Well it's official, I'm moving up to Yreka to join the Klamath Hotshots. Many of you are probably asking: where the heck is Yreka, and what is a hotshot? Yreka should not be confused with Eureka, as is commonly done. Both in Northern California, two very different places.
Yreka is a town near the Oregon border that currently houses over 7,000 people (3 times that of Frazier Park). Here's a Wikipedia link to info on Yreka: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yreka,_California
Some interesting notes about Yreka: Like most California towns, it started during the Gold Rush era. It is also the proposed capital of the State of Jefferson, a secession movement that is still alive today. Proponents are trying to get Southern Oregon and Northern California to seceed from the Nation or at least form their own independent state. I plan to stay absolutely impartial on that situation so that I may remain safe regardless of whether or not the new state forms.
Yreka is close to Mt. Shasta and the Klamath River (my station is actually further west along the river valley out of Klamath River, CA. You can mapquest that too and see where it is. The average lows in the winter are in the low 30's and the average highs in the summer are in the 80's. Not too bad.
Unfortunately, for every 100 females over the age of 18, there are only 83.9 males. If you subtract from that number the guys on my crew, there's probably now only 70 males per 100 females. The stats are not in my favor.
Yreka is mentioned in Ann Rule's true crime novel: "The I-5 Killer". Great. I'll have to look that one up. There have been 2 documented lynchings in Yreka as well.
As for what a Hotshot is and does: no we do not jump out of airplanes. Those are smokejumpers, and they're crazy. Why anyone would jump out of a perfectly good airplane is beyond me. Here's some links: http://www.fs.fed.us/fire/people/hotshots/IHC_hist.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hotshot_crew
You can also search for "Hotshots and Fire" on Youtube.com They've got some pretty cool videos.
So a hotshot crew is a crew of 20 people that are highly trained to deal with wildfires and other natural disasters. They hike in or get flown in to places that other crews (such as engines) can't get into.
My official start date is March 29th, and I'll be moving up there the week before it looks like, as long as all my paperwork goes through ok.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Day Shift (unfinished)
Day Shift
Sleeping bags rustle
in the chilly morning dew
just before day break;
blurry men and women drag their aching bodies
from the warmth and comfort of fluffy down
to force their bruised and swollen feet
into leather boots hardened by the night’s cold.
They lumber toward the chow line
wearing knitted beanies,
curling their frozen hands
into stiff dusty pockets
or holding hot coffee in a Styrofoam cup;
their breaths dance out in front of their mouths.
A hot breakfast of mass produced
eggs, sausages and hash brown patties
are slathered with heaps of salsa for taste- or perhaps to hide it.
One cup of coffee becomes two or three
as eyes peel open to face
a pink and blue sky;
work boots mill around a damp field of dry grass and hard packed dirt
lined with pop-up tents, portable toilets and trailers.
The smoke is finally visible in the pale morning light
as the night’s inversion breaks into wisps
that dissolve into the crisp air.
A crowd converges on a color coded display of maps;
a tired man in a dirty yellow shirt speaks into a microphone
with too much cheer
for the exhausted morning mass.
The message is the same as the day before
with structures threatened, roads closed
and the fire crossing containment lines.
Assignments are handed out to soot stained hands
as high wind advisories ring in their ears.
The gathering splits off into trucks, engines and crew hauls
to form a convoy up the dusty mountain road
toward the rising column of charcoal gray smoke
while the night shift awaits relief.
A crew haul parks on a bare landing away from brush and grass
as bodies stumble out, don their gear, fire up chain saws
and line up like soldiers out to march.
Boots pound up the mountain side,
heavy with burden,
unleashing clouds of dust and ash onto sweaty brows
that squint into the morning sun that now sits above the horizon.
They nod to the night crew that’s passing on their way down:
faces streaked with black soot
wearing dusky yellow shirts crusted over with the ash and perspiration
from a week’s worth of pounding and digging at smoldering vegetation.
