UPDATED W/ PACER PERSPECT. Friday's to do list: Run

11/06/2016 updated so Courier font represents excerpts of my bests' pacing perspective.

Leading up to the Bear 100, I was wary. The course underwent a change to avoid a very recent fire, John was fighting off bronchitis after Wasatch, and while I was not injured during my taper, my knee would tweak on occasion. I was constantly reminded that anything could happen.

The Bear was a project I've been consciously working on the last three years, and unconsciously since I was in middle school, when I first started running and began the battle of learning to listen to and have respect for my body. To make it to the start line, uninjured, after years of training definitely brought tears to my eyes during that 10 second countdown.

Johnny, me, my ma, and Chrissy at the start. I had planned the cutest running outfit, but fashion quickly went out the window. I went through three pairs of shoes, 3 pairs of socks, and two outfits during the race. I don't know why I bothered exchanging shoes since they would get caked in mud 5 minutes later.

The cold and rainy weather made waiting around at each aid station a little less fun and no matter how many jackets I wore (at one point I had on six layers and one trash bag) I never felt very warm. **Note- I was also sporting a pair of jeans with a large hole on the inner thigh…that could have been the source of the problem. With the constant feeling of being cold and the excitement of seeing my friends on and off for 12 hours I found myself getting ready for a night of pacing without any napping and very little food. But I only had a casual 26 miles to run so I didn’t fret about it.

Or so I thought….

The course was rerouted for the second time the day before the race, so now there was a 3 mile out and back from mile 6 to 12. I had the biggest smile on my face during that stretch, punctuated by laughing sobs, and I entertained myself watching people's faces light up as we crossed paths.

I think the rain started when we started our first climb at mile 12. Honestly, it rained so much during the race that my memory does not register the points where it stopped. Snow coated the mountains flanking that first pass, reminding me that keeping dry would be one of my top priorities. As soon as I got wet, I'd get cold and lose motivation to feed myself. With the forecast, I knew I was bound to get wet--I just needed the delay the steps of that downward spiral as long as possible.

I got to see my mom and Chrissy at mile 21. They told me I was in 8th and I told them I didn't care, so after that the never told me anything.

Jump ahead to mile 44. I was enjoying seeing the trails I'd heard so much about. If I made a to do list, at the top would be Run, then a long list of bihourly appointments to snack. A very wonderful day. I was excited to part ways with my mom and Chrissy at this point because I threw on some tunes, I was going to see John on his way down from Tony Grove (I was approaching the point where the course reversed itself), and I would run with my mom from mile 54.

The climb up to Tony Grove was SLOPPY with mud 4 inches deep. Luckily it wasn't tacky. I braced myself for the 8 mile climb to take me 4 hours. Before I knew it though, there was Johnny, then there was snow, then there was an unexpected mileish descent to the aid station. I saw some friends and their pacers on their way down, and they were all very excited for me. Chrissy said I made it up that climb faster than John and the Hokies, and unbeknownst to me I'd been running in 2nd since around mile 36.

Photo by Gordon Anderson

I asked my mom if she was ready for the dirtiest run of her life, she was game, and off we went. She stuck with me basically the whole time, making sound effects the whole way. I told her to quiet down, but it brought a smile to my face anyway. I apologized to some of the runners on their way up. One of them said, "I like it... louder!" Even when my cleanly little mother slipped right off the trail, covering her whole left side in mud, we kept together smiling and hut-hut-yip-yipping. At the bottom of the descent, I changed shoes and picked up Chrissy.

Hannie came into this aid station much quicker than I expected - which she had been doing all day so one would think I should have been prepared. After a short regrouping, Hannie and I were off into the twilight. The coruse was slick with mud and there was still a steady train of people coming the opposite direction which made sharing the single track not super fun. I started blabbing as we moseyed along through the woods. Hannie didn't talk nearly as much, which was to be expected, but that didn't stop me from making lots of movie references and soaking up some quality time with my best frand. Hannie was moving great on this section and we rolled into the next aid station hooting and hollering.

