed an ambulance.

It seemed like I would never make it to the finish line. I passed a bunch of people, dodging around them. I just wanted to get there so I could stop.

I rounded the corner and saw the finish line. The clock read 3:31 (so my pace group didn't make it) as I finished. I was corralled through to get my finishers medal, a mylar blanket (kinda like aluminum foil to hold in the heat), water and a bag of food. I hobbled to get out of the corral area and almost fell over in front of a lady. I regained my balance and hobbled out of the gate to find a corner to collapse in. I was in so much pain I wanted to cry. But there was too many people and I didn't want to attract attention. I could hardly walk.

I found a corner of fence to camp out in and tried to stretch/cool down. It wasn't going to happen. I sat down on the ground. My face must've said it all because I was approached by a lady who asked if I was ok. I kinda chuckled and said yes.

I was going to have to find a medical tent and get tylenol. It was clear across the parking lot. I decided I would get my bag from the gear check table first. I hobbled over and gave the guy my check tag number. He was having a hard time finding it and I was having a hard time standing. I almost told him I'd be back for it later. I crouched down by the table and attempted to remain standing. I switched between standing and crouching a few times. I was going down. Pretty quickly. I had to get to the medical tent. There were so many people.

Finally the guy found my bag and I consolidated the bags I had accumulated and hobbled towards the medical tent. As I got there, two people sat down to be iced so the lady turned from me to handle them. I was going to fall over. I leaned on the table and focused on breathing. I crouched down again on the ground and tried to be patient. A line started to form behind the icers. I was going to be passed over again. Oh my god.

I moved over to where the line was forming and tried to stand patiently. The two icers got up and another lady sat down. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to make it. I wanted to cry.

I made eye contact with the medical lady and must have looked pretty desperate. I told her I just needed some tylenol or advil or something. She handed me the tylenol and I hobbled off toward the car.

I dropped my stuff off and took the tylenol and grabbed my camera to go wait for Debbie at the finish line. I found a spot to sit down and change into dry clothes.

Debbie finally finished and we hobbled to the car, discussing our races.

"You went a 3:31?" Debbie asked.

"Yeah."

"That's awesome!" She said.

"Yeah."

"Wait, what's Boston?"

"3:35."

"Carrie, you just qualified for Boston!" She said.

"Um, yeah."

"You're going to Boston!!"

"Uhhh.... I don't know."

"You have to go! You can't qualify and not go!" She told me.

I can't make these sort of decisions until I no longer hurt. Every which way I turned last night everything hurt. This morning I can hardly walk and even my back and shoulders hurt. I don't know why people do this.

So my official time was 3:31.08. The race photos aren't up yet but when they are I'll post the link. It'll be interesting to see how my face changes throughout the race. Until then, this is Debbie and I posing after the race.