Sleeping bags rustle
in the chilly morning dew
just before day break;
blurry men and women drag their aching bodies
from the warmth and comfort of fluffy down
to force their bruised and swollen feet
into leather boots hardened by the night’s cold.
They lumber toward the chow line
wearing knitted beanies,
curling their frozen hands
into stiff dusty pockets
or holding hot coffee in a Styrofoam cup;
their breaths dance out in front of their mouths.
A hot breakfast of mass produced
eggs, sausages and hash brown patties
are slathered with heaps of salsa for taste- or perhaps to hide it.
One cup of coffee becomes two or three
as eyes peel open to face
a pink and blue sky;
work boots mill around a damp field of dry grass and hard packed dirt
lined with pop-up tents, portable toilets and trailers.
The smoke is finally visible in the pale morning light
as the night’s inversion breaks into wisps
that dissolve into the crisp air.
A crowd converges on a color coded display of maps;
a tired man in a dirty yellow shirt speaks into a microphone
with too much cheer
for the exhausted morning mass.
The message is the same as the day before
with structures threatened, roads closed
and the fire crossing containment lines.
Assignments are handed out to soot stained hands
as high wind advisories ring in their ears.
The gathering splits off into trucks, engines and crew hauls
to form a convoy up the dusty mountain road
toward the rising column of charcoal gray smoke
while the night shift awaits relief.
A crew haul parks on a bare landing away from brush and grass
as bodies stumble out, don their gear, fire up chain saws
and line up like soldiers out to march.
Boots pound up the mountain side,
heavy with burden,
unleashing clouds of dust and ash onto sweaty brows
that squint into the morning sun that now sits above the horizon.
They nod to the night crew that’s passing on their way down:
faces streaked with black soot
wearing dusky yellow shirts crusted over with the ash and perspiration
from a week’s worth of pounding and digging at smoldering vegetation.
Monday, February 15, 2010
White Fingers!
I'm either approaching old age, or my body is protesting the cold. Or both. While researching Thoracic Outlet Syndrome last summer, I came across some information about Raynaud's Syndrome and how it can be caused by Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. Imagine my dismay when I came back from a run a couple weeks ago and noticed my right hand (not the side that was operated on) looked like this: 
No, those aren't my hands, I was too busy trying to rewarm them to be taking pictures, but maybe one day I will.
The funny part about all this is that when I started reading about it, it mentioned it usually started in the 2nd, 3rd or 4th decade of life. In a couple of months, I will have been on this earth for 3 decades. The scary part about it all is that it may be the start of rheumatoid arthritis or other weird diseases.... or it may just be completely on it's own. With all the weird things that run in my family, it wouldn't be completely out there for me to develop painfully deformed feet and severe rheumatoid arthritis. As I get older I start to worry a little about all these things. I mean, what is the likelyhood of me being able to dodge all this stuff?
Anyway, just thought I'd share. There's a reason I belong in warmer climates.
No, those aren't my hands, I was too busy trying to rewarm them to be taking pictures, but maybe one day I will.
Anyway, it was only my right hand, so I got to thinking maybe I have thoracic outlet syndrome on my right side too (really not good). But I haven't had any other symptoms. I discussed it with Shelly who informed me that her and her friend also have Raynaud's and it's not really a big deal. I was still skeptical until the next time I ran and it happened to both hands. It's the weirdest thing. However, I do know that I no longer have a rib on the left side that can pinch my blood vessels and limit blood flow to my hand, so if it's happening on my left side, it isn't caused by Thoracic Outlet Syndrome, and if it isn't caused by that on my left side, it probably isn't caused by it on my right side.