I was excited to run with Chrissy because we planned to be brave like the Stranger Things kids. I was El because my bib was number 11. Chrissy braided my hair in an upside down French braid that morning, which was my key to the upside down, even though we were NOT going to go there.

At mile 70ish, when we saw my mom, she encouraged us to put on more clothes, but we told her we were way too warm. Boy do mothers know best. Little did I know that this was the last time I was going to feel warm for the next 10 hours. After that aid station we began a forever climb back up into the snow. Around mile 78, that cold I'd been trying to postpone hit hard. Of course, I couldn't eat, but I also started having issues breathing. My breath was rapid and shallow, and it took a lot of focus to keep from panicking. I thought I kept hearing a woman screaming in the distance, but it was just my little wheeze. It sucked to go from running strong this entire way, to being incapable of running the descent out of the snow (get up get DOWN was the closest thing I had to a mantra for this race). I've experienced this shortness of breath during some previous 50s, and now I wonder if I have exercise-induced asthma.

Hannie said she was having trouble getting a full breath of air...which caused a bit of alarm - with 30 miles to go, homegirl had a lot of breathing left to do. Hannie started wheezing rather loudly as we got towards the top and that's when the idea that I was going to be running past mile 85 started making a presence in my mind. 

Mile 75ish was when very uncomfortable cold feelings began to set in. My clothes were soaked through and I was using spare socks as gloves because my fingers were donezo. Hannie wanted a reminder to eat every 25-30 minutes and every time I had to move my fingers to fold up my sleeve and check my watch I wanted to scream.  All our talking pretty much ceased and for miles it was just the sound of the wind and Hannie’s wheezing (which had me in silent constant state of panic that she was having some sort of asthma attack).

 

There was an aid station at the bottom of that descent, mile 83, but we still had 3 miles until we would see my mom and dry clothes again. We developed a plan to simply get hot food at the bottom, then huff it to my mom and take our time getting warm and dry. That mile 83 aid station exceeded expectations. They had a giant torch(some leaf blower looking thing) they pointed at us and gave us trash bag ponchos before they sent us on our way.

We probably spent an hour at the mile 86 aid station. Chrissy expected to be done here, but big lesson learned: never expect to say good bye to your pacers until the finish line. It meant so much to have her with me the rest of the way, since I know she was at least as cold and miserable as I was. We exchanged every article of clothing (except the trash bags), grabbed our new friend Alex and made our way. Alex was in the trailer with us trying to get warm while we exchanged clothes.

With Hannie leading, me in the middle, and Alex at the caboose we started up what was to be the coldest climb of my life to date. Alex and I did the small talk thing about life and running, but the chit chat didn’t last long as the little warmth we gained from the aid station left us. The rain was still coming down hard and the trail was slick mud which made the slightly slanted trail even more of challenge. Again, me not knowing how long this climb was, kept muttering positive expressions to the group about how we are “doing great” and “will be at the top in no time”. Rain turned to snow, mud turned to bone chilling slush, and as we marched on Hannie’s breathing became worse and I could hear Alex sliding around behind me. I kept telling Hannie to eat even though I was too cold to heed my own words. Hannie marched with her hands on her hips which knocked into every branch and bush we walked by flinging snow back at me, but her breathing was more important than my cold face - so I said nothing and we marched on. That 5-mile climb took two hours. I was convinced there was an aid station at the top which had me dreaming warm thoughts during our frozen march.

There was no aid station. 

That final climb was endless and I had no recollection of landmarks near the top. Chrissy and Alex waited for me every time I stopped to catch my pathetic breath. The descent to the final aid station wasn't much easier. A steep, rocky jeep road, and we were in a cloud so thick I couldn't see 5 feet in front of me (I am 5'6"). I was able to descend a little faster than Chrissy and Alex, and she called out to me, "Hannie! It's the upside down!"  Indeed, I looked back through the dark haze, and their headlights were floating like those particles in Stranger Things.

The rest of the race was uneventful. One woman had passed me while we geared up back at the mile 86 aid station, and another passed me while I ate a hash brown at mile 93 aid station. 26 hours and 50 minutes. Good enough for 4th woman. It took about six hours after finishing for my breathing to normalize.

