tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50846607465014514012024-03-12T22:11:35.782-07:00Ah, Ah AlaskaTrail running in the Last FrontierCinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.comBlogger211125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-65396569358510154672015-10-17T20:20:00.005-07:002015-10-17T20:20:55.403-07:00I've moved!Exciting news: I've moved my blog over to Wordpress, where I've designed a cool site along with a large photo slide gallery at the bottom highlighting Alaska running pictures.<br />
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Stop on over for a visit, okay? We can eat a few sports gels and catch up.<br />
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<a href="http://cinthiaruns.com/">http://cinthiaruns.com/</a><br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-17893648193032738702015-06-25T16:20:00.002-07:002015-06-25T16:20:15.647-07:00Oh, Alaska, I love youWe have been hit with incredible weather. I mean: Incredible. Warm days, sunshine, clear skies. What I love most are the nights and the long twilight that stretches out past midnight. I do the majority of my running in late afternoon/early evening and most of my hiking/climbing late at night. There's something about the twilight that fills me with energy. I feel wild, and free, and so damned alive that I can barely stand it.<br />
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I've been trail running like crazy. Not racing much. I did the <a href="http://www.goseawolves.com/SportSelect.dbml?SPID=145508&SPSID=865211">Mayor's Half Marathon</a> this past weekend and will post a recap soon. I unfortunately missed the Mr. Miles 24 Hour Race due to being sick and, mainly, an urgent novel deadline that will require my staying up half the night for the next three weeks, which is a bit of a bummer.<br />
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My current favorite run (I have so many favorites!) is Prospect Heights parking lot to Glen Alps trailhead, a long and slow 3.5 mile slog over continuous uphill, rocky footing in places but oh, the views. I love how the air feels the higher I run, the cooler currents against my shoulders, and the occasional and welcome breeze.<br />
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Last week we saw a lynx. It stood in the middle of the trail and then slid off into the bushes, where we watched it stalk a bird (it missed) and then head back down the trail. It turned once and looked at us and it was so magical. It had large paws, which made no sound as it walked, and wonderful ears. I loved it. It such an odd and wonderful feeling to know that while I'm running, the trails and mountains are filled with wild creatures going about their lives.<br />
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Nothing much happening. Running, writing, writing, writing, working (some), reading (some), eating (a whole hell of a lot) and sleeping (as little as possible because hey, it's summer in Alaska and there are trails to run and mountains to climb).<br />
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<b>Weekly mileage: </b>Averaging about 55 miles a week, with a long run on Saturday (22-26 miles) followed by a shorter long run on Sunday (10-12 miles), both on hilly trails.<br />
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<b>Reading: </b>Just finished <i>The Baker's Daughter</i> by Sarah McCoy and it is so, so good. I highly recommend.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-8439530946281448652015-06-08T04:06:00.000-07:002015-06-08T04:08:55.674-07:00A race, a small bonk and so much friggin' beautyWhere do I begin.<br />
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I haven't been posting much but I have been running. A lot. I've also been writing. A lot. And working, but not as much (priorities, people).<br />
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Here's the short rundown.<br />
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Last week on my birthday, I raced the Knoya Ridge with Sarana and MM. We had a blast. MM ran ahead and Sarana and I talked and laughed most of the way up the mountain (try laughing when climbing 2,900 feet in just over three miles and you'll see what I mean). Sarana is a super tough, though, and a bona fide rock climber, and she took off toward the end and left me in the dust.<br />
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It was a great time, a great day. It did make me realize that I'm more of a runner than a climber. I don't seem to have the thigh strength for climbing. I love being up in the mountains but I love running in the mountains more than climbing in the mountains. There's something about the act of running, the rhythm, the way my body moves and flows, that entices me. I can't seem to get enough of it. I hope I never quit. I hope I'm still running until the day I die.<br />
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After that, there were many trail runs with kick-ass elevation.<br />
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And a run to Rabbit Lake in the sunshine that was too incredible for words plus snow in the higher elevation. It was dirty snow but still, I burrowed down and found a clean handful and ate it. It tasted like heaven, so cold and clear in my mouth.<br />
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And then, yesterday, I got to visit my favorite port-o-potty at the Campbell Creek Trails during my 24-mile run.<br />
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You might think I'm a bit crazy but this port-o-potty rocks. It's always clean. It doesn't smell icky. It's large and feels open and airy. Whenever I pass it on a run, I have to stop to say hello. Okay, that's a lie: I usually stop because it's a good excuse to sit down for a moment, and sitting down is a most welcoming thing when running 24 miles. So I stopped. I sat. I visited. And then I got back up and I ran and ran and ran, until I bonked at mile 22 and wanted to stop and sit down but alas, there were no port-o-potties around. The odd thing, and why I like this port-o-potty so much, is that they aren't available on most Alaska trails and then there's this one, sitting out in the middle of the woods as if an afterthought.<br />
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I've upped my mileage to past 50 miles these past weeks and I am hungry All. The. Time. Like starving. I've been doing back-to-back long runs on weekends, which is where most of my mileage originates, and when I finish I want to cut open my veins and fill them with food. I'm that hungry. It's ridiculous. I can't imagine how much I'd eat if I ever ran 100 miles a week. It's scary to even contemplate.<br />
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Next weekend I'm running the <a href="http://www.willowrunningcompany.com/home/mr-miles-24-hours-of-alaska">Mr. Miles Alaska 24-Hour Race</a>. I'm a bit bummed about the title: Shouldn't it be Mr. and Ms. Miles? Whatever the case, I'm hoping to test my gear and nutrition while mindlessly running 4.5 mile loops through the Alaska twilight. My goal is to reach 50+ miles. We're taking a tent, sleeping bag and MM will go off hiking and do normal stuff as I mindlessly run my loops. I'm hoping to sleep and relax with my Kindle during rest time. And eat, of course. It will be my first attempt at an ultra distance and I so hope that I don't end up collapsed on the ground, weeping uncontrollably. If I do weep, I hope I have the good sense to keep on running.<br />
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Have a great week, everyone.<br />
<br />
<b>This week's stats:</b><br />
Monday: Rest and weights<br />
Tuesday: 8<br />
Wednesday: 4<br />
Thursday: 9<br />
Friday: Rest!<br />
Saturday: 24<br />
Sunday: 10<br />
<b>Total: </b>55Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-62867112890577151642015-05-25T18:23:00.002-07:002015-05-25T18:23:44.039-07:00Another week, a lot more runsWell, heck, another week's gone by. Where did the time go? Oh, yeah, I was running for a good part of it (but not as much as I would have liked).<br />
<br />
First though, I have to say Happy Memorial Day to my father, a Korean War vet who died when I was six. I never really knew him well, since I was so young when he departed, but I think he would have been proud of how I turned out (except for those not so stellar years in my early twenties when I went, ummm, a little wild). I think we would have much to talk about, if his ghost every decides to visit (please visit, Daddy, okay?).<br />
<br />
But back to runs. This week was another gearing-toward-longer-weekend-runs week, and while the beginning was easy enough, the ending kicked my butt, and in the best possible way.<br />
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Early in the week runs:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain sheep! See them? Those little white dots?</td></tr>
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Saturday's long run was slated for 20. MM ran the first 10 miles with me on the Campbell trails. It was raining and we were practically the only ones out. I didn't take any photos but it was an amazing run, the light filmy and dreamy, due to the rain, and the footing soft and muddy, and we ran for almost nine miles without passing anyone. We ran us some hills (hills!) and some dips and rollers and then it was time for MM to drive off and leave me to run all the way home alone. In the rain. Which I loved.<br />
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The way home was over paved bike trails. I've noticed that running trails is quite a bit more difficult than pavement. There are more and steeper hills, rougher footing, more concentration needed due to rougher footing, and did I mention more hills? And so the second part of the run, on cushy pavement, was quite a bit faster than the first (negative splits, baby). I never bonked or wanted to slow down. The only low point was when three drunk men hassled me around Valley of the Moon Park. I told them to "Leave me alone, thank you," and pointed my mace in their faces and they scattered. Still, it sucks that women have to worry about being hassled when running alone. It really pisses me off, in fact.<br />
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When I arrived home my Garmin read exactly 21.16 miles and, best of all, MM had dinner ready, a huge spread of rice and past and veggies and tofu. What a man! What a life!<br />
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Spent the remainder of the evening foam rolling while watching "The Squid and the Whale."<br />
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Sunday came around and I popped out of bed and, with my tired legs, tackled 10 miles out at Kincaid Park. For those of you who don't know, Kincaid Park is a series of winding ski trails, and I get lost every. single. time. I run there. It's also all hills, with almost no (no!) flat areas. My legs protested the <i>whole</i> time. I never reached that happy I'm-running-and-everything-is-glorious phase but I made it through, which is good because after this coming week, which is a step-down week, my mileage increases dramatically (gulp!).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIf5h2Ev2xu7Zsdb3ac6Bhfikcp2aw_ehCzb8gihyQMQnX_lpU4LHbm95YdSSnkGxR0XtftnP5o-KWqsxaqeCGtiArj1NwU8J7w114eqQRN3sypok8AfgEe_nDd16kcoP2pCMzkUFlAI/s1600/kincaid+moose.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiIf5h2Ev2xu7Zsdb3ac6Bhfikcp2aw_ehCzb8gihyQMQnX_lpU4LHbm95YdSSnkGxR0XtftnP5o-KWqsxaqeCGtiArj1NwU8J7w114eqQRN3sypok8AfgEe_nDd16kcoP2pCMzkUFlAI/s640/kincaid+moose.JPG" width="558" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Moose, out at Kincaid Park. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old, abandoned car surrounded by green (green!) along the Jodhpur Trail.</td></tr>
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And oh, here's the elevation chart for the Resurrection Pass Ultra Race. If I can make it to mile 30, then it's basically all downhill. I know it will still be tough and awful and agonizing, but no major or steep climbs. It's just making it to mile 30. The total elevation gain is slightly under 5,000 feet, and since I've run 15 miles with about 2,400 gain, it should be doable. Not easy, but doable (fingers and toes crossed).<br />
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<b>Weekly stats: </b><br />
Monday: Rest!<br />
Tuesday: 5.2 miles, hills<br />
Wednesday: 9 miles, fastish pace<br />
Thursday: 6 miles<br />
Friday: Rest<br />
Saturday: 21.15<br />
Sunday: 10, hills (some big ones, too)<br />
<b>Total: 51.35</b><br />
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<b>What I'm reading: </b><i>Epilogue: A Memoir</i> by Will Boast, and it is so, so good.<br />
<br />
Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-78619785970133445772015-05-18T06:00:00.000-07:002015-05-18T06:00:03.320-07:00I bonk, and I long to sit in a port-o-potty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My first 18-miler in over two years is in the bag (in the shoe?) and it was everything a long run should be: Challenging, glorious, tough, meditative, frustrating and joyful.<br />
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I didn't feel good when I began. I wasn't sick; I just didn't feel energized and excited, the way I usually feel before a run.<br />
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I ran the Campbell Trails, with loops around the Service and Hillside trails, for added hills in the beginning, just to make sure my legs were nice and trashed. The day before, I did a 5.5 mile tempo run, again, to make sure my legs were fatigued.<br />
<br />
And they were. In fact, they fell off around mile 8 (Mile 8! Not even half of the way!). They decided that they had had enough, thank you very much, and while I kept on running, they departed for a bit and I felt only heaviness where they should have been.<br />
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By that point, the only thing I could think of was: There's a port-o-potty in half a mile and then I'll get to sit down for a minute.<br />
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Yes, I actually <i>wanted </i> to sit down on an icky port-o-potty seat! In fact, it became a song that played over and over inside my head: In half a mile I'll get to sit down. In a quarter of a mile I'll get to sit down. In 500-feet I'll get to sit down...<br />
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And then, there it was! The port-o-potty! My shining blue knight of armor!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lone port-o-potty on the trail. Why is it here? I have no idea.</td></tr>