I decided to look up this crazy phenomenon, and it turns out it really isn't such a big deal... until you get prolonged lack of oxygen to your fingers, but we won't go there. I notice it mostly after a run in the cold weather (yes, I wear gloves when I run, it doesn't help much apparently) but I've also noticed it after washing my hands in cold water or taking an ice bath (after my long runs to decrease the inflammation in my leg muscles). It doesn't hurt unless my fingers get really cold, and then it hurts like hell as they warm back up. They just get numb and tingly and then as they rewarm they itch a little bit. Here's a couple more interesting pictures that look similar to mine:
The funny part about all this is that when I started reading about it, it mentioned it usually started in the 2nd, 3rd or 4th decade of life. In a couple of months, I will have been on this earth for 3 decades. The scary part about it all is that it may be the start of rheumatoid arthritis or other weird diseases.... or it may just be completely on it's own. With all the weird things that run in my family, it wouldn't be completely out there for me to develop painfully deformed feet and severe rheumatoid arthritis. As I get older I start to worry a little about all these things. I mean, what is the likelyhood of me being able to dodge all this stuff?
Anyway, just thought I'd share. There's a reason I belong in warmer climates.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
New Possibilities
I wanted to update everyone on what's going on in my life. Most of you know I've applied to hotshot crews in Arizona, Colorado and Northern California. I sent in my application and resume in to everyone and then made some follow-up calls.
The superintendent of Roosevelt Hotshots in Ft. Collins, CO wasn't as receptive as I would have liked. Supe's can be like that though. He was just very brief and didn't seem like he wanted to talk. Because of the location, they were my first choice.
The supe of San Juan Hotshots in Durango was much more open and willing to chat. I asked a bunch of questions and then he sprung some pretty good interview questions on me. Everyone in the room thought I answered them fairly well, and he even commented that I had provided a great answer to one particularly tough one.
Klamath Hotshots up in Northern California has been somewhat persuing me for weeks now and I've been avoiding them because of where they're located. I'm quite the city girl and was hesitant because Northern California does not have cities. However, one of the captains and several people on the crew live in Ashland, OR and it's just under an hour drive to work. Because of the drive from pretty much anywhere up there, most of the crew carpools. There's a few people who live in Yreka, CA and a few who live in Ashland, so they share the load. Yreka is about 45 min from the station.
It's starting to look pretty good for Klamath Hotshots. They seem pretty set on me coming up there, and I'm really excited to go. They're a great crew with a great group of guys (and possibly 2 other girls!). During the winter, my training opportunities will be pretty much endless. Whatever I want to persue, they'll support me. That's a very different attitude than what I'm used to, probably because I've been on districts with a lot more employees to cater to. That and I'm currently on one that could care less about my growth and training.
Nothing is written in stone yet, no one has made an official job offer, but things are looking pretty good. I'll keep everyone posted on anything I hear.
The superintendent of Roosevelt Hotshots in Ft. Collins, CO wasn't as receptive as I would have liked. Supe's can be like that though. He was just very brief and didn't seem like he wanted to talk. Because of the location, they were my first choice.
The supe of San Juan Hotshots in Durango was much more open and willing to chat. I asked a bunch of questions and then he sprung some pretty good interview questions on me. Everyone in the room thought I answered them fairly well, and he even commented that I had provided a great answer to one particularly tough one.
Klamath Hotshots up in Northern California has been somewhat persuing me for weeks now and I've been avoiding them because of where they're located. I'm quite the city girl and was hesitant because Northern California does not have cities. However, one of the captains and several people on the crew live in Ashland, OR and it's just under an hour drive to work. Because of the drive from pretty much anywhere up there, most of the crew carpools. There's a few people who live in Yreka, CA and a few who live in Ashland, so they share the load. Yreka is about 45 min from the station.
It's starting to look pretty good for Klamath Hotshots. They seem pretty set on me coming up there, and I'm really excited to go. They're a great crew with a great group of guys (and possibly 2 other girls!). During the winter, my training opportunities will be pretty much endless. Whatever I want to persue, they'll support me. That's a very different attitude than what I'm used to, probably because I've been on districts with a lot more employees to cater to. That and I'm currently on one that could care less about my growth and training.