Chrissy and I at the finish. See? Fashion. Not pictured here are the trash bags and surgical gloves we wore to keep warm and dry.

I surprised myself in so many ways.

• My body worked normally: I peed regularly. 
• I never even infinitesimally considered dropping, despite the 60% drop rate. Even when I shivered soup all over myself, I trusted my plan to make things better. 
• I never dreamed of the feasts I would eat upon finishing. All I wanted to do was brush my teeth, take a warm shower, and sleep. 
• I never felt sleepy. 
• I didn't cry at the finish. I was too relieved to be done, and making it to the start was the greater accomplishment.
• The goop I hacked up in the shower was a foot long.

At John's previous hundreds, I would always ogle at the women who finished. I wondered what kind of metamorphosis their minds and bodies had gone through. Now that I've come through the other side of 100 miles, it feels a little different than I imagined.

It's true. My knees and ankles were wicked sore, I couldn't find my ankles anywhere let alone flex them, and the tips of my toes throbbed as if blisters formed from the depths of my bones. Before the race, I savored how lean and prepared my body felt. I'm glad I did, because I did not expect how swollen it would become.

Nothing about my mental state differed initially. After spending one evening in a stupor on my couch, I began to feel like something was going on in there. First of all, I finally understand why people think I'm crazy. In part because the weather was so terrible, but looking through other folks' photos from the day, I realized what a terrible thing I just did to myself. I didn't even notice the beautiful scenery or terrifying weather because of the tunnel vision I adapted to get me through. Running is such a beautiful thing to me, so to realize how grotesque this actually was surprised me.

Photo by Bethany Talbot Draper

But, much like any strange thing we all do to calm ourselves, it brought me so much joy. In addition to understanding that I'm a total weirdo, I feel I've retreated further into understanding myself and farther away from being understood by everyone else. I doubt I'll ever take the time to convince anyone of my sanity or solidarity to myself again. No one except myself can understand why I would run 100 miles. In fact, even the people I hold closest in my heart think I did it to try and be like John or something.

Acknowledgments

• That weather was definitely easier to run through than stand around in. Thanks to all the volunteers who braved that terrible weather, allowed their personal belongings to get trashed, and provided warmth out of their own pockets. 
• My mom and Chrissy made me so happy every time I saw them. They took such great care of me and I am so grateful for their support. 
• Shawn and Trudy came out to crew John. It took a lot of stress off Team Hannie, and it meant a lot to spend some time with them over the weekend. 
• All the Fort Collins, Boulder, and Hokie friendly faces I saw and heard out on the course. 
• Everyone back in the Fort who held down the fort. 
• Everyone out there in the world who might have been tracking me or otherwise thinking of me. 

Time to hunker down, fatten up, and finish my thesis. Running and school are so intertwined for me, so I can't really be proud of myself until both of these projects are done.

"Patient, methodical, strong." ca 2011, Johnny "Wasatch" Hart

Here is the culmination of what I've thought about while racing and training all of my life. High school cross country, handicapping high school track shin splints, college triathlon, and now this alienating time-consuming ultra running thing. All those years of miles have layered into this nice big Hannie cake, complete with a decor of mantras.

My first adventure in the San Juan Mountains, en route to Durango for Mountain Pulse camp.

Slow to be steady, relaxed to be ready

Developed: ca 2011 during my first ultra, Tahoe Rim Trail 50k, when I finished in road shoes with throbbing feet.
Relation to racing: Move slow enough to stay steady throughout, and relaxed enough to be ready to flip the switch.
Relation to life: You may have heard the metaphor, "it's a marathon, not a 5k," in the midst of long arduous tasks? ...No?

Imagine how terrifying for a dog: we pop up, gasping for breath the cold knocked out of us, frantically swimming to get terrestrial and dry. Jess and I on point, only day 1 of John's San Juan Ultra Camp.