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And so I sat. I did my business. But as so many things we long for, it wasn't at all what I expected. It was smelly and I didn't linger. I barely sat at all.<br />
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I wish I could say that it got better from there, but it didn't. I bonked two miles later, up by the Tank Trail. I was only 10 miles in, barely past the halfway point, and something inside my head said: Okay, that's it, we're done here.<br />
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I stuffed down a low-glycemic Gu (<a href="http://www.chocolate9.com/">Chocolate #9</a>), added a handful of nuts and trudged wearily onward. I was barely running by that point. I probably could have walked faster.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Nice view but bad bonk.</td></tr>
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Than wham!, a mile later I suddenly felt better. In fact, I felt great. The sun shined through the spruce trees and I was on my favorite trails (Black Bear and Brown Bear and Moose Meadow) and there were hills and downhills and soft spruce needles over the trail.<br />
<br />
I passed a woman in a blue shirt going the opposite direction and we stopped and momentarily chatted and later, when I was too far away to go back and catch up with her, I wished I had gotten her name. Not many women run alone on the side trails and something about her reminded me of myself; it would have been cool to occasionally meet up for runs together, to get to know one another better. It felt kind of bittersweet, as if I had missed an opportunity, and maybe I had.<br />
<br />
Regardless, I felt increasingly strong the longer I ran and picked up the pace the last two miles. In fact, I couldn't stop smiling, and I know I must have looked like a crazy woman, all sweaty and dirty and smiling like a dork. Yet I was so happy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9Vkt4XxLk-1N5eRRacthpa_tzMB7MLsqV7N2VfBO3gF7nAcg07o2tclSsc8tjaThmPP0qsyi35YRAc6X1usQUBv3UKOHC4qkcL380RSqrrR0_IVZZklaM8PtqXT4qm8et6gVu2sjxeA/s1600/DSCN1358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9Vkt4XxLk-1N5eRRacthpa_tzMB7MLsqV7N2VfBO3gF7nAcg07o2tclSsc8tjaThmPP0qsyi35YRAc6X1usQUBv3UKOHC4qkcL380RSqrrR0_IVZZklaM8PtqXT4qm8et6gVu2sjxeA/s640/DSCN1358.JPG" width="528" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahhhh....heaven.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sometimes I feel sorry for people who only run pavement, who never venture out on the trails. Do they have any idea what they're missing? The smells and sights and the overwhelming and vast silences, broken only by bird calls and the crack of a branch off in the brush. Yet, probably they find their own sense of peace and serenity, probably they experience the same amount of joy and challenge during their own runs. Still, I can't quite imagine such a life. It's obviously not for me.<br />
<br />
<b>Weekly stats:</b><br />
Monday: Rest!<br />
Tuesday: 5.4 miles and weights<br />
Wednesday: 9.2 miles<br />
Thursday: Rest and weights<br />
Friday: 5.5 miles tempo<br />
Saturday: 18.2 miles<br />
Sunday: 10 miles<br />
<b>Weekly total: 48.3 </b><br />
<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-56912575141053261842015-05-11T05:57:00.001-07:002015-05-11T14:29:44.993-07:00More bears, and 25 milesWell, it's been quite the weekend.<br />
<br />
It started on Friday, when I stuffed my face with my homemade bean dip and half a bag of organic corn chips (organic = no guilt). I stayed up ridiculously late writing, and Saturday I popped up all excited. Because it was my Long Run Day.<br />
<br />
I don't know about you but I look forward to my long run. I think about it and obsess about it and worry about it. It thrills me, in an odd sort of way.<br />
<br />
I planned on running the Turnagain Arm Trail, from Potter all the way past Rainbow and then back again for about 16 miles. This is a tough trail, with ruts and roots and iffy footing, and lots of killer hills. The total elevation gain is about 1,300 feet, one-way. Which means over 2,000 feet roundtrip.<br />
<br />
I secretly enjoy hills, enjoy the pain and the struggle and the muscle burn. What makes the Turnagain Trail so obstinate, however, are the oh-so-many rocks and roots littering the trail so that you have to pick up your feet higher than normal. It might not sound like a big deal but trust me, after about 10 miles it kind of is.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKnajBpCmhWTV5lJLPJjo680mEZY90ig_nLc4HSmQJHtzRIIGTf4s-FIqOt7iq-JtX2cMxWZh1RCeVj8JsfbPgh9_9tJIdJVAYwqE_su9WD_t64FbYUFInHjUETmApGOr9Iy7K1SaD1A/s1600/roots.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKnajBpCmhWTV5lJLPJjo680mEZY90ig_nLc4HSmQJHtzRIIGTf4s-FIqOt7iq-JtX2cMxWZh1RCeVj8JsfbPgh9_9tJIdJVAYwqE_su9WD_t64FbYUFInHjUETmApGOr9Iy7K1SaD1A/s320/roots.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roots, just waiting to trip me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was cloudy as I drove to the trail and drizzling by the time I arrived. I wore a short sleeve shirt, shorts and my arm warmers, with my Nathan hydration pack strapped my back. The trail was pretty much empty. I passed two people the first half mile and then no one else for over three miles.<br />
<br />
By then it was raining, hard, and by the time I ran down the big Rainbow hill (wheee!), over a mile and about 1,000 feet elevation drop, I was soaked and cold. Really cold. My shoelaces were loose but I couldn't work my hands to retie them.<br />
<br />
I warmed up on the mile of switchbacks back up, up, up the hill. By the time I reached the top, it was hailing. Hailing, for christ's sake. I was miserable yet strangely exhilarated. Because everything was wet and the air smelled good and the footing was soft and no one else was around. I didn't see anyone until I hit McHugh Creek, over four miles away. By then it had stopped raining, and my shorts were almost dry. And I passed, no lie, a guy wearing a puffy winter jacket, winter hat and gloves. And I had on shorts, hee, hee. He gaped at me as if I were crazy.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY6BSES5HHz0HDmVABhORGIrHDuTWQo7v13xTFJNYRC2NgRcaQ6ICJxk-05QX8avbY37riaBzIJ7w-5xCvXpjZLMvdNptnFHPagMNlBSt8l-rYn1IweRuMPNmb-JBB2M1tTSQjs5qFYg/s1600/DSCN1340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHY6BSES5HHz0HDmVABhORGIrHDuTWQo7v13xTFJNYRC2NgRcaQ6ICJxk-05QX8avbY37riaBzIJ7w-5xCvXpjZLMvdNptnFHPagMNlBSt8l-rYn1IweRuMPNmb-JBB2M1tTSQjs5qFYg/s640/DSCN1340.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the top of the McHugh Creek hill.</td></tr>
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As soon as I hit the Potter section of the trail, I cheered up. The footing was better and the sun peeked out and I felt so happy that I couldn't stop smiling.<br />
<br />
Then I saw the oddest thing: A man in shorts and a white doctor's jacket sprinted out of the brush. Close behind was a guy in a suit and a hardhat. I couldn't help it, I had to stop and ask.<br />
<br />
"Excuse me, are you filming a movie?" I said.<br />
<br />
"No," the suited guy laughed. "We're on a scavenger hunt."<br />
<br />
I loved it! A bunch of geeky people out on the trails looking for treasures. I wanted to take their photo but they hooted and ran back into the brush.<br />
<br />
A mile later I came across a black bear at the top of a hill. It looked at me and scampered off toward the woods. By then the sun was out again and I was almost finished with the run and life was good.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrZiPHoOSEI2kpTDY5Ry_43HwhKZHBJU4_AUQCycT1JaDnbGx30cUWQ_Ibhg2OHfyzg4HbOWQAfHdcxnZIuq8BWYzrhdIhXZZuoOhyphenhyphenZfHGUcIrDgKlBtdzuycXY1Y2378hVGSJAb_QO0/s1600/DSCN1350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrZiPHoOSEI2kpTDY5Ry_43HwhKZHBJU4_AUQCycT1JaDnbGx30cUWQ_Ibhg2OHfyzg4HbOWQAfHdcxnZIuq8BWYzrhdIhXZZuoOhyphenhyphenZfHGUcIrDgKlBtdzuycXY1Y2378hVGSJAb_QO0/s640/DSCN1350.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guess who's waiting around the corner?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then I came across a bear that wasn't so accommodating, a blackie sow with two cubs. I ran around a curve and there they were. The cubs scurried up a tree but Mama Bear wasn't having any of that. She stood her ground. I backed up. She moved toward me. I backed up some more. As soon as I was out of sight I stopped and gave them time to get off the trail. I ran back around the curve again--Mama Bear was still there, and she was sitting in the middle of the trail as if to claim it as her own (a bear, sitting in the middle of the trail!).<br />
<br />
When she saw me, she got up and walked toward me again. I back away until I was around the curve and I waited, longer this time.<br />
<br />
The thing is, I had to pass that section of trail in order to get to the trailhead where I parked my car. I couldn't go around, since the brush was thick and I didn't trust the bear. So I waited. And waited. I was hungry and cold and my legs were beginning to tighten so finally I ventured slowly forward around the curve again. I was sure that they would be gone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9uoE8vQbkQ2H_r73nZzFeCKebXlBGUYrCnGDkE_e1AJfehTHVC7iaJtrX7hv5ftyNguc2TaweNuKkdUNNkawuhrzqNPz_juqrPq9kKBoHOJB7Uu3ISPXe1sS4W3nJtVWphcHRziNIXI/s1600/DSCN1351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="596" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9uoE8vQbkQ2H_r73nZzFeCKebXlBGUYrCnGDkE_e1AJfehTHVC7iaJtrX7hv5ftyNguc2TaweNuKkdUNNkawuhrzqNPz_juqrPq9kKBoHOJB7Uu3ISPXe1sS4W3nJtVWphcHRziNIXI/s640/DSCN1351.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama Bear peeking staking out the trail mere moments before walking toward me.</td></tr>
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<br />
They weren't. As soon as the sow spotted me, she came toward me again and this time she meant business. She walked fast. It wasn't a charge but it wasn't a lumbering gait, either. I booked in the opposite direction. I walked fast but didn't run because you are never supposed to run from a bear. When I looked over my shoulder, she was gaining on me. I was so scared my legs wobbled. As soon as I got around another corner, temporarily out of sight, I sprinted like hell. I didn't look back for about a quarter of a mile. When I did, the bear was no longer there. I was so relieved that I cried.<br />
<br />
I ended up running back to the previous trailhead and getting a ride to where my car was parked. This cut 1.5 miles off of my run, which really bummed me out. But being charged by an ornery black bear would have bummed me out even more, so I think I made the right call. Still, it shook me up. Except for when a bear charged my dog a few years back (that one was kind of my dog's fault), I don't normally encounter assertive bears. Usually, they scamper off as soon as they hear or see me.<br />
When I got home, I told the story over and over to MM until I know he was sick of hearing it, poor guy, but I couldn't stop thinking about how damned big that bear look, and how damned small I am. (I had bear spray with me but it was a little canister, probably too little to have don much good. I'm totally buying a larger canister before venturing out on that trail again.)<br />
<br />
Sunday I had 10 miles scheduled so MM and I hit the Campbell Trails for an easy-paced run. It was close to divine, one of those runs where we talked and laughed and enjoyed ourselves and each other's company. We didn't see any bears but we did come across three moose. I didn't take their photo, though. Sometimes I like to pause and savor, without interruption. So that's exactly what we did.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHg00ozLSzUTKQS3VPdn-5FFs6g337c1MdYFYB0PmAADB1zem-N7zuJ9vfR2GvK4zxj3FDE-UBDRxKzwKvFUmoHzTOUqkbjXxrzodnRaqbRXFFHovUxQNVRyWq865LtDTdyQC9J1j4Tc/s1600/DSCN1353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvHg00ozLSzUTKQS3VPdn-5FFs6g337c1MdYFYB0PmAADB1zem-N7zuJ9vfR2GvK4zxj3FDE-UBDRxKzwKvFUmoHzTOUqkbjXxrzodnRaqbRXFFHovUxQNVRyWq865LtDTdyQC9J1j4Tc/s640/DSCN1353.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brown Bear trail--pure heaven.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkT4pN5IzSrr-H1w8eUq8AAelNjpBJhqO0vi9NvqfxjpgRq-TcQXlEv05v6R59vY5e7w6BiKKA5e3knqXbFJVj3JfNOU-00G0ysiv_X9hlXfWsQRxNT3rEBleevcPTLjHP8wDYovDQMI/s1600/DSCN1355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkT4pN5IzSrr-H1w8eUq8AAelNjpBJhqO0vi9NvqfxjpgRq-TcQXlEv05v6R59vY5e7w6BiKKA5e3knqXbFJVj3JfNOU-00G0ysiv_X9hlXfWsQRxNT3rEBleevcPTLjHP8wDYovDQMI/s640/DSCN1355.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Hope everyone has a great week.<br />
<br />
<b>Last week's stats:</b><br />
Monday: Rest<br />
Tuesday: 7 mile tempo run<br />
Wednesday: Race!, 4.75 miles<br />
Thursday: 6.5 miles<br />
Friday: Rest--weights, upper and lower body<br />
Saturday: 14.5 miles<br />
Sunday: 10.5 miles<br />
<b>Total: 42.5 miles </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-26460238648835480472015-05-08T14:48:00.002-07:002015-05-08T14:48:56.960-07:00Bears, moose and first race of the seasonWe kicked off the spring with our running club's first run of the season, and I didn't totally suck. This was news to me since I'd done <i>no </i>speedwork (ummm, what is speedwork?) and very little pace work. I also hadn't raced in two years. Add in that it was a 7.5km and I've never been known for my speed and, well my only expectation was to finish without puking.<br />
<br />
I'm happy to say that I did just that. In fact, I felt strong the whole way. I realize that this probably means that I didn't push myself enough but so what, eh? I had fun, and that's what counts.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvZMExcKDBuzwvG_aSTjmBwq2T301_PX-XWuYwEaSbi7UJ9YGFsB4xSRNGg4kRNPRokPBK8LxkE7Fe2qGjWkBS3HaQiUXMaKCvf-SrhLoYM1Z9UqOaenNrOipcuA8HCu9ASCkqAVPzV8/s1600/First+race.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlvZMExcKDBuzwvG_aSTjmBwq2T301_PX-XWuYwEaSbi7UJ9YGFsB4xSRNGg4kRNPRokPBK8LxkE7Fe2qGjWkBS3HaQiUXMaKCvf-SrhLoYM1Z9UqOaenNrOipcuA8HCu9ASCkqAVPzV8/s400/First+race.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've become obsessed with wearing my bright orange hat on every. single. run.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My time wasn't the best but wasn't the worst: 37:01. My 10K time used to be faster but I need to take into perspective that I haven't raced for two years and only began running consistently again earlier this year. Mostly, I just blessed to be able to run, and race, again, injury-free (knock on desk).<br />
<br />
MM did well, too, so it was a good evening all around. Anchorage Running Club puts on some great events, very low-key and friendly. I love the vibe. Plus there are usually cookies at the end, which is a huge motivator the last few miles.<br />
<br />