Nothing is written in stone yet, no one has made an official job offer, but things are looking pretty good. I'll keep everyone posted on anything I hear.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Long Run
I do one long run every week and today was my 12 miler. During my long runs I have a lot of time to think, listen to music, and try to entertain myself. The Long Run is not for everyone as it is 100% mental. I'm not sure a completely sane person is capable of doing much of a long run since there's just way too much time being spent in your own head. Let's just say the human brain is capable of some pretty strange things when let loose for too long.
I started up a long steep hill and was relieved to come out the other side, unscathed and heading downhill. I didn't see a lot of other runners out and about, but I did pass by some cyclists coming up the hill toward me. There's a certain etiquette required in everything you do. If you don't believe me, start a new sport and just be yourself. It won't be long before people are flipping you off. In running it's no different. I'm sure we all know that running downhill is a lot easier than running uphill. If you're running downhill and come upon some one running uphill, it's ok to say hi or give a brief nod and leave them on their way. Don't be offended if the uphill runner glares at you or completely ignores you.
I think the same applies to cyclists...with the exception that I'm sure cyclists don't really like runners and probably say some pretty lame things about us. That's ok, I don't mind cyclists too much, they're a hard working bunch and they get hit by more cars than they're due. So I say hi to any of the cyclists that come my way or at least give them a hello nod. I also realize that riding a bike up a hill is a lot harder than running up a hill... dowhill is of course, another story.
So I was running downhill, thrilled to not be going uphill anymore, and giving a little nod to the cyclists coming up the hill. Most of them had their heads down, cranking away at their pedals and probably cursing my existance. Needless to say, I knew better than to shoot a silly grin their way. But then something strange happened. A cyclist coming up the hill in a bright yellow jacket (hey, maybe it helps him not get hit by cars) actually smiled (a big smile) when I gave him a nod. Remember, he was coming up the hill, I was going down. It caught me off guard and I couldn't help but get some big silly grin on my face right back. The next 6 miles had me thinking about how my soul mate could be out there somewhere in the bike lane or on the running trail and how on earth would I know? I get 2 seconds passing by, and maybe that guy was it. Yes, this went in and out of my head for at least 6 miles.
I had planned on bringing 2 packets of GU with me (basically sugar, to recharge when you get fatigued) but I didn't have anything to carry them in. I was wearing a tank and a pair of short yoga pants, no pockets. On my 10 miler a couple weeks ago I put a packet of GU in my bra and took it at the halfway point. When I got home I realized I had two small cuts on my chest from running with this little aluminum packet in there, so I decided that was out of the question this time, especially with two of them. So instead I took a GU right before I left. What a bummer that it turned out there's caffeine in this GU. I purposely bought Just Plain GU because I thought it didn't have caffeine in it. Well it does. Fortunately for me, there was a small park at mile 4 that had rest rooms and even a drinking fountain to refill my water bottle. Here's another important point in running etiquette. While it is absolutely acceptable to pee behind a bush while running through the woods, it's sort of frowned upon to pee behind a bush in the middle of the city. Especially in a nice neighborhood. But at the same time, there's not a whole lot of public restrooms in the city, which presents a dilemma sometimes. But alas, there was a public restroom and life went on.
I was following a map in my mind that I had scoped out on the internet before setting off. I was wearing a Garmin Forerunner GPS unit that DOES NOT have maps uploaded into it. Although if I was a real techie I could figure out how to upload some maps to it. 5 miles into the run I realized I was on a different road than I thought I should be. The map in my mind didn't change. It just sat there screaming at me that something was wrong with the road. They put it in the wrong place.
I read in the book "Deep Survival" that when people get lost, the best thing to do is to turn around and retrace your steps until you get to where you know where you are. What happens when people don't do that, when they just keep going thinking they must be going in the right direction, is they get lost. And usually die. While death was not looming on my horizon, adding an extra 10 miles was. Did I turn around and try to find myself? No, of course not. Maybe because death was not looming, let's hope anyway. I swear I'm destined to one day be one of those statistics of stupid people who could have turned around and found their car (or house in this case) but instead kept going and froze to death. Fortunately I came upon the right road and it turned out I had been going the right way the whole time but just didn't think the road should have been that long. Miles are always longer on foot I'm beginning to realize.