Tread lightly, run mightily

Developed: summer 2016
Relation to racing: I developed this one while dealing with some crunching knee pain that forced me to run downhill (my favorite) tenderly for 5 weeks. By the time I was really running again, it happened to be down the first descent, 4 miles into El Vaquero. My knee was bomb proof. Bomb downhill proof. I have never had so much fun finishing a race, flying down that last 4 mile 2,500 ft descent to the finish. I yip-yeehaw-weeeed at everyone I passed.
Relation to life: Don't beat yourself up. Speak kindly to and believe in yourself. If you're unsure, proceed conservatively. When you're confident, roll with it.

Myke's photo from the San Juan Ultra Camp.

Flutter by like a butterfly, kick it in like a b*.

Developed: summer 2016
Relation to racing: This is an extension of "slow to be steady, relaxed to be ready." Now that you're done being patient, it's time to be kind. Reel 'em in with poise. After you've minded your p's and q's, retreat within yourself, deep down where vision flickers full of ultraviolet glitches, and fly.
Relation to life: My name, Hannah Louise, means graceful warrior, my mother likes to tell me.

Mirror Lake from Comanche Peak.

If these have all been too long to remember, here are some one word mantras that have helped me along.

Know

Developed: I'm not sure. You don't always know. It comes and goes.
Relation to racing: Knowing yourself is a little different from believing in yourself. You have to know, based on feel, the difference between a 7.4 and 7.5% grade and how to adjust your speed, even if it's just for five steps. Know when you can recover, push, and fly.
Relation to life: Knowing occurs on a much shorter time frame than believing. Life is hard, confusing, and full of hurt. Things can be completely falling apart at every turn of a downward spiral, but you have to know you are doing all the right little things to make it better.

Julia and Murph crusing on Comanche Peak. It is so good to have Montana friends in Colorado.

Pomé
Developed: Listening to Alexi Pappas speak on Runner's World podcast about training for the Olympics. She described a training session in Greece where he running partner repeated "pomé  pomé  pomé " to the beat of each footfall. That's not even how you spell it in Greek, but it means "push," and sounds remarkably more like a heartbeat than the English translation.
Relation to racing: This is literally what I repeated to myself during the last 16 miles of El Vaquero. I was such a robot that an hour into my mediation, when asked apologetically by a mother and daughter to take their photo in front of the Chinese Wall-esque scenery, I responded as a metronome, "it's-okay-it-won't-take-long."
Relation to life: Pay full attention to your intention.

I have a rule I am not allowed to stop to take photos during races (unless of course it's some one else asking), so this one from El Vaquero Loco 50k turned out pretty good!

Also, just have to give a shout out to Afton, WY, which is home to the world's largest elk antler arch (pictured here),  the world's largest intermittent spring, and a parade which encourages children to run out in front of moving vehicles to pick up candy off the ground.

Flatline, redline

Developed: Within the layers
Relation to racing:  It doesn't matter the distance. There is always some point, as long as you're feeling healthful, where you stop thinking about self preservation and focus on absolutely destroying yourself. Max relax or bust. You're going to take time off after this anyway. For the Bear, I plan to run the first 75 miles completely flatlining. This means knowing the slight difference between paces, knowing when to eat and drink, and knowing when to flip the switch and pomé the uphills and bomb the downhills.
Relation to life: I didn't know if I wanted to share my mantras before the Bear, in case I jinxed myself. I decided to because it's what I'm going to believe in, so it doesn't really matter what happens after the fact. I don't know yet if it's actually possible to flatline for 75 miles. I've only ever run 50 miles, and to be honest, I never had much of a switch to flip during those runs. Nonetheless, it's always good to have a plan.

Friends and dogs <3
(Two key characters, Murphy and Ardy, of the San Juan Ultra Camp not pictured here)

The first time of my life summer has betrayed me. The season I was born into has begun to feel unbearably stuffy and thick with haze. It's serpentine heat distorts daily life as if I'm plugged inside a snowglobe. The horizon blotched so close, yet never soupier to approach. Instead of falling off a cliff, I used to "find myself about to biff it on a run right before falling asleep." Now, I'm jolted awake by the morning's split of laser sun over the infamous eastern plains. 