The next day, MM and I hit the Turnagain Arm Trail in the evening for 6.5 miles of rutted trail, and hills. It was one of those magical runs when your legs feel fatigued but your minds says 'Go, go, go,' and everything blurs and comes together until you feel transcended by it all.<br />
<br />
And then we came around a curve and saw the bears. The first bears of the season, a blackie mother and three cubs, all of them scurrying off the trail, no doubt due to the loud warning of my bear bell. We stood there, close together but far enough away to feel safe, and watched the cubs scamper up an old tree as the mother nudged them off into the brush.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQNnkcolVnw6o-BOB8caOc-USuYVKxVnKQ2fwNtGi-ixdmhsMzob0_HxcWs3MKp1wkq4a6emOqN_Dj2OuEA6IrtvNwxRRXjk95jF6MTPAyIMgOWigpSPCcWiulW2li0H3fF1sJj3yQn4/s1600/DSCN1342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQNnkcolVnw6o-BOB8caOc-USuYVKxVnKQ2fwNtGi-ixdmhsMzob0_HxcWs3MKp1wkq4a6emOqN_Dj2OuEA6IrtvNwxRRXjk95jF6MTPAyIMgOWigpSPCcWiulW2li0H3fF1sJj3yQn4/s640/DSCN1342.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black bears moving off the trail, right in front of us, such a treat.<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I wish I could describe the feeling: heart-pounding, the taste of danger in our throats and yet that thrill, that exhilaration of coming so close to wildness. We waited for a few minutes after they disappeared and then continued running. At the top of the very next hill, we encountered a moose.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlE8vJrerkkMDGXWFSDzJsx6f6fVcwX4gWQU2bORb5PiJYnI3bh8i6jBiPtmu9pOhOoZGxT4_6CvXrlaivv6TmS7vCA9kDsqYfZqrsC_dA1v3ikQ85SYgiJLnUXic3mgd_CS4ZoI5k98/s1600/DSCN1343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlE8vJrerkkMDGXWFSDzJsx6f6fVcwX4gWQU2bORb5PiJYnI3bh8i6jBiPtmu9pOhOoZGxT4_6CvXrlaivv6TmS7vCA9kDsqYfZqrsC_dA1v3ikQ85SYgiJLnUXic3mgd_CS4ZoI5k98/s400/DSCN1343.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
This was a youngish moose with an attitude, and it wouldn't get off the trail. Because of heavy brush, we couldn't go around it, either. We crouched in the bushes and waited. Whenever we crept too near, it splayed back its ears and kicked out its legs as if to say: Come any closer and I'll cream you good."<br />
<br />
It finally wandered off into the brush and we kept on running and believe it or not, less than a half mile up the trail we came across yet another moose, this one a lot more mellow; we were able to run around it with ease, though I held MM's hand and made him run on the side of the moose, so that if it charged he would be attacked first, hee, hee.<br />
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On the way back, we saw two more moose up on a hill and off the trail. It was wild. It was like running through an open zoo. I felt charged and free and alive. And everywhere around us were perks of green: grass shooting out of the ground and leaves budding on the tree. Such hopeful shouts of color!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPdLg1vWp8x61HQ4U1q1o9bFuD56EHGopMrXEz8DZI1d5YMNwZu9sWjKb3PFchfR7TUpG1s_cTuz529OmotvXu8AdEVHnA8iszQu8lOYw4X1RWiLVEGwmbR7wSWC7DNx3yIWfSRutjsY/s1600/DSCN1338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPdLg1vWp8x61HQ4U1q1o9bFuD56EHGopMrXEz8DZI1d5YMNwZu9sWjKb3PFchfR7TUpG1s_cTuz529OmotvXu8AdEVHnA8iszQu8lOYw4X1RWiLVEGwmbR7wSWC7DNx3yIWfSRutjsY/s640/DSCN1338.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green!<br /></td></tr>
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The last half mile of the trail is downhill and groomed and fast. It's also very peaceful, almost serene, with views of the inlet on one side and trees, trees, trees on the other.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHy1CLlwAYbqvV8mwmQUNtilfpuYp1oryaG89oozhtNhjtRrZZMDFr4EE-m-BTrkiZg0V7GsOnwdZ6w0AqdEvEmw9vo_naDpknMVPg-XTDa4TJRsX_mJ4oBwafH7Ewtse9Q0A9R6q6sls/s1600/DSCN1346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHy1CLlwAYbqvV8mwmQUNtilfpuYp1oryaG89oozhtNhjtRrZZMDFr4EE-m-BTrkiZg0V7GsOnwdZ6w0AqdEvEmw9vo_naDpknMVPg-XTDa4TJRsX_mJ4oBwafH7Ewtse9Q0A9R6q6sls/s640/DSCN1346.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I don't really have any big expectations for this year's running season. I want to run, and as much as possible. I want to run trails, as much as possible. I want to see how far I can go, push my limits, venture out into that no-man's zone (no woman's zone?) where you bonk and want to die but keep on going and then, magically, you feel strong again, and whole and complete and reborn. I so look forward to reclaiming that feeling.<br />
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Until then, have a great weekend, everyone. Run, hike, read, but mostly, do whatever it is that makes you feel the most alive.<br />
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<b>Sad news: </b>Our last cat is dying. We just got the lab reports today, her kidney function is almost zero and there is really no hope. Tears my gut. We lost my most favorite cat last year, my dog earlier this year and now Fluff-Busters is going, too (The Last Pet Standing, as we call her). She has lost so much weight yet she's still feisty, still kept me up last night, wanting to go outside. Having pets, and loving them fully, is such a joy, and such a heartbreak. Here's to you, Fluffers. You've been a great friend, and a warm, fluffy spot to lay my head during hard times. Happy journeys, little one.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-79338216289451322202015-05-06T06:00:00.000-07:002015-05-06T06:02:39.435-07:00I want! I want! New shoesOkay, I'll admit it: I'm a bit obsessed with running shoes lately. I have no idea if I'm compensating for a lack in my personality, using them as a fulfillment in my not-so-exciting life, or if running shoes simply, as my grandmother would have said, float my boat.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, my new Merrell All Out Rush trail shoes arrived in the mail yesterday. Is there anything better than new running shoes? Or at least new running shoes that fit. I unfortunately ordered the wrong size and had to reorder (seems my feet have gotten a little bigger, fancy that). What this means is that I have to wait another week, or longer, until I can actually slide them on my feet, take them out to the trails and do all sorts of dirty things to them.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwTy_nrLsx1MsSB2PiFOfzimm0xWJLAiw00oV5wfbPu9w5Lo3hxcaEAJ5DbTjGiYOqORu8XmyT7ORwLwDUjpZLmK8YcV1hybvoi5eMQpVs3f5XiBVFI_AX1rLdHH9EWCJqAlbMt3C3aE/s1600/DSCN1329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRwTy_nrLsx1MsSB2PiFOfzimm0xWJLAiw00oV5wfbPu9w5Lo3hxcaEAJ5DbTjGiYOqORu8XmyT7ORwLwDUjpZLmK8YcV1hybvoi5eMQpVs3f5XiBVFI_AX1rLdHH9EWCJqAlbMt3C3aE/s1600/DSCN1329.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aren't they sexy? Kind of masculine yet just girly enough to let the guys know that I mean serious business.</td></tr>
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I was perfectly happy with my perfectly wonderful new shoe choice, even though I couldn't actually run in them yet.<br />
<br />
Then Sunday happened.<br />
<br />
Sunday, you see, was MM's birthday, so naturally I took him out to REI for new running shoes (I mean, where else does a woman take a man for his birthday?). He tried on a pair of Sportiva that were so colorful and bad-assed that I almost salivated, so of course I had to try on a pair for myself. I couldn't just <i>sit</i> there and do nothing.<br />
<br />
And I kind of, sort of fell in love with the Sportiva Bushido. I slipped my foot inside. I tightened the laces. I took one step, and then another. Before I knew it, I was running around REI, dodging mother's toting little kids and bearded dudes in scruffy but expensive outdoor gear. My feet felt happy! My ankles felt sturdy. I started to slyly calculate in my head: If my partner picked out an inexpensive pair of shoes as his birthday present, I just might be able to swing a pair for myself, hee, hee.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS43AMF5sFrOrqa61V-AcoUkUV-lSnAicYi_YNPN0ynao2Mf88ZRMS9WLk0vgLcneKhhIPxaa9gDJ_enKSAL_1BUoVtm-d9M2tKgBlDrF3QDBwEdMYkG43CHlXBC79zll_LCqIzXNKRRk/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS43AMF5sFrOrqa61V-AcoUkUV-lSnAicYi_YNPN0ynao2Mf88ZRMS9WLk0vgLcneKhhIPxaa9gDJ_enKSAL_1BUoVtm-d9M2tKgBlDrF3QDBwEdMYkG43CHlXBC79zll_LCqIzXNKRRk/s1600/download.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly, these aren't my shoes and this isn't my yard, either.</td></tr>
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He didn't. After considering a pair of yellow Altra's that made his feet look like duck feet, he settled on the Sportiva. I sighed,kicked off my Bushidos, put my smelly Hokas back on (love my Hokas but they don't do well on technical trails) and plucked out my credit card. I was very gracious when I handed him the box. I think I even smiled. I might have even said, "Happy birthday." I might have said this with little to no grudge.<br />
<br />
So now I'm torn. Do I take the Merrell's back and get the Sportiva? Or keep the Merrell's and be satisfied with my first choice? The Merrell is light and flexible and airy with a kick-ass ridged sole for firm footing. The Sportiva is more durable and firm and hearty with its own particular kick-assed sole yet not as flexible or roomy.<br />
<br />
I want them both! I need them both! My checking account, however, begs to differ.<br />
<br />
Whatever the case, last week was a jump-back week. This is when, after two or three weeks of increasing mileage, I cut back, relax and recover, and eat like a pig. During this jump-back week I also managed to hurt my back (is it a coincidence that I hurt my back during a jump-back week?) at a new job I took for the summer and consequently didn't run at all Monday-Wednesday. I ended up with 25 miles for the week, a disappointing amount but as my partner often says, and usually when he's mad at me: It is what it is.<br />
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Last but not least, pics from Saturday's trail run, where I bonked big time and almost cried due to the over 1250 elevation gain in 8 miles.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDTw1DdBlub8ZfFdS61dw65R7SpSoD725V4BzdBANePdsDXFfeC-V4Jmm325Ko7en8qFxrCBbPTxsF0OD6rlmka_dGll2Yl-vVWSADFxv-EXfooIO5TbRE_OThD7rGZUL27pVW4BQaDE/s1600/DSCN1326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpDTw1DdBlub8ZfFdS61dw65R7SpSoD725V4BzdBANePdsDXFfeC-V4Jmm325Ko7en8qFxrCBbPTxsF0OD6rlmka_dGll2Yl-vVWSADFxv-EXfooIO5TbRE_OThD7rGZUL27pVW4BQaDE/s1600/DSCN1326.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the few straight areas of the whole damned run, trust me.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTyvzqXbaU_9S06IXY1TKjF9UlR28ukdm7DoWG83O-O58FpHmEzkAd5Cyk8Eq5aUCFi8U2XSpqkG1T9zq8nShbgkX4Y-em3PZPVSrBXSFMWfMWa6MIvSVBtGgKypn49SjsGacH9F1qIM/s1600/DSCN1327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTyvzqXbaU_9S06IXY1TKjF9UlR28ukdm7DoWG83O-O58FpHmEzkAd5Cyk8Eq5aUCFi8U2XSpqkG1T9zq8nShbgkX4Y-em3PZPVSrBXSFMWfMWa6MIvSVBtGgKypn49SjsGacH9F1qIM/s1600/DSCN1327.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dandelions (I call them dandy lions) are my favorite flower of all time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglghHyGOTTt6QVJrGJEEeAYNXuySLSdV0BV54NjoTVP92ZXFtB20ifdS7UUyKsb1LE1jdt-hQaSvSUVnkkMxjIZn27lwxkrjAk4vZ5XUmh3h3SQX3YEJe7rmsYJbNUBmeASPrqAhtOByk/s1600/DSCN1328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglghHyGOTTt6QVJrGJEEeAYNXuySLSdV0BV54NjoTVP92ZXFtB20ifdS7UUyKsb1LE1jdt-hQaSvSUVnkkMxjIZn27lwxkrjAk4vZ5XUmh3h3SQX3YEJe7rmsYJbNUBmeASPrqAhtOByk/s1600/DSCN1328.JPG" height="446" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! The trees are blooming! So. Exciting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Have a great week, everyone.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-87011518795974194302015-04-27T12:00:00.000-07:002015-04-27T12:36:10.992-07:00Runner's trot (or sprinting towards the woods)Saturday's run begam well, as runs usually do.<br />
<br />
That's a bit of a lie. It's started out okay. Nothing dramatically awfully or stupendously wonderful. Just okay.<br />
<br />
I snagged my partner (i.e., bribed) into accompanying me on a 14 miler through the Campbell Creek Trails. My stomach was a bit off but the sun was shining and temps were in the 50s, a perfect Alaska spring day.<br />
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So we drove to the trailhead and I buckled on my bright purple and orange Nathan hydration vest and we took off.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWoVMVWtLRepn17RImw5SWIKBH-u_0DwtK6WtExj_Hazi3ahe0qaaH11orIqjbc9-ktLKs8yO40uRQo0poeuisY1M3sxkLnT8iRY1dsvUEh_Vg3jdEBMK4HjuQxga5hvZmkh2Z4suMX08/s1600/7538606-42224-zoomin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWoVMVWtLRepn17RImw5SWIKBH-u_0DwtK6WtExj_Hazi3ahe0qaaH11orIqjbc9-ktLKs8yO40uRQo0poeuisY1M3sxkLnT8iRY1dsvUEh_Vg3jdEBMK4HjuQxga5hvZmkh2Z4suMX08/s1600/7538606-42224-zoomin.jpg" height="400" width="355" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I "borrowed"this pic from swimoutlet.com. Why someone would wear a hydration vest while swimming is beyond me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We started off slow. The trail was rutted and muddy and the first six miles were my least favorite section. I kept glancing at my watch. Time dragged.<br />
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"Running slow sucks," I said to my partner. He nodded his head wisely (he's learned to agree with me while we're running).<br />
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Finally we reached the better part the trail and I perked up. There were hills (hills!) and curvy areas (curvy areas!) winding through birch trees and the sun was out and life was good. And we had eight more glorious miles to run.<br />
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I've been following training advice from <a href="http://runnersconnect.net/blog/">Runner's Connect </a>coach Jeff Gaudette, who sends informative emails a couple of times a week (wish I could afford to hire you as my coach, Jeff, but think that will have to wait a bit, sigh, sigh), and geared this run around his philosophy of starting out slow and then progressively picking it up and finishing at half-marathon pace.<br />
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I started picking it up at the ten mile mark and by the last mile, I was sprinting, fast. This may or may not have been because I was in desperate need of a few sturdy bushes.<br />
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I was, you see, paying for my "sins" from the previous night, which had come back to haunt me, and they haunted me with a wicked and mad vengeance.<br />
<br />