Around mile 6 I finally hit what I'm going to call hopeless comfort. You just know that you're six miles from home regardless of the direction you go in, and the only reason why you keep running is because you just aren't home yet. So you settle in to a good pace and quit checking your GPS and no longer dwell on the miles that lay ahead. In general, the sooner you can come to terms with the reality of the journey you have already embarked upon (and are stuck in the middle of), the better off you'll be. In the first couple of miles your brain harps on how little you've gone and how much farther you have to go. But when you just learn to accept that you're still out there and you're going to be out there for awhile longer, you just start to glide.
When it was all over and I finally made it home, it didn't seem so bad and an ice bath sounded so inviting I had to give in. While I stretched and tried to replace my lost calories with an Ensure, I filled the bath tub with cold water and threw a bucket of ice in it. It was hell getting in, but my body is thankful now.
Long runs are not for the sane to say the least.
I started up a long steep hill and was relieved to come out the other side, unscathed and heading downhill. I didn't see a lot of other runners out and about, but I did pass by some cyclists coming up the hill toward me. There's a certain etiquette required in everything you do. If you don't believe me, start a new sport and just be yourself. It won't be long before people are flipping you off. In running it's no different. I'm sure we all know that running downhill is a lot easier than running uphill. If you're running downhill and come upon some one running uphill, it's ok to say hi or give a brief nod and leave them on their way. Don't be offended if the uphill runner glares at you or completely ignores you.
I think the same applies to cyclists...with the exception that I'm sure cyclists don't really like runners and probably say some pretty lame things about us. That's ok, I don't mind cyclists too much, they're a hard working bunch and they get hit by more cars than they're due. So I say hi to any of the cyclists that come my way or at least give them a hello nod. I also realize that riding a bike up a hill is a lot harder than running up a hill... dowhill is of course, another story.
So I was running downhill, thrilled to not be going uphill anymore, and giving a little nod to the cyclists coming up the hill. Most of them had their heads down, cranking away at their pedals and probably cursing my existance. Needless to say, I knew better than to shoot a silly grin their way. But then something strange happened. A cyclist coming up the hill in a bright yellow jacket (hey, maybe it helps him not get hit by cars) actually smiled (a big smile) when I gave him a nod. Remember, he was coming up the hill, I was going down. It caught me off guard and I couldn't help but get some big silly grin on my face right back. The next 6 miles had me thinking about how my soul mate could be out there somewhere in the bike lane or on the running trail and how on earth would I know? I get 2 seconds passing by, and maybe that guy was it. Yes, this went in and out of my head for at least 6 miles.
I had planned on bringing 2 packets of GU with me (basically sugar, to recharge when you get fatigued) but I didn't have anything to carry them in. I was wearing a tank and a pair of short yoga pants, no pockets. On my 10 miler a couple weeks ago I put a packet of GU in my bra and took it at the halfway point. When I got home I realized I had two small cuts on my chest from running with this little aluminum packet in there, so I decided that was out of the question this time, especially with two of them. So instead I took a GU right before I left. What a bummer that it turned out there's caffeine in this GU. I purposely bought Just Plain GU because I thought it didn't have caffeine in it. Well it does. Fortunately for me, there was a small park at mile 4 that had rest rooms and even a drinking fountain to refill my water bottle. Here's another important point in running etiquette. While it is absolutely acceptable to pee behind a bush while running through the woods, it's sort of frowned upon to pee behind a bush in the middle of the city. Especially in a nice neighborhood. But at the same time, there's not a whole lot of public restrooms in the city, which presents a dilemma sometimes. But alas, there was a public restroom and life went on.
I was following a map in my mind that I had scoped out on the internet before setting off. I was wearing a Garmin Forerunner GPS unit that DOES NOT have maps uploaded into it. Although if I was a real techie I could figure out how to upload some maps to it. 5 miles into the run I realized I was on a different road than I thought I should be. The map in my mind didn't change. It just sat there screaming at me that something was wrong with the road. They put it in the wrong place.