Instead of golden and lithe, I feel weathered and caked stiff. The tall grass I dreamed of falling back in joyful exhaustion, now I want to lay into permanently. I feel for the first year of my life, I'm waiting for the onslaught of autumn.

Zion Traverse

On Wednesday, John and I set out on the Zion Traverse from Lee's Pass at 5:45 am. This was the moment I would forget my car key left in my Dad's trunk, wrapped up in the wad of things I decided I wouldn't need for the day. This wad I figured I would leave in my dad's car until we parted ways at the end of the week. This was the moment I would betray Howie's only wish for his wedding day, "Just get me to the church on time." I had reminded John, as the cliffs of Zion first loomed into view that week, that my dad was the reason for my ruthless impatience. To be fair, there was also the issue of: who the hell knows how to put on corsages or boutineers? Who plans to give themselves more than five minutes for this task? Thank you Dad, for shuttling us for this run.

First light along La Verkin Creek. 

We started smoothly, happy to be starting our adventure two days early due to a change in weather. Today, the weather was perfect. Breezy at the trail head, but cool and calm as we dropped down towards La Verkin Creek.

I told John my goal for the day was to treat this run like a 100 miler. "No matter how much I train, I won't be ready for 100 miles in September. And I'm not very ready for 50 miles now". Spoiler alert: this is not a good mind set to tackle a little 50 miler with. Or maybe it is.

I took my first and only biff of the day thirty minutes into the run, catching myself as per usual by rolling over my water bottle and hyper extending my fingie. It was fine, but uselessly sprained for a solid day. John and I chatted away for a while, but we quickly found a comfortable distance between ourselves. This is normally how we run, and anyway I was tired of his constant crop dustings.

This run is so beautiful. I truly think there were only 5-10 miles that were not completely jaw dropping gorgeous. Between the giant ponderosas, sage flats, oak grooves, and slickrock canyons, it seemed like we were never in the same landscape for more than 5 minutes.

My favorite part by far was dropping into the main Zion valley from West Rim Trail. I wondered if I was dreaming, and even remember thinking, "How could you ever want to take the shuttle back to the hotel at the bottom of this." The trails were so captivating!

The 3000 ft descent was paved and unforgiving but fast. We dropped through the throngs of people heading up to Angel's Landing. Someone called me a Ute? Some other people tried to run behind me. Finally on the valley floor, NOW we had arrived in Disneyland. We had read one of the first ZT write ups, in which Zion is referred to as "Disneyland." Let me clarify that greater Zion is a fantasyland. A verdant sanctuary that has always left me with a clear mind (although once a very stuffy head). The Zion Valley is Disneyland.

I waited in the bathroom line (just like at Disneyland) at the Grotto for a good 10 minutes. I don't know why. I thought toilet paper would be fun. John was tapping his feet, and since I could prolong no longer, we headed the mile up valley to catch the East Rim Trail. Now it was HOT.

Before we left Colorado, I was talking to my friend Hilly about her ZT. She traversed the opposite way from us, though she thought she would reverse if she did it again. Here I am about to say that I would reverse I were to do it again. We had dropped into Zion valley during the hottest and busiest point of the day. Getting that stretch done at mile 10 instead of 39, earlier in the morning, and not climbing out of the valley on tired legs, would beat the uphill finish running east to west. Anyway.

I told John I didn't feel good as we ran up valley along the pavement. My stomach ached for snacks all morning. I had not eaten a big dinner nor much of a breakfast. Snacking hard meant I was also drinking a lot of water. But now that I'd come down from heaven, I was a soup of nausea. I told John I would slog up the climb out of the canyon behind him, but after a half mile, I decided riding the shuttle to the hotel sounded nicer.