I'm ashamed to admit that I have a bit of a problem (an addiction?) with hot sauce, mainly Huy Fong Sriracha Sauce, which is pretty much a staple in my diet. I've been known to drink the stuff. I put it on <i>everything.</i> I seriously become depressed if I don't have any around.<br />
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The sad truth about eating too much hot sauce, though (warning: TMI?) is that it works both ways: It's hot going in <i>and</i> coming out.<br />
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Feeling a roaring heat in your stomach inch ever-so-merrily down your digestive tract while running a fast last mile of a 14 mile trail run is not exactly enjoyable.<br />
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I moved like crazy toward the finish and bolted off to the bushes, where I crouched in agony (agony!) for a good five minutes. It was a sorry end to a run that began with a lackluster mood but progressed to a strong (but hot) finish.<br />
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An hour later found me curled on the couch, still damp from a bath, and happily squirting sriracha sauce all over my dinner. I doubt that I will ever learn.<br />
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But look at this! Earlier tonight our moose friends paid a visit, such a treat to look out the window and see their knobby and ridiculously-shaped heads peering in at us (and no, I wasn't eating hot sauce at the time).<br />
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Have a great week, everyone.<br />
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<b>This week's stats:</b><br />
Monday: Rest, weights and 60 minutes bike<br />
Tuesday: 8.5 miles, hilly and steep trails<br />
Wednesday: 8.5 miles, hilly and steep trails<br />
Thursday: 7.5 miles, paved Coastal Trail<br />
Friday: Rest<br />
Saturday: 14 miles, hilly trails<br />
Sunday: 7.5 miles, paved Coastal Trail<br />
<b>Total: 46 miles </b><br />
<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-37076313158534895162015-04-24T08:00:00.000-07:002015-04-24T08:00:04.877-07:00Kissing treesOh, I had a really bad run on Wednesday. And yet it was also a really great run. Let me explain.<br />
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I'm tentatively thinking of running the <a href="http://www.rpultras.com/">Resurrection Ultra 50-miler</a> this year and have been doing back-to-back trail runs, not really long distance at this point so much as agonized distance, you know, a lot of gnarly hills and bad trails conditions: mud, rocks, roots higher than my ankle. And did I mention hills?</div>
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Tuesday I tackled Turnagain Arm Trail, in all of its muddy glory, and felt strong most of the way, even on the steep and frequent hills. So I went back on Wednesday and did it all over again, and I just wasn't feeling it, you know? My legs were heavy and my back sore from lifting weights the evening before and I mistakenly wore a new pair of shoes without the proper lacing, and they flopped against my ankles with each leap over each rock, and I was soon irritated and hungry and discouraged and muttering to myself... you get the picture.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTK784Rd10ezOSoYQjB_eOGmrEaKC_AUhnRYdNV0_KR5KN7SxPlJwLScs_FZ2ICjTTN3Sc1CsUB74lJAda6hT2iZaIZq9NaherDKj_rTkBeRqFVDkm4apSGOVZU3IJpiFd0OAA6bzyTig/s1600/DSCN1307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTK784Rd10ezOSoYQjB_eOGmrEaKC_AUhnRYdNV0_KR5KN7SxPlJwLScs_FZ2ICjTTN3Sc1CsUB74lJAda6hT2iZaIZq9NaherDKj_rTkBeRqFVDkm4apSGOVZU3IJpiFd0OAA6bzyTig/s1600/DSCN1307.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My floppy-laced new shoes! Don't they look embarrassingly clean and tidy?</td></tr>
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Mostly, though, I was disappointed to realize that I wasn't in as good as shape as I had assumed. Running for two weeks on mostly paved trails and streets in Philly and then last week on paved Coastal Trail, I had deceived myself into thinking I was stronger and faster than I actually am.</div>
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Then I hit the trails and the frequent and never-ending hills and bad footing put me in my place.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, this is part of the trail.</td></tr>
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On the way back, after straggling up the Rainbow hill (over a 1.25 miles of relentless incline and switchbacks), I seriously thought of stopping and calling MM to pick me up. But I knew I'd hate myself for quitting so I struggled on and then, I don't know, I somehow ran right past that shitty mood and started feeling happy and glorious and oh-I'm-running-on-beautiful-trails-and-everything-is-perfect. And it got so bad that I stopped to kiss a few trees, just because I could (and because no one else was around).</div>
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I felt so thankful to be back running, you see. Last year I barely hit the trails, due to a combination of a fall that messed up my knee and a brutal work schedule, and the year before I injured my foot mid-summer and was out through winter. So yes, even a tortured and agonizing run is better than sitting on my ass, watching movies and feeling terribly sorry for myself, which I'm ashamed to say I happened more than I'd like to admit.</div>
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But being injured makes a person really, really thankful to be running again, and times be damned, just putting one foot in front of the other and gliding over a trail can be enough to bring tears (the good, happy kind of tears) to the eyes. And maybe, just maybe, stop along the way and kiss a few sturdy (and sexy!) spruce and birch trees.</div>
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Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-92075144625202191322015-04-23T12:00:00.000-07:002015-04-27T06:43:57.789-07:00Running while traveling: Philly editonWhen I arrived in Tucson 10 weeks ago, the first thing I did was get on blogs and map out running routes, and I found them, too, everything from paved bike paths along dried river washes to canyon and mountain trails. Discovering places to run in Tucson was easy.<br />
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Then I flew out to the Philly suburbs to visit with my sister and mother, and the running got a little bit more complicated.<br />
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I'm not a city person. My ideal view is of mountains. Yet, surprisingly, I found running through the city to be exotic. Weaving in and out of crowds, with buildings on one side and the Schuylkill River on the other, was a blast. And thanks to Google map, I found more than enough running routes including everything from flat and paved bike paths to wooded trails and out-of-the-way hilly trails tucked around a college campus. Below are a few of my favorites.<br />
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<b>Kelly Drive: </b>A paved and flat bike trail winding around the Schuylkill River, past boat houses (on weekends you can often catch the regattas). The path leads past the Philadelphia Museum of Art, also (sadly) known as the "Rocky" museum, which features the steps that Sylvester Stallone ran up in the movie. An interesting note: My sister is friends with a man who was one of the kids running with Stallone in the movie and, according to him, they had to do numerous takes because the kids kept beating Stallone to the top of the steps, hee, hee).<br />
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<b>Haverford Nature Trail: </b>This 2.5 mile wooded loop spanning Haverford College in Ardmore, outside of Philly, was a welcome surprise. The surface is packed dirt, with just enough rutted areas to keep it interesting. It also varied enough in scenery that multiple loops didn't become boring. An added plus: Afternoons often included yummy college guys running shirtless.<br />
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<b>Forbidden Drive Trail: </b>Oh, I loved this trail! Wide packed dirt, smooth surface, lots of trees, and Wissahickon Creek running alongside. A good place to pack on the miles, though according to my sister, it isn't always a safe area for a woman running alone, there have been numerous rapes plus an area by the covered bridge without cell phone reception. My advice: Run on weekends during peak times or with a running buddy.<br />
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<b>Cynwyd Heritage Trail and West Laurel Hill Cemetery: </b>The Cynwyd Trail is only a couple of miles from my sister's house and offered two miles of paved and dirty trail (four miles out and back). A nice place for a quick run and to get away from traffic. The bordering West Laurel Hill Cemetery offers great hills and a relaxing place to zone out and pick up a few extra miles.<br />
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The most surprising thing about running in Philly, though, was how much I enjoyed it. The weather was warm, and as long as I stuck to side streets there was little problem with traffic.<br />
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I've always believed that I could never be happy without mountains or quick access to wilderness area. But walking and running through Philly, alone and with my sister, offered me a different perspective, and I soon understood that happiness comes from within, and that as long as I have places to run, places that offer long, uninterrupted miles, I can be momentarily and spontaneously content.<br />
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<b>A quick cheer: </b>A big yippee (yippee!!) to Karen Kidwell, who PRed in Boston Marathon on Monday with a killer time of 3:30. I've been following Karen's blog for years and had the opportunity to meet her last year, which was a welcomed pleasure. Way to go, Karen! You are awesome and madly fast. P.S. Her hubby Matt also PRed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock the Boston hills, okay, Karen? P.S. I "borrowed" this pic from your blog, hee, hee.</td></tr>
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<b>Mileage last week:</b><br />
Monday: 10 miles (last Philly run)<br />
Tuesday; Traveling<br />
Wednesday: 7.5 miles, Coastal Trail<br />
Thursday: 11 miles, Chester Creek Trail<br />
Friday: Rest day: Weights and bike plus power walking Kincaid Park hills<br />
Saturday: 6.5 miles, Turnagain Arm Trail<br />
Sunday: 5 miles w/ surges, Campbell Tract Trail<br />
<b>Total: 40 miles</b><br />
<b><br /></b>Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-28862392739034232552015-04-22T12:00:00.000-07:002015-04-22T12:00:02.757-07:00BlissI must admit that I had a bit of a time adjusting to Alaska. After seven glorious weeks in Tucson and two in Philly, Anchorage felt gloomy and cloudy and cold.<br />
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Probably because it <i>was</i> gloomy and cloudy and cold.<br />
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Still, once I hit the trails I felt better. I ran the first couple of days back on the Coastal and Chester Creek Trails, which are paved bike trails through wooded areas and along the inlet. The views are beautiful and while I enjoy running these, I couldn't wait to revisit my beloved and rugged "real" trails.<br />
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I don't know why I love trail running so much, if it's the rough footing, which forces me to use more of my senses, or the feeling of being surrounded by trees and mountains and water, which makes me feel smaller and less significant but also part of a larger whole.<br />
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All I know is that the longer I run, the louder my heart sings.<br />
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I can't wait for the snow to clear in the higher elevations so that I can hit the mountain trails. Until then, I've been loving the Turnagain Arm Trail, which is south facing and filled with steep hills and roots and rocks and all manner of wild and wonderful things.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-47783764011832649092015-04-11T07:00:00.000-07:002015-04-11T23:01:31.800-07:00Bye, bye Tucson (and visits by two rattlesnakes)A week and a half ago I left Tucson. It was 85 degrees and I had a twisted ankle, bad cold and a heavy heart. I didn't want to leave. Living for so long in Alaska, I had forgotten what a gift it is to wake up to warm temperatures and sunshine. It made me realize that I'm more of a warm weather person than an Alaska person, though I do love Alaska dearly and madly, especially in the summer when the twilight spreads out over the land and I run Flattop after midnight, no one else around, and all of that silence.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkrssyvEjygcKgYHfnKxu-yQrs3s1Y0Gi5WCli6vJ8dLZDZ_kiv8F03P5lbU4U-gTcH24E3Vy-BMzshgNgcPvvaqZEfOlvz5D5BhfDwkO9w1bPZW_VEua00ghPwnk_9aFsdjTtkdhenk/s1600/DSCN1048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkrssyvEjygcKgYHfnKxu-yQrs3s1Y0Gi5WCli6vJ8dLZDZ_kiv8F03P5lbU4U-gTcH24E3Vy-BMzshgNgcPvvaqZEfOlvz5D5BhfDwkO9w1bPZW_VEua00ghPwnk_9aFsdjTtkdhenk/s1600/DSCN1048.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail to Seven Falls</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioijTaJsqKP7nFJnrfBdRMBepZP7JtnkSoC5GjTmg21Wbq6Jlm3N9v3xgTF2rTADIDFzwSh3DUGcmy6LpYMvZq-rkirsFXFQapC8takSLRPBkGwpeO7K36yfYlbhrrEui5uVMuYyLAPoM/s1600/DSCN1072-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioijTaJsqKP7nFJnrfBdRMBepZP7JtnkSoC5GjTmg21Wbq6Jlm3N9v3xgTF2rTADIDFzwSh3DUGcmy6LpYMvZq-rkirsFXFQapC8takSLRPBkGwpeO7K36yfYlbhrrEui5uVMuYyLAPoM/s1600/DSCN1072-001.JPG" height="603" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catalina State Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMDs33YPbx1WwO42EuwZfDZkmJin0MbYibmczZELI2bV8DhyQmB9TbtQ02rJxA_MsVsfxoo31C7cP5ZC_YxPRyDGTZgz-zf3-sakjMSn4B6Y_jNyzyl3z4T-mI8GeH-Yk9UaGRzdnrXQ/s1600/DSCN1084+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMDs33YPbx1WwO42EuwZfDZkmJin0MbYibmczZELI2bV8DhyQmB9TbtQ02rJxA_MsVsfxoo31C7cP5ZC_YxPRyDGTZgz-zf3-sakjMSn4B6Y_jNyzyl3z4T-mI8GeH-Yk9UaGRzdnrXQ/s1600/DSCN1084+(3).JPG" height="472" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phoneline Trail, Sabino Canyon</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Bear Trail.</td></tr>
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My last week in Tucson MM arrived and we moved from the beloved house I had sublet for six weeks (hopefully I'll be back there again in December and January) to a week-long vacation rental with a very tiny kitchen and very lovable dog, Ben. After losing Beebs earlier this year, it was nice having a dog to pet and hug, nice having the smell of dog in my nose, nice curling up with his head pressed against my leg.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben!</td></tr>