I read in the book "Deep Survival" that when people get lost, the best thing to do is to turn around and retrace your steps until you get to where you know where you are. What happens when people don't do that, when they just keep going thinking they must be going in the right direction, is they get lost. And usually die. While death was not looming on my horizon, adding an extra 10 miles was. Did I turn around and try to find myself? No, of course not. Maybe because death was not looming, let's hope anyway. I swear I'm destined to one day be one of those statistics of stupid people who could have turned around and found their car (or house in this case) but instead kept going and froze to death. Fortunately I came upon the right road and it turned out I had been going the right way the whole time but just didn't think the road should have been that long. Miles are always longer on foot I'm beginning to realize.
Around mile 6 I finally hit what I'm going to call hopeless comfort. You just know that you're six miles from home regardless of the direction you go in, and the only reason why you keep running is because you just aren't home yet. So you settle in to a good pace and quit checking your GPS and no longer dwell on the miles that lay ahead. In general, the sooner you can come to terms with the reality of the journey you have already embarked upon (and are stuck in the middle of), the better off you'll be. In the first couple of miles your brain harps on how little you've gone and how much farther you have to go. But when you just learn to accept that you're still out there and you're going to be out there for awhile longer, you just start to glide.
When it was all over and I finally made it home, it didn't seem so bad and an ice bath sounded so inviting I had to give in. While I stretched and tried to replace my lost calories with an Ensure, I filled the bath tub with cold water and threw a bucket of ice in it. It was hell getting in, but my body is thankful now.
Long runs are not for the sane to say the least.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
San Diego!
Living in San Diego for the majority of my life, I've been trained to look at it through a more practical lens. This morning I was trying to find a picture on the internet of where I ran last night- from Spanish Landing to Harbor Island. I found this one which sort of does it justice.
Pretty Amazing huh? Click on this link to see a bunch more gorgeous pictures of my home! http://www.wildnatureimages.com/San_Diego_photos.htm
Spanish Landing is a great place to wait for your buddy at the airport. I had no idea that the path I took would not take me to downtown, but to Harbor Island. I'm not sure I was aware there was a Harbor Island.
.
Anyway, so while searching for this photo, I came across all sorts of photos that really show the beauty of San Diego. Not that I never thought of San Diego as gorgeous, I certainly do. But when you get to see it through some really great pictures, and you can relate because you've been to all these places, it makes you realize just how beautiful your home town is. Keep in mind I didn't take any of these pictures, they were all rightfully stolen from the internet. Some of them have the name of the photographer on them, and the ones that don't, well I publicly apologize in advance.
Pretty Amazing huh? Click on this link to see a bunch more gorgeous pictures of my home! http://www.wildnatureimages.com/San_Diego_photos.htm
Sunday, January 3, 2010
My Sunday Run
I'm supposed to be finishing my resume, but I've been staring at it for a couple hours now and have added almost nothing. I'm where I have to describe my employment history and duties. Very over it. I've finished off all the chips and salsa and am contemplating making something caffeinated. Just not sure if I should be drinking any coffee since it'll probably affect my ability to sleep tonight.
After being awakened just past midnight by a restricted number (I don't answer those, it may be some one I don't want to talk to), I woke up tired this morning. I had a 9 mile run planned, but none of the routes sounded very inviting to me. So I had two cups of coffee and a light breakfast and then attempted to get myself charged up to go. I have to be very sneaky about getting ready to run because I don't want to let Dylan know we're going until it's time to go. Otherwise he wines and yips at me to get moving, all while leaping about excitedly.
I went to get dressed but it was so cold in the house that I could hardly get myself moving. I considered taking a hot bath in order to warm myself up enough to get changed and out the door. I scolded myself for being so lame and shivered into my running clothes. Dylan must have read my mind because he started whining outside my door. When I stepped out, he literally looked me up and down and then started his usual barking and leaping about. I didn't even have my running shoes on, that's how clever this dog is.