I have this problem where I am easily satisfied. I am supposed to run 5 hours? I can be easily satisfied with 3. So here I was, completely satisfied, hot, and nauseous. John was 1000 ft and nearly two miles ahead, waiting for me. I sat down for a half hour, drinking water and trusting he would love the run back down to see what was going on. I began to get stiff and thought I ought to move, so I figured I would just head down and leave John to figure it out. After inching down a couple switchbacks, I decided not communicating would be irresponsible, so I slowly started heading back up.

This beautiful canyon was right around the corner from where I decided to pout. John's photo

Of course, John dropped down. Once he saw me, he made me keep going. Thank god. The run was too beautiful not to finish. And anyway, I was pretending this was 100 miles, right? Good practice in feeling like quitting, but not. We finished the 50 miles in 12 hours on the dot, miraculously still under our 13 hour maximum goal. A pretty good time, considering 10 damn-good-coffee potty breaks/hour getting started, one bladder-to-bottle transfer hourly (because I refuse to drink from a hose), plenty of time to enjoy the views, and one long pout sesh. I should point out John could have finished at least three hours before me if he weren't such a gent.

This is a super convenient trail to get after. You can get water easily basically at mile 10 or 40 no matter which way you are going. Leave a jug of water (I was able to carry all my snacks while shacking hard) ~25 minutes up Kolob Terrace Road, throw the jug away and never (kidding!) come back. This is also my favorite road in the whole wide world I have biked on. Grab water (quickly!!!!) from Disneyland. We used only one spring (of the two or three options) for extra water, though it was also relatively cool for us with a high of 85 F. Hitchhiking to the East entrance is super easy.

A final humongous thanks to people willing to pick up dirty ass hitchhikers. Unbeknownst to everybody, we were leaking oozy gel from a mystery location in the back of their leather clad BMW. I cleaned it as best I could with my sweaty shirt while we went through the dark tunnel.

First sunshine on skin.

Wildcat Canyon, another highlight.

Old snags.

This one about to break.

Until next time, Zion.

Flaster than hoped

Over four years ago, I was entering my second year with the University of Montana's Triathlon team. I was severely injured...again...with shin splints. The year prior, I ran my first...and only...marathon. I was addicted to the concept of "my marathon time", and I immediately slated my year to build up for the same marathon and earn a new time. It never happened. For the next two years, I only continued my trend of shin splints, patella tendonitis, or plantar fascitis every six months.

Sometime around there, our foreign exchange friend Swiad (Svee-At) always wanted to hang out. John was a relatively new staple in my life (thanks to UMTri), and each night I spent with John was typified by a text ,"what is your training tomorrow?" Typical German.

But Swiad was a binding force. He showed up early for core with the team, swam faster than Ed, and (still) inspired us by his inclination to travel. I will never forget the night he followed John and I back to my home in the brick oven. I had been raging about my shin splints, and he was convinced a poultice from home would work for me. I don't even remember the germanic word the original recipe called for, but we decided cream cheese would be a good substitute.

It didn't work.

Rewind to over five years ago.

I ran the Two Bear marathon in 3:39:42 in September, got shin splints in October, and officially joined UMTri in November. John asked me to go with him and Ed on their second annual training camp to Arizona in January. We joke it was our first date, although it was probably actually our second or third. As a break from the rigors of swimbikerun, John had been training judiciously for the Phoenix Rock n' Roll marathon. Before our departure, I drew a picture of him crossing the finish line in 2:44:--. Thanks to this early act of love, I influenced his finish time to be 2:42:--.

So, I haven't run a road marathon since September 12, 2010. In many ways, I never wanted to. Trail running brings freedom and frolic to my life in a million more ways than marathon training ever could. It also helps I haven't been injured in two years. Nonetheless, all this time, I still imagine "my marathon time" floating invisibly over my head. I knew it wasn't 3:39:42. I've gotten older, stronger, and run thousands more miles since then. Many days of 4+ hour runs in the mountains, I would still entertain the thought that this digital clock of "my marathon time" was infinitesimally ticking down over my bobbing head as I cruised down the trails.

For all my religious road run training, my taper was a little silly. Early in the week John and I backpacked ~7 miles into the Superstition Wilderness for some quality unplugged sleep.