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I ran a lot while in Tucson, averaging about 40-45 miles a week, and most of it on trails during the weekend, when I rented a car and headed to Sabino Canyon or Catalina State Park. During the week I ran at Reid Park or around the side streets. What I love about Tucson is the low-keyed atmosphere of the side streets. Third Avenue is a designated bicycle route and cars aren't allowed access off main streets, which keeps the traffic down. Riding a bike and running through Tucson, with the heat pressing down on my shoulders and the sky blue and nothing but the sound of my feet over the pavement and birds singing (the birds there sing all day, not just morning and evening) felt so peaceful and serene that I often couldn't stop smiling.<br />
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The second to last week I twisted my ankle and stupidly kept running. Why do I never learn? Why can't I accept the fact that when something hurts, it's probably time to stop running and start walking to the trailhead?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43QLpmM_WIpfIx5cN0hj6TAPiDj_Vzhs44DODmAjc8q5Tp6RG_KjEGGt-b83DV1qTScTQ_QLrmizNFkVUikM0lfz3ICHEabjMXwLgq7LE0YrnQomrrE1BEI3-Tixg6auLdYIeqYSir80/s1600/DSCN1122+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj43QLpmM_WIpfIx5cN0hj6TAPiDj_Vzhs44DODmAjc8q5Tp6RG_KjEGGt-b83DV1qTScTQ_QLrmizNFkVUikM0lfz3ICHEabjMXwLgq7LE0YrnQomrrE1BEI3-Tixg6auLdYIeqYSir80/s1600/DSCN1122+(2).JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Blackett's Ridge.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sabino Canyon</td></tr>
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I bought a cheapo ankle brace at Target and MM and I ran lightly and hiked for the rest of the week. Okay, maybe I didn't exactly run lightly but I did try and keep my mileage down. We hiked Blackett's Ridge and ran (lightly!) all over Sabino and Ventana Canyon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKXbFmK7ltPoUwNLOT4dthm9VXcUNYKn0GmJJeTBJQn1WgjrSNkFXEu7zvZosUKD_UDIdhHXuCyGp4UWIzYpYLsq_STqe8g1OfeyHN5fPEnnBe9QFSdKXDYvqAa7jJqQspAxBdlH5zLQ/s1600/DSCN1188+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGKXbFmK7ltPoUwNLOT4dthm9VXcUNYKn0GmJJeTBJQn1WgjrSNkFXEu7zvZosUKD_UDIdhHXuCyGp4UWIzYpYLsq_STqe8g1OfeyHN5fPEnnBe9QFSdKXDYvqAa7jJqQspAxBdlH5zLQ/s1600/DSCN1188+(2).JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Blackett's Ridge</td></tr>
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One of the most memorable times was running up Phoneline Trail at dusk and then down to upper Sabino Canyon Road. We crossed the creek and lay in the sand, staring up at the sky. Then we ran to the top of the canyon and back in the moonlight, no on else around, the canyon gleaming white in the moonlight. It's something I'll never forget.<br />
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Two days later, we returned. It had become hotter in that short amount of time, with temps rising from the 70s to the high 80s, and we started off right before dusk, to escape the worst of the heat. A half mile up the trail we heard a rattle and both jumped back. "Rattlesnake," I yelled, but I wasn't too worried. The snake was off the trail in the brush and basically saying, "Hey, I'm here, just let me be, okay?"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our friend, the snake</td></tr>
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Later, we lay on a large rock stretching out over the canyon and watched the sun set, the sky glowing pink and darkness falling around us.<br />
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Halfway down, in the dark, we heard it again, another rattlesnake (what are the chances of coming across two different snakes in one evening?), this one louder, more persistent. We jumped back and rummaged in our packs for our headlamps. We didn't see the snake in the trail but we could hear it, and it was close. I led, since I knew the trail, with MM close behind me. We had to walk past where we knew the rattlesnake was, and we had to do so in the dark, with the puny glow of our headlamps. There was no other way, since directly to our right the trail dropped down to the canyon and to our left was the ridge.<br />
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So we moved forward and really, it wasn't that bad. Right when I rounded the bend, right when I thought we had made it, there was the rattle again, and it was loud and fierce and angry sounding. MM pushed me and I ran like hell, stumbling through the dark until the rattle died down.<br />
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We had to walk the rest of the way (about two miles) down to the bottom of the canyon in the dark, with every step wondering if we'd encounter another snake. We sang dumb songs and laughed, the way you always laugh when you're on edge and trying to distract yourself from your own precarious vulnerabilities.<br />
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When we reached the creek we lay in the sand again and stared up at the sky. There was a large ring circling the moon and it felt like such an undeniably perfect moment, the warm darkness and the sound of the creek and memory of the rattlesnakes leading us in and out of danger.<br />
<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-14947801210316878452015-03-08T12:56:00.000-07:002015-03-08T12:56:50.058-07:00Birthday memorial runYesterday was my dead sister's birthday.<br />
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I used to set out food for her each year, since she died of complications of an eating disorder and I figured that her ghost must be hungry, but a few years ago I began running instead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister, Cathie, and her dog Barney.</td></tr>
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This year I'm in Tucson, the last place that we lived in the same city together, years and years ago, and I'm also finishing up a memoir about her life, and mine, and the ways in which her stuff fed my stuff and my stuff fed her stuff.<br />
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I thought I'd wake up sad on her birth memorial day. Yet I didn't. I work up energized and alert. I felt unexpectedly happy all day. I cleaned the house. I wrote. Mid-afternoon, I picked up a rental car and drove out to Sabino Canyon for a run.<br />
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I ran up the Phoneline Trail, which is one of my favorites and includes a grueling and rocky incline for the first couple of miles, and then the path runs alongside of the mountain ridge. The views are amazing, and since I had already gotten in my miles for the week, I took it slow. I savored.<br />
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And I felt so happy the whole time the I couldn't stop smiling. I talked to my sister, too, and maybe it was my imagination or maybe I was able to pick up on tiny leftover bits of her energy, but it's as if I could feel her there beside me and it all came back, all of those years we used to run through the pastures out on the farm. We were always together back then. We were inseparable.<br />
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I ran until sunset, when the light reflected off the canyon walls turned the most marvelous reddish tint. I can't remember when I've felt so alive, so free and happy. I stopped a couple of times and just wept from happiness. And it doesn't make sense and yet it makes all of the sense in the world, how I could feel so happy and alive on my dead sister's birthday.<br />
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I miscalculated the time and the last half mile off the mountain was in the near darkness. I didn't turn on my headlamp, though. I liked the idea of stumbling my way through the dark. It seemed an adequate metaphor.<br />
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By the time I hit the paved trail, it was pitch dark and raining. The rain came suddenly, like a gift, and the wind picked up and the tree branches swirled and danced. The last half mile is over a sandy path and as I ran I could smell the sharp, oily scent off the chaparral shrubs, and I slowed down, breathed deep. There was something almost mystical about running alone through the dark on a sandy path as rain beat down upon my head and the air smelled fresh and new and wild.<br />
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When I pulled up in the driveway of the house I'm renting, an 80s song was playing on the radio. I sat there, all sweaty and tired, and I felt so happy that I began to laugh and cry at the same time, and soon I was crying, sobbing the type of unabashed tears that come from deep, deep inside. It's not that I was particularly sad but only that on the other side of happiness always, always lies grief.<br />
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<b>What I'm reading: </b><i>Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? </i> by Jeanette Winterson. A wonderful, beautifully written memoir of a woman growing up in an odd and destructive household.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-39480710302560538082015-03-05T07:00:00.000-08:002015-03-05T07:00:03.568-08:00Hello, hello, I'm backYes, I'm resurrecting my blog from the dead. It's been a bit, no? And there's so much to catch up.<br />
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And the big news: I'm running again.<br />
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Well, I never really quit but I slacked. I slacked big-time. I got stuck in a ridiculously demanding job and, when people around me quit and I found myself the only one on the payroll for that particular publication, I knew that my days were numbered.<br />
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Still, I buckled down. I pulled all-nighters. I worked seven days a week. I had no time to run,or at least run far, and no time to write, or at least write intently.<br />
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Basically, for over a year, I had no life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQg9ViDRzwbgs2arSRx_NLdMlEtIWEWmQu9uM6eSkeJKOOgGM97fi4utwTJEPR15DETMAgwci5QFHYyWhWbgG-85gC0RIIL9OR2zyiT0GvF61lM0osAz25f8LgaqciMHFSoSQDArF3ZJc/s1600/IMG_9754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQg9ViDRzwbgs2arSRx_NLdMlEtIWEWmQu9uM6eSkeJKOOgGM97fi4utwTJEPR15DETMAgwci5QFHYyWhWbgG-85gC0RIIL9OR2zyiT0GvF61lM0osAz25f8LgaqciMHFSoSQDArF3ZJc/s1600/IMG_9754.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset across the inlet sometime in December, when I still had no life.</td></tr>
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<br />
It's a wonder that MM didn't pack my bags and boot me out the door because trust me on this: I was <i>not </i>in a good way for a good part of the time.<br />
<br />
Finally, I had a bit of a breakdown, started to cry and couldn't stop. My teeth chattered and my body shook and I realized that if I didn't start taking care of myself, I was going to wind up sick.So I put in my notice, and as soon as I did, it was as if a weight had been lifted. I began sleeping better, and eating better, and running more seriously. Like over 20 miles a week. Like double digits again.<br />
<br />
Then my dog died. This wasn't unexpected, since she was almost 15 years-old. But still, how can one ever anticipate the death of one's dog? I still can't believe that she's gone, that she won't be waiting for me to wake up and pet her each morning, that she won't follow me downstairs to my writing room and sleep by my chair each evening. How can she be gone?<br />
<br />
Still, it was a good death, or as good as a death can be. We made sure of that; we insisted on that because for all of the many things she was and the many things she brought to our lives, Beebs was always, always, always a good dog, the best of dogs, a dog of all dogs, at least in our minds, and in my life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, Beebs, oh honey-there will never, ever be a dog like you.</td></tr>
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After that, I couldn't stick around the house, not in the middle of the winter, not without a job to occupy my time. How could I stick around the house without the Beebs?<br />
<br />
So I sublet a house in Tucson and headed down for six weeks of sunshine, writing and good runs in the mountains. Mostly, though, this has been a time of healing, a time of taking it easy and reading and sitting in the sun and daydreaming and riding the bike along the washes and eating good food and writing half the night. And did I mention running in the mountains and desert trails?<br />
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All week I stay in the rental house and read in the sun, ride the bike, swim at Reid Park and run around the local parks, streets and paved bike paths along the dried river washes. On weekends, I reward myself with a rental car and escape to Sabino Canyon or Catalina State Park for wonderfully grueling trail runs with a lot of incline, a lot of rough footing and a lot of sweat.<br />
<br />
Running in the desert is so different than running in Alaska. For one thing, I need to drink water, and a lot of it. Another thing is I have to make sure I always carry a headlamp because when it gets dark, it gets dark fast, not like Alaska where even in the winter the twilight stretches out for a good hour before darkness descends. Here, the sun sets and then, wham!, it's dark.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption">Sun starting to set in Sabino Canyon, though I'm still a few miles from the trailhead, hee, hee.<br />
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Yesterday, during my long run, I saw a coyote running through the dried river wash and almost wondered if it were Beebs' spirit greeting me. It ran through the sand, neck stretched out, moving with a stride so wild and free that something inside of me longed to jump the fence and run behind it. I didn't, of course. Still, it's nice to feel a bit of wildness in the city. It reminded me of Anchorage, of home.<br />
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<b>Last week's stats:</b><br />
Monday: Rest day (lots 'o biking)<br />
Tuesday: 11 miles<br />
Wednesday: 5 miles<br />
Thursday: Rest day (more biking)<br />
Friday: 5.5 miles, trail, lots of incline<br />
Saturday: 6.5 miles, trails, rough footing and oh my, the inclines!<br />
Sunday: 6.5 miles, trails, more tough incline<br />
<b>Total: 34.5 miles</b><br />
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<b>What I'm reading:</b><br />