I decided on the Forest Road from hell (except that it goes straight up instead of down) because I figured I'd be too distracted by the steepness and altitude to even notice I was running for 9 miles. Looking back, I'm not sure that made any sense. I knew running uphill could only benefit my inner mountain goat (my new muse and role model) so while it may take me forever (and I mean absolutely forever) to finish the run, at least I'd have an awesome workout. Starting at two miles in I already had to walk. Showing his concern, Dylan came back to me and walked behind me, stepping on my heels and nearly causing me to trip. I yelled at him to go on ahead, and with a glance back he trotted up the hill like it was a stroll in the park. Then he'd turn around and wait for me to catch up. He couldn't have rubbed it in anymore. When I tried to give him water from my water bottle, he jerked away from me, obviously insulted. The look on his face was priceless. "Girl please, I am not carrying you down this hill so you better save that water for yourself". So we continued on. He'd run up ahead and then back again, trying to coax me to go faster. My legs and lungs burned and snot was pouring out of my nose from the bitter wind that was pushing me around the road. Worse yet, the dirt was soft and gave way under my feet, causing me to lose several inches with each precious step up.
Finally we reached the top and it was time to turn around and head back. On the way down was the only time I could keep up with Dylan, and it looked like he was lagging behind only to make sure I was ok. Now he's passed out behind me on the floor. He's sure going to have a rude awakening when his mom gets back from vacation and makes him run 20 miles. I'm afraid I'm hurting his endurance and slowing down his metabolism. He's getting used to running slow with me.
Maybe a cup of hot chocolate will get my resume written....
After being awakened just past midnight by a restricted number (I don't answer those, it may be some one I don't want to talk to), I woke up tired this morning. I had a 9 mile run planned, but none of the routes sounded very inviting to me. So I had two cups of coffee and a light breakfast and then attempted to get myself charged up to go. I have to be very sneaky about getting ready to run because I don't want to let Dylan know we're going until it's time to go. Otherwise he wines and yips at me to get moving, all while leaping about excitedly.
I went to get dressed but it was so cold in the house that I could hardly get myself moving. I considered taking a hot bath in order to warm myself up enough to get changed and out the door. I scolded myself for being so lame and shivered into my running clothes. Dylan must have read my mind because he started whining outside my door. When I stepped out, he literally looked me up and down and then started his usual barking and leaping about. I didn't even have my running shoes on, that's how clever this dog is.
I decided on the Forest Road from hell (except that it goes straight up instead of down) because I figured I'd be too distracted by the steepness and altitude to even notice I was running for 9 miles. Looking back, I'm not sure that made any sense. I knew running uphill could only benefit my inner mountain goat (my new muse and role model) so while it may take me forever (and I mean absolutely forever) to finish the run, at least I'd have an awesome workout. Starting at two miles in I already had to walk. Showing his concern, Dylan came back to me and walked behind me, stepping on my heels and nearly causing me to trip. I yelled at him to go on ahead, and with a glance back he trotted up the hill like it was a stroll in the park. Then he'd turn around and wait for me to catch up. He couldn't have rubbed it in anymore. When I tried to give him water from my water bottle, he jerked away from me, obviously insulted. The look on his face was priceless. "Girl please, I am not carrying you down this hill so you better save that water for yourself". So we continued on. He'd run up ahead and then back again, trying to coax me to go faster. My legs and lungs burned and snot was pouring out of my nose from the bitter wind that was pushing me around the road. Worse yet, the dirt was soft and gave way under my feet, causing me to lose several inches with each precious step up.
Finally we reached the top and it was time to turn around and head back. On the way down was the only time I could keep up with Dylan, and it looked like he was lagging behind only to make sure I was ok. Now he's passed out behind me on the floor. He's sure going to have a rude awakening when his mom gets back from vacation and makes him run 20 miles. I'm afraid I'm hurting his endurance and slowing down his metabolism. He's getting used to running slow with me.
Maybe a cup of hot chocolate will get my resume written....
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