Due to my superstitious fear that speed work precedes injury, I hadn't done consistent workouts since UMTri days. Definitely no long work outs. John coached me through a two month training block leading up to the marathon, and the weekly prescription was tough to swallow. Most weeks had three work outs of max efforts, tempo, or marathon pace work. Most work outs were 13-16 miles. Most Tuesday workouts I would go straight to the weight room for over an hour.

During all these years of picturing "my marathon time" ticking down over my head, I finally had the opportunity to imagine it ticking up as I ran to the finish line.

A happy five year anniversary trip, rounded off with deja vu at the Phoenix Rock n' Roll. My new marathon time: 3:17:30. May it tick down unseen for awhile, for I miss the trails.

Unbirthday Ode to Murph

Last week Muprh turned two and a half. That is really not that long, but maybe it's only the 0.5 that makes him seem so fresh.

Sometimes I wish we never got Murphy. We meet this stub-nosed puff at six weeks, and before we know it, he will (hopefully) be 16 and fading.

Time passes at different speeds, and more frequently I feel like it is passing faster. Day after day, I enter a time warp at school of microscope and computer screen vortices. All the sudden, I'm back home, fixated on Murph's sweet face. Night after night, I enter another time warp of sleep and dreams. All of the sudden, Murph has flopped his poinky elbows on me in time for our morning run.

So I don't really know where my life goes anymore, or how much longer my sweet Murph will be in it. Sometimes I think Murphy makes me realise how fast life goes by, but most of the time he makes me happy to stop and enjoy it.

To know this dog every day of his life is enough to stop time. There's always enough time for a kiss on the muzzle because he naps with his paws stacked, hind toes to nose.... Always enough time for a squeeze against the cabinets because that's where he likes to be when we cook.... Always time for a conversation, because he is the most human animal I know.... And definitely always time to follow the black spot on his Murphmallow butt down some trail, no matter how familiar.

I know there will come a time when Murph will blink out of our life, like how nearly every day of my life passes. Even then, there will still be time for running, and conversation, and cooking, and a kiss on your cheek. Life has never been so sweet, and definitely never as speedy, as with these two in my life.

Thanks Myke for the photo, and Chrissy for yet another fitting nickname for Murphy Humphry Fitzgerald the horsedog who's 10 hands high. You make life sweet too.

Things I know.

I know water is important.
It is the most valuable--simple--abused resource for humanity and ecosystems.
I know water fuels everything, biotic and abiotic alike.
It is the catalyst that fuels reactions in a dendritic down-sloped laboratory all around the world.
Water produces algae, insects, and fish for infinite biotic energy, and it wears down granite, limestone, and sandstone over bajillions of years.
Water is how the earth moves. Grows, decays, rubs away. A yearlong time lapse of one stream would breath in (raging and overflowing) and out (boney and dry). Then, if you lined up all the world's stream time lapses, they would make the most awesome wave. A spring storm crescendo here, summer doldrum diminuendo there.
I also know water is highly reflective. I don't mean of our ignorant neglect--we don't know what we've lost. But we can see the moon's sliver on the darkest night and the stars' glimmer with the moon at its height. By day, depending on the angle of the sun, streams reflect pure black or white. If you get lost, you can follow a streams' tendrils by day or night.
I never understood one thing about water. How to hold one water? If I could just hold one water, I could have an everlasting vital--simple--resource for breath and light. But I know water is a covalent continuum, and you can never hold the same water you held a minute ago.

One way I cope with stress is to play a game where I imagine myself perched on the slippery rocks in the river just down the road, or someplace further away.  There's fish, particles, and insects incognito all around me, and it just keeps going. Sometimes the game is going back to that branch between my zipping road bike and the tiny creek I always follow. Spiders, insects and caterpillars there all cruising along still. That's how I reassure myself that everything is fine. Island Lake, there still, just like it always will. I can stress hard that my peers are constantly out-succeeding me, but I can also take myself back to an alpine lake I ran to last weekend, or the weekend before. I've been so blessed to chase so much trail this summer that instead of falling off a cliff the moment before sleep, I find myself about to biff it right before my dancing feet can lull me to sleep.