OMG, such a good book, and I highly recommend: <i>Swimming Studies</i>, by Leanne Shapton. The winner of the 2012 National Book Critics Circle Award, this memoir is so dreamy and lyrical, so honest and quirky that reading feels buoyant, like swimming underwater,<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-77463516866047549922013-12-03T16:08:00.000-08:002013-12-03T16:08:04.364-08:00Nineteen cold and slow miles, and two moose The last two miles were unspeakable.<br />
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But I'm getting ahead of myself. <br />
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I missed my long run on Sunday due to a last minute work situation so I shuffled my schedule and ran Monday evening instead (i.e., since the sun sets at 3:30 p.m. now, evening here is actually mid-afternoon).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is where I was Sunday, out at the Eagle River Nature Center covering a story. This is the view from the backside of the center, mountains all around. It's quite breathtaking.</td></tr>
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It was a sultry 9 degrees when I set off and I waited to warm up but never really did. That was the least of it, though. Because it turned out to be one of <em>those </em>runs, you know? The kind where you never quite get in the rhythm, where you feel a little off, where you put forth more effort than normal and <em>still</em> struggle to maintain a decent pace.<br />
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I ran on the Coastal Trail up to Kincaid Park and back, which is about 19.25 miles from our house. The trail was packed snow and there were very few people out, probably because they had the good sense to stay indoors. My face was numb, my hair and eyelashes froze and the hose on my hydration system iced up (the bladder is insulated and stayed warm but I forgot to insulate the hose, damn it). <br />
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But there were good points: I witnessed one of the most awesome sunsets (unfortunately, I didn't have my camera with me). The sky blared pink and orange and red, and the colors held for about a half hour before the sun sank below the horizon. It was amazing and surreal, like running inside a movie set.<br />
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I also ate snow, since my water hose froze, and I had forgotten how good it tastes. Remember eating snow as a child and how cold and full it felt in your mouth? Yes, it's still the same.. <br />
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The first 9.5 miles were manageable, even with the last one-mile ginormous hill that always, always kicks my butt. I stopped and warmed up in the chalet, which is the halfway point. They had the heater cranked up high and it was so warm, so cozy that I had to force myself to step back outside. (Oh, heaters are so wonderful!)<br />
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The way back wasn't as pleasant. Yet it was dark and I love running through wooded trails guided by nothing but the circle of light from my headlamp. It felt so snug and nestled. <br />
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Until I hit mile 17 and bonked, big time. I hadn't eaten much and had had no water and I was cold and miserable and this little voice inside my head said, "Cinthia, let's stop and walk a bit, okay? Just a bit, that's all. Just a few steps."<br />
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It took everything to ignore that voice. I struggled and shuffled and put one doomed foot in front of another and slowly, slowly ran myself home. <br />
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When I finished it was 7 degrees. I staggered inside and collapsed on the floor. Okay, that's a lie but it sounded dramatic, didn't it? Actually, I staggered inside and ate all of the dinner MM had cooked. I had three servings. And then I had a big bowl of Soy Dream ice cream and a whole batch of popcorn. Then I had <em>another</em> big bowl of Soy Dream. <em> </em><br />
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But enough of running and food. Two days ago a mother moose and her calf visited our house and stuck around for most of the afternoon, tearing up our apple tree and pooping in our yard. It was nice to see them. I hope they come back soon.<br />
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<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-36279971946161066492013-11-26T09:18:00.002-08:002013-11-26T19:02:39.438-08:00Ultra training week three (or is it four?)I'm losing track of my training schedule, not a good sign. No matter: I know the race date and I suppose that's all that matters:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Feb. 15, 2014</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"></span><br />
I wrote in large fonts because I wanted the magnitude of my terror to resonate. <br />
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But onward, no? This week's training, or last week, since I'm a bit behind schedule, went well. I toiled away at the gym for three two-hour sessions while watching <em>Love it Or List It</em>, my favorite workout show.<br />
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Wednesday I ran 10.5 miles around and around and around the indoor track at the Dome. The first four miles were fast and hard and wonderful. Then the <a href="http://www.anchoragerunningclub.org/">Anchorage Running Club</a> held their annual meeting and we voted in board members and had Subway sandwiches, and since all the sandwiches contained meat, I ate pickles and onions and a cookie instead and <em>then</em> ran 6.5 more miles. I do not recommend this. <br />
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Saturday I ran 16 miles over trails that varied from hard-packed to slushy to slick. My foot began hurting around mile 12 but I kept going and really, it wasn't that bad of a hurt, more of a dull ache.<br />
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The trails were quiet, no one else around. I passed a runner or walker every mile or so and then, as the dark descended, no one else. I turned on my headlamp and that cheerful circle of light hugged around me and it was so cozy running through the trails at night, with the snow shadows and the silence and the night sky, the birch and spruce trees whispering small gasps as snow fell off their branches.<br />
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It was one of those perfect runs that wasn't actually perfect, if that makes sense. Parts of the trail were pure ice, other parts windblown and rough and my foot didn't cooperate as well as I expected. But still, it was perfect because of the silence and the snow and the night sky.<br />
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Sunday I took the day off and had studded snow tires put on my car. Basically, I sat on a pile of tires at Sam's Club reading <em>The Stand</em> (I love you, Stephen King) for over three hours, which wasn't very delightful but at least I had a thick book to keep me company (Nadine just moved in with Harold and sealed both of their fates with the Dark Man).<br />
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<strong>Reading: </strong><em>The Stand,</em> as mentioned. I've read it at least four times before but never stop loving it. I'm also reading <em>Yesterday Road</em> by Kevin Brennan and just downloaded <em>Aurora Sky </em>by Nikki Jefford. So this week I'll be finishing up a horror classic, diving inside literary fiction and starting a young adult novel about vampire hunters in Alaska. And, oh yeah, in my job I'll be writing about a food drive, the fallout of the last assembly meeting and a dodgeball tournament. I hope I don't mix everything up and insert vampires in the assembly story, though it would liven it up a bit, no?<br />
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Cheers and happy running and reading, everyone.<br />
<br />Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-20778832518059744502013-11-16T15:36:00.001-08:002013-11-16T15:38:18.598-08:00Ultra training, week twoThe good news: I'm still running.<br />
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The bad news (or more good news?): I'm eating like a pig. Seriously. Thursday I had two dinners. Not two helpings, mind you, but two separate dinners. I was starving. I'm always starving. I think it's the combination of a vamped-up training schedule plus the horrific knowledge that in 13 weeks I'll be running 50K in the brutal cold. My body screams: More calories! More fat! More insulation! And I happily oblige.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carbs! </td></tr>
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My foot isn't 100% healed so I'm been running longish runs twice a week and supplementing with long cross training sessions. My aim is extended high-intensity workouts. This, from what I've researched, is the most effective way to substitute running/marathon/ultra training. <br />
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So far, it's working. I've run two effortless 13 milers and a lot of 9s and 10s. Of course, the long-distance agony doesn't really start until one passes the 16 mileage mark so I'll let you know in a few weeks if this plan really works.<br />
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One lousy thing: Because I need to avoid twisting my foot at all costs, I must run on even surfaces, which means roads, now that the snow has hit. I have to stay off of my beloved trails, at least until the snow packs down smooth. But I did get in one delicious 9-miler the day before the snow hit. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheee! Downhill most of the way back from here. This is part of the Campbell Creek trail system, and the trails loop and interconnect and go on forever. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this sign, it makes me happy each time I run past.</td></tr>
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My gym workouts include 2 hours on the stationary bike, on hill program, twice a week (don't even try this without music) and my new favorite thing, which I borrowed from an ultrarunning blog: walking very fast or running very slow on a treadmill at 15 incline setting.<br />
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Sounds easy? Umm, no. I alternate between 3.8 and 4.5 speeds and am wet with sweat by 15 minutes. I go for about 80 minutes total and it's a long, slow, thigh-screaming agony. Last session the treadmill belt was wet from my sweat. It's an excellent high-intensity, low-impact workout. I engage in this delicious torture twice a week.<br />
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The remaining days? Two long runs plus weight training and core exercises twice a week and, this is important, one day of utter and complete rest. And I mean complete. I mean lying on the sofa and reading books and getting up only to walk to the refrigerator to load up on more food.<br />
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Besides sweating, I've also been writing like mad and last weekend I took a mini writing vacation at Alyeska Resort. This was a treat from MM since I start a new journalism job in two weeks and need to finish my second novel by then. The resort is amazing. I wish I had taken more pictures by alas, I'm not much of an indoors photo-taking gal. But here is the view outside the window, where I wrote for most of the days.<br />
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MM and I took an amazing walk through the Winner Creek Trail at night in the snow. It was so quiet and snow kept falling off the spruce trees with soft little plops. It was like being in another world. <br />
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The resort is filled with wonderful little nooks and crannies coupled with comfy chairs and tables. There were so many places to write! I loved it. There's also a fitness center and awesome swimming pool and hot tub. The price, however, isn't as awesome. It's rather spendy, actually, and runs about $200 a night and up, but we took advantage of the PFD special and got the room for $99 (for those of you who don't know, PFD stands for Permanent Fund Dividend, which refers to the free money check all Alaskans receive from oil profits each year). <br />
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Must scurry off for a run before dark. We are losing daylight quickly up here, about three minutes a day, which can make one feel a little bit frantic about getting out and enjoying the brief interludes of sunshine. (Come back, daylight, okay? I want it to be summer forever.)<br />
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Happy weekend, everyone.Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-19167811524926387362013-11-03T04:19:00.005-08:002013-11-03T04:19:55.927-08:00Little Su 50K, Little Su 50K, oh, what did I do?My apologies, but I must first interrupt this posting for a moment of silence.<br />
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My beloved iPod Shuffle has died. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP, my lovely iPod</td></tr>
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My sister gave me this iPod almost five years ago and I've run with it in Seward, Homer, all around Anchorage (except on the trails; I never run with music on the trails), Nebraska City, Philadelphia, northwest Pennsylvania, Whidbey Island, Seattle, Portland and Hawaii. <br />
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I logged thousands of miles with The Band, Prince, Sheryl Crow, The Wallflowers, U2 and even Patsy Cline (oh, how I love you, Patsy Cline). I rarely changed my playlist. I listened to the same songs over and over until they became as familiar as my breath.<br />
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Earlier this summer, my iPod started to falter. Sometimes it wouldn't turn on. Other times it played the same song over and over and over again (once, I'm ashamed to admit, it was Toni Basil's <em>Mickey,</em> remember that? "Hey Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey.")<br />
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Two weeks ago, it died altogether, bless its little technical heart. I shall miss it. We had quite the times together. Thank you for the miles, little blue iPod.<br />
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Now back to running news. Lookie this:<br />