I was born on summer's solstice. Once a friend told me summer made me golden. Regardless of whether I simply tan well, or because I was born into long light and growth, it's a compliment that has always stuck with me. I literally measure my life by summers. When I think of all the beautiful places I have had the honor to visit this summer, I am tempted to write out: this has life the been summer of my best, but I can't. I have to scramble it because I know it actually just keeps getting better.

I can never spell exercise.

I few days ago I came home from schwork feeling slightly less obsessive depressive about my thesis research. I just triumphed at the gym! For the first time in months, no meat heads or hip niggles prevented me from doing single leg box jumps or guided squats. Although I feel like the last year of grad school has been countless wrong decision after wrong decision, I can at least feel victorious over this. Just as my adrenaline was slightly dulled by the irrational thought that this was the only thing I had going for me, John told me to read this Time article. "Why Exercising is a Higher Priority than my Career," singing me praises!

I've written on this theme numerous times in my blog. I fully believe exercise is the solution to most physical and mental health issues. As the author states, "when I exercise, it makes me better in every role I have, whether its as a husband, father, friend or entrepreneur." However, I cringe at how staunch the author sounds. Your career--and especially your family--should definitely take higher priority over exercise occasionally. I hate to think what a drag this guy would be working as Lani's technician, the habitus of passerine birds dictating his work schedule. This article also failed to mention the myriad of other ways people can rejuvenate their life balance. While I would love for every human to enjoy exercise bar none, I recognize that every one has their own special way of getting their head on straight at end the day.

The compatibility between work and training is the most utilitarian answer to achieving the utmost in both. Not that I am claiming to be the most excellent budding scientist in my department. I am just saying that however balance is achieved, it should usually be given top priority. This article is extreme, but I think most people need to realize how seriously beneficial regular exercise is. Likewise, some athletes can be extreme, and we should recognize the severity of taking this article too seriously.

A big s/o to my friend Lani who turns what could potentially be an all-consuming stress project into a fun adventure complete with belly laughs.. This is us in our P.P.E.

When I was in the field, I worked an average of 11 hours per day for 12 days straight. I was able to eek out 40 miles of running, which is what I normally see in 5-6 days. C'est la vie, I could not put exercising first for these 12 days, but I would certainly not neglect it. So here are my tips for training when life ebbs on your flow and work becomes the top priority.  These particularly apply to life in the Piceance (almost rhymes with nuance, although I prefer to think it sounds like fiancée).

10 Don't eat, you die. Same for not drinking water. This is amazingly common sense, but it is wondrous how such a simple concept is overlooked when you are trying to stay energized through a long day.

9 Embrace life. Its jelly knees, its flues, its stuck toe joints, its travel, its work, its play.

8 Field work usually means a rare type of shoe for your foot. This summer for me it means hiking boots and pinchy steel toe boot covers. Hot spots + bug bites = cankles galore. In the past, it meant swamp foot waders. Beware, this is an easy and inconspicuous way to get injured (see number 4).

7 For trail time, find a cattle drive trail and pray you are not trespassing.

6 Cross train when you can. It's hard to access a weight room, or even throw down a yoga mat for some core work when you are living in a trailer with three other people (don't be that girl). Take opportunities to engage yourself. For example, when our septic system was clogged, and we needed to use an old Christmas tree to poke the poop out of the way, we also needed someone to javelin the poop stick far far away. This was my opportunity to use some life skills FEC taught me.

5  I find it snooty how athletes call "work outs" a specific session, yet everyday joe's know a work out is a work out. This goes to show everything is context dependent.

4 Continuing on that topic, you deserve a rest day after twelve days in the Piceance. Even if you already took five of those twelve days off (see number 8).

3 Continuing on that topic, get your "work outs" in before you are pooped. I got in a fartlek, a 20 minute tempo, and sprints post-run the three occasions I felt up for it.

2 You are you so don't listen to me.

1 Be the best you can in every moment.

Thanks to my friend  Zander for so timely sharing this article.