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<em>Dear Cinthia,</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>Congratulations! You are now registered for </em><a href="http://www.susitna100.com/index.php?option=com_frontpage&Itemid=1" target="_blank"><em>2014 Susitna 100 or Little Su 50K</em></a><em>. Please check the event's official website for updates: </em><a href="http://www.susitna100.com/" target="_blank"><em>http://www.susitna100.com</em></a> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful, no? P.S. Thanks for letting me <strike>steal</strike> borrow your Susitna Race photo, Ron Nicholl, and I'll see you in February.</td></tr>
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It seems I've somehow registered for a 50K run through the frozen Alaska landscape in minus zero temps. I blame the fact that I interviewed various racers for an upcoming story in <em>Alaska Magazine </em> and they all made it sound so damned fun, and so damned easy.<br />
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<em> </em>I also blame this woman.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, Karen, I had to <strike>steal</strike> borrow this photo because I know I won't be writing the same caption under my race photo at the halfway point: "Halfway and loving every second." (Please!) Source: Karen and Matt Kidwell.</td></tr>
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Yes, Karen from the <a href="http://ariavie.blogspot.com/">la chanson de ma vie blog</a>. (I'm not sure what that means but I pretend that I do so that I don't feel stupid.) She and her husband Matt ran the race two years ago and loved it. She's also much, much faster that I can ever hope to be, and much, much younger and loves winter much, much more.<br />
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Nevertheless, I signed up. And now I'm in. So that's that. <br />
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I think the real reason I signed up is because I feel in need of a challenge. I've met my goals for this year (most of them writing, not running, related) and feel the need of push myself toward something new, something to stretch my outlook and force me to stare eyeball-to-eyeball with my own terrible limitations.<br />
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So naturally I chose stumbling through clumpy snow in ridiculously cold temps while racing farther than I've ever attempted as my challenge.<br />
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This race scares me. The cold scares<em> </em>me. It digs down inside my psyche. It does terrible things to my mind. Even though I've lived in Alaska for almost 25 years, I've never fully adapted to the winters. I don't do cold well. No matter how warmly I dress I become cold the minute I stop moving. (A voice in my head says, "Well then, Cinthia, don't stop moving.")<br />
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So, for what it's worth: I am now, gulp, officially training for a 50K. <br />
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<strong>Big cheers</strong>: A huge, huge shout out for Ali over at <a href="http://www.aliontherunblog.com/">Ali On the Run</a>, who is racing the New York Marathon today, despite a trying year of Crohn's health problems. You go, girl! (Read her blog if you have the chance. She's an amazing writer, and her honesty will tug at your heart.)<br />
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<strong>P.S.: </strong>I fear that I'm hooked on <em>The Sopranos</em> DVDs. I'm already on Season Two. <br />
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Happy running, reading and DVD watching, everyone.<br />
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Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-35572965468811971652013-10-24T04:51:00.000-07:002013-10-25T03:24:12.574-07:00Five moose, 11 miles and lots o' mudOh, oh, oh--how I love running in mud!<br />
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Our Wolverine Trail/Middle Fork/Powerline Pass run served up so much mud that by the time we finished, I was pure mud past my ankles. My shoes weren't even recognizable. It was cold mud, too. Cold and mucky and smelly.<br />
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We initially set out for a four mile run up toward Wolverine Peak. But my foot was feeling solid, with no pain, so we tacked on a few more miles and ended up running about 12. I love when that happens.<br />
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What can I say about this run except that it was perfect. Per.Fect. We passed one person the whole way, a guy with two dogs. After that, we had the whole valley to ourselves.<br />
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We didn't talk much. We simply ran through all of that silence. The air was cool in places, cold in others, and the lower lying areas were muddy. After a few miles we simply gave up and ran through the mud. P.S. I found out that while I love my Brooks Cascadias, they don't drain well. They became heavier and heavier we each large, muddy pond (lake?) we ran through until it felt as if I were running with leg weights.<br />
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I didn't take any photos of the mud, though. It didn't really matter. It was like an itch, something we noticed for a few minutes and then, as soon as we found ourselves on semi-dry land again, forgot. Until we reached the next muddy, swampy area.<br />
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We came across the first moose after about an hour. It was a large bull, off grazing to the side of the trail, and we managed to run past with no problems (I ran fast, too, as I blubbered to MM, "It isn't following me, is it? It isn't charging me, is it?" As if that moose had been standing there for hours waiting for me to run past so it could charge me.)<br />
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Half a mile later we hit two females standing in the middle of the trail. They refused to budge and we had to hike around them through heavy alder scrub and mucky water. They watched us the whole time. I think I heard them snickering.<br />
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I didn't take any photos of any of the moose, since it's the end of rutting season and I just wanted to get past them, fast. I did get this, though. A panoramic view of the valley. Isn't it to die-for lovely? It's one of my favorite places.<br />
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The beginning of the run was all uphill so that ending was all down, and the last four miles are my favorite part because it slopes down away from the mountains and toward the inlet, and you can pick up speed and really run, and it's the greatest feeling. We ran as the sunset streaked the sky the most haunting shades of pink and lavender.<br />
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We got caught in the dark the last few miles and my headlamp was cheap, the battery low so that we had only a dull shadow of light. The footing was rocky and we slipped and stumbled, and then I saw two yellow lights reflected in my headlamp and threw out my arms so that MM would stop. Two moose stood at the edge of the trail, neither very happy to find two humans running through their dark.<br />
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Once again we had to bushwhack through alder brush, and this time the footing was rough and the ground was so swampy it almost pulled off my shoes, and we were like blind people, groping through the semi-darkness. After we got back on the trail we walked the last mile. It was too dark and wet, the lamplight too weak; the last thing I wanted was to trip and re-injure my foot.<br />
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On the drive back, I put my bare feet on the dash next to the heater vents and blasted hot air and marveled at the early Alaskan pioneers, who navigated this land without expensive sweat-wicking fabrics, dry-weave socks, headlamps or any of the luxuries we take for granted. Then I stopped thinking because we were home and I ate a whole box of Annie's mac and cheese by myself (I made two, so that MM wouldn't starve) and even though I call myself a vegan, I make exceptions for Annie.<br />
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<strong>Reading: </strong>OMG! I read "Marathon Man" by Mark Singer. It's in "Best American Sports Writing 2013" and utterly fascinating. (I'm seeing if I can find a link to the original New Yorker story right now.) Here's the<a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/08/06/120806fa_fact_singer"> link</a>:<br />
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Has anyone read this? Basically, a 40-something guy named Kip Lipton, a Michigan dentist who racked up sub-3 hour marathons, was suspected of cheating and disqualified from numerous marathons. The fascinating thing is that no one can figure out just how, exactly, he pulled this off. His splits through race timing mats reflected his finishing times yet he's not in any race photos except for the beginning and ending; there's usually no sign of him on the course.<br />
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And, get this: In some race photos he's wearing different clothes in the starting line photo and the finish line photo: Different shoes and shirt and sometimes even shorts. Two different people racing? Except no one else has ever stepped forward.<br />
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I'll shut up now and let you read it for yourself. Cheers and happy running and reading, everyone.Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-55841497416758054382013-10-19T04:05:00.000-07:002013-10-19T04:05:51.664-07:00Running Flattop, in the wild windYesterday I found myself with that itchy feeling of being stuck inside too long so I headed out to run Flattop Peak.<br />
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It was nice in town, a warm autumn day in the low 50s, a running-in-shorts-for-the-last-few-weeks kind of afternoon. That changed as soon as I drove up the Hillside to the Glen Alps parking lot. It was windy, and the air was sharp with the feeling of winter. There was almost no one else around, either, which I took as a good sign.<br />
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What wasn't a good sign is that the few people I saw in the parking lot all had on winter coats. And hats! And mittens! They looked at me as if I were mad when I got out of my car in capris and windbreaker. For a moment, I doubted myself (Oh, don't you hate it when you do that, forgo your own good sense and start worrying that perhaps you <em>should</em> do this or <em>shouldn't</em> do that?).<br />
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It was cold, too, and the wind was strong and the bottom half of my legs, which were bare, quickly became wind-chapped, but no matter. As soon as I ran up Blueberry Hill I was, if not quite warm, at least better able to tolerate the cold.<br />
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After that, I saw no one. No one except for one man coming off the mountain who warned me of dangerously high winds and slick root toward the top. I thanked him and kept going.<br />
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Then I had the mountain to myself. All. To. Myself. Can there be anything better? Often I wonder why I'm not scared when I'm alone on a mountain. I should be scared, should have been scared yesterday. The wind was so strong that I could barely walk in places, and if I tripped or fell off the trail, it would be a long, long time until anyone found me. But I felt completely calm, completely at home.<br />
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That's a lie, I didn't feel calm. I felt energized and wild with wind and how it threw itself against me and scattered my hair and blew my hat off my head. I loved that wind. I couldn't get enough of it, even though my eyes watered and my face ached.<br />
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I made it almost to the saddle before the wind knocked me flat, twice. The gusts were so strong that I had to climb a few areas on my hands and knees. That's when I decided to turn around. At first I balked; I wanted to run at least to the saddle. Then I realized how dumb that was. The saddle was an arbitrary point--what did it matter if I reached it or not? <br />
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Still, part of me longed to keep going. I wanted to pit myself against the wind, see how much I could stand. I wanted to fight that wind. Of course I would have lost. I am a puny woman and the wind is much bigger and fiercer. But still ....<br />
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Running back down the wind was behind me, which meant that I barely had to move. I simply lifted my legs and the wind pushed and I was running, fast and smooth. It almost felt as if I were flying. Of course, I was exerting almost no energy but I think it still counts as running, no?<br />
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My foot held up and I iced it when I got back home, to be safe. I think if I'm really, really careful and don't push it too fast/too far too soon, I'll soon be able to start training for (gulp) the Little Su. In the meantime I've been doing killer long work outs at the gym, to compensate for the lack of mileage. <br />
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(I keep mentioning the Little Su so that you will all hold me accountable and I won't be able to back out, hee, hee.)<br />
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The best part of yesterday's run? After almost three months of being sidelined with an injury, I finally, finally got my trail shoes dirty. And not from hiking, mind you, but by running. I swear, I wanted to sink down in the mind, dunk my face, cover myself--I was so happy to get good and dirty again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is there a more beautiful sight than a pair of muddy trail shoes? Well, it would help it they were more worn and rugged-looking. I shall work on that. </td></tr>
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<strong>Reading: </strong>I am behind on my reading (sorry, to all of you waiting for me to review your books). I have been reading running blogs instead. I've been devouring them. I found a great line about a race gone bad over at Jen Benna's<a href="http://www.jenbenna.com/"> A Girl's Guide to Running</a>. I don't know if any of you read her blog but I'm hooked (I have so many, many bloggy loves). In her race report of the Run Rabbit Run 100 she wrote, "No, I didn’t have the race I am capable of, but I had the race I was supposed to that day."<br />
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Isn't that wonderful and lovely and profound? I think I shall print it out and tack it over my running shoes.<br />
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I also got to interview local Anchorage running gal Michelle from <a href="http://therunnersplate.com/">The Runner's Plate</a> last week for a Q & A in the <a href="http://www.anchoragepress.com/sports/running-hard-running-long/article_cc554842-3773-11e3-bfe2-001a4bcf887a.html">Anchorage Press</a>. She recently won the Kenai Marathon and is crazy fast; I think my race pace is slower than her easy pace. It was great meeting her, her hubby and their very affectionate dog. <br />
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Speaking of dogs--poor Beebs! She had a sore on her leg and licked it silly so we had to strap her in the blue-inflatable-cone-of-shame. Poor stumbling-with-a-pillow-thinger-strapped-to-her-head Beebs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please, someone get me out of this, okay?</td></tr>
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Happy weekend and long runs, everyone.<br />
Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-53072114558358713402013-10-11T05:02:00.000-07:002013-10-11T05:02:09.139-07:00Alyeska Mountain in the snowYesterday I pulled myself away from my writerly isolation (is there such a word as writerly? I dunno. Maybe I just made it up) and drove out to <a href="http://www.alyeskaresort.com/">Alyeska Resort</a> in Girdwood to visit MM, who was staying at the lodge for three days for a work conference.<br />
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I've been at the resort but I've never been inside one of the actual rooms, which are pricey. But since the State of Alaska was footing the bill (thank you, MM, for working for a company that frequently sends <strike>you</strike> us to conferences in cool places like Hawaii and Portland and now Girdwood) <br />
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The resort is situated against the mountains and the views are incredible, yet the actual building is heavy and clunky and looks terribly out-of-place. But no matter. As I said: The views are incredible.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why do I always think of "The Shining" when I see this? Source: Alyeska Resort</td></tr>
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So of course we hiked and ran up Alyeska Mountain. It was late afternoon, the end of a sunny autumn day, the air crisp with a lingering warmth. Except for one other hiker (who was faster than we were, even though we were booking it), we had the mountain to ourselves. The tram was closed for the interim before the ski season and it was so quiet, and the leaves were turning, and the mountains were topped with snow, and all around was a paradise. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See those wires in the upper left-hand corner? Those are the tram cables. But it didn't matter because it wasn't running and we had the whole place to ourselves.</td></tr>
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The biggest thrill was running in snow toward the top. Okay, by mid-winter I am sick of running in snow but since the temps were still warm and it was the first snow, it was kinda special.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Brooks: This is snow. Get used to it. You'll be running in it, a lot.</td></tr>
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We went back to the room and did something I've never done before. And it was so exciting!<br />
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We ordered room service.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't that tiny bottle of hot sauce the cutest thing?</td></tr>
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After we ate, we swam, and the pool at the resort is amazing. It was delicious and warm and the bottom was painted deep blue so that with the lights on it waved the most deep and haunting shadows. <br />
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And then it was 11 p.m. and as MM curled up in the very cozy room, I had to get in my cold car (there was frost on the windshield!) and drive back to Anchorage because dogs aren't allowed in the hotel and we couldn't find a sitter and poor Beebs is old and set in her ways and poops on the floor whenever we leave her alone.<br />
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It's heartbreaking watching your dog age. Just. Heart. Breaking. I had no idea. I want to take her old and smelly head between my hands, lean down close and whisper: Stop aging. Please? But of course there's nothing I can do and Beebs is happy sleeping through the day and taking short walks and eating everything in sight. She's getting a bit chubby but so what? Food makes her happy and I'll be damned if I'll put her on a diet, not when she's 13.5 years old. I'm planning on eating like a pig the last couple years of my life. I'll still run, though, so I probably won't get too fat.<br />
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Oh, oh: I interviewed <a href="http://www.aknicholl.com/">Ron Nicholl</a> for a magazine story. He's 70 years old and runs the <a href="http://www.susitna100.com/">Susitna 100</a> Race each year. It's 100 miles through off-road winter trails around a series of lakes and swamps. (<a href="http://ariavie.blogspot.com/">Karen and Matt</a> did the 50K a few years ago). This year he'll be almost 71 at race date. So inspiring. He said that he runs around 40-60 miles a week. Unbelievable. And when I called to interview him, he was in Idaho getting ready to run a 50K the next morning. That is so going to be me at 71. Or at least, I hope. Now I just need to run a 50K and 100 miler now, eh?<br />
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Happy weekend, everyone. <br />
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Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-51158923219830188932013-10-01T15:24:00.001-07:002013-10-01T15:24:18.263-07:00Hello, Peak Two. It's been a while, no?When the sun peaks out and the birch leaves glow yellow, autumn in Alaska is the best place in the world.<br />
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The air is crisp and the sun is warm and you can smell the scent of berries and leaves and the soft, damp odor of the ground.<br />
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On such days, it's impossible to stay indoors. And if you're in the middle of a large writing project and don't have a lot of time, you can head up to Glen Alps and be up in the mountains in less than a half hour.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brooks are too damned clean. I need a good, muddy, long run.</td></tr>
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A lot of people scoff at the idea of hiking/running Flattop, the most climbed mountain in Alaska. But if you go late in the afternoon and hike/run up the backside, you can basically have the mountain to yourself. I passed four people the entire way, and once I cleared Flattop and headed up to Peak Two, there was no one around. In fact, there wasn't a person in sight; I had the place to myself. And the views were incredible.<br />
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I power hiked up and ran down. I shouldn't have run because the footing with iffy and, wouldn't you know it, I twisted the very foot that's still recovering from an injury. But such outings are worth a little pain. I can't wait until I can run the entire mountain again but patience, Cinthia. Patience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love how these little roots. They are so white and pure and bare.<br />
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This was the first time I've hiked/run Flattop and Peak Two alone, without The Beebs. I thought I would be lonely, but I wasn't. How can one be lonely in the mountains? It's funny. When we were in Portland, I often felt lonely in the city (though I loved, loved, loved the 85 degree temps) but I never feel lonely out on the trails. I can run and hike for hours and not pass another person and feel totally content. The mountains and trees, you see, are good company.<br />
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When I got home I made my too-lazy-to-cook-goto-meal, a Salad of Salads. This one includes mixed greens, chicken veggie burger, tomatoes, chia seeds and dried seaweed, with the last of the Trader Joe's Goddess dressing. (Oh, Trader Joe's, I miss you so!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm posting another food picture! I hope I don't turn into a food blogger. Then I would have to actually cook.</td></tr>
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<strong>Reading: </strong>I seem to be reading three books at a time. I'm not sure how this happened but I'm going with it.<br />
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Anne Tyler's <em>Morgan's Crossing</em>. I've read this countless times and it never fails. No one writes dialogue like Tyler. No one.<br />
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David Roberts' <em>On a Ridge Between Life and Death</em>. The ultimate climbing memoir. I don't climb mountains, I hike and run them, but I enjoy reading such adventures. A big plus: Roberts is a damned good writer.<br />
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Michael Brookes'<em> Faust 2.0</em>. This is an indie book I got for free when I signed up for a newsletter. It's an action-packed quick read about a computer virus with the ability to rationalize and think coherent thoughts. It's not my usual reading genre but sometimes it's nice to kick out of one's comfort zone.<br />
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P.S. Can't get this song out of my mind. Think I might have to go rent "The Full Monty."<br />
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Cheers and happy Tuesday and Wednesday, everyone.Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-58270412741044051952013-09-29T02:53:00.002-07:002013-09-29T02:53:37.318-07:00Me, two horny moose and eight milesIt's rutting season, and you know what that means? All over the city male moose are pumped up on mating hormones.<br />
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And I mean pumped. <br />
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They want to find a female, and they want to find one NOW.<br />
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I didn't think I'd have to worry while running on the paved Coastal Trail. Yeah, it weaves through wooded areas but it's paved, people. It's not what comes to mind when I think of prime moose make-out areas.<br />
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Boy, was I wrong. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shhhh! Don't tell anyone but this small stretch of paved trail is a bona fide lover's lane for moose.</td></tr>
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At exactly 4.14 miles of my 8-miler today (I know, because I ample time to look at my watch while perched up in a tree), <span>I looked up to find cow moose running straight at right at me.</span><br />
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<span><span>It happened that fast. One moment I was chilling to "Super Freak" and the next I was veering off through the brush with a very excited moose inches behind.</span></span><br />
<span>She was running fast, and she had the most intense and panicked look on her face. I hid behind a scrawny alder tree and she turned away. I waited a moment, got back on the trail. </span><br />
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<span>A few seconds later a very excited bull moose charged straight at me. I veered off behind the very same tree but he kept coming. He was riled up, too, and snorting, and I scampered up a wimpy tree and held tight.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, Mr. Moose, are you the one that charged me? I hope you found your female and that you showed her a good time with your very big and very fine rack.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't me in a tree hiding from a horny moose but it is me in a tree so I thought I'd stick it in. This is from our Portland trip and it was 85 degrees and there were no moose around, no wildlife at all, which was sad.</td></tr>
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<span>Once the moose realized that while I was female, I certainly wasn't a moose, it lurched off, headed back to the trail and hightailed after its beloved. I waited until it was out of sight an limped back to trail. My legs shook from fright and the next mile was my slowest of the day, even though it was mostly downhill. </span><br />
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<span>Rutting moose are nothing to joke about. They are crazed, literally. They are looking for action. They can't think straight. </span><br />
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<span>A bull moose was shot and killed during a middle school cross country meet out at Kincaid Park a few days ago. Here's a link for the article, from my alma mater, the Anchorage Daily News: <a href="http://www.adn.com/2013/09/25/3094186/aggressive-moose-shot-near-middle.html">Aggressive moose shot near middle school race at Kincaid Park.</a></span><br />
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<span>And an interesting tidbit about moose I found on the National Park Website: <em>Ninety-eight percent of cows observed over a 12-year period mated once a year, with only one bull. In contrast, bulls may mate with up to 25 cows each year if they can fight off challengers.</em><br />
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Sounds as if it's still a man's world among moose, too, eh? But enough moose talk; let's get back to running.<br />
<br />My 8-miler went well and I stayed within my slowish post-injury pace. My foot felt strong, though my legs were sore from swimming. On the way back the wind picked up and leaves blew over my face and I felt as if I were somewhere magical, in a movie or running across the pages of a magazine.<br /><br />Then I came home and cleaned up dog puke. Beebs hurt her leg and I've been keeping it bandaged, so that she won't lick it and make it worse, and she ate the bandages while I was out running. The minute I walked in the door, she threw them all back up again. It was an awful mess. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please Beebs, don't eat your bandages, okay?</td></tr>
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Happy Sunday, everyone.<br />
</span><span></span>Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5084660746501451401.post-46625170891293110032013-09-25T16:18:00.005-07:002013-09-25T16:18:45.487-07:00Another great, though short, runI'm in the second week of post-injury running and so far, so good. My foot is holding up, though it aches slightly the first mile or so. Maybe I need to stretch out my arch first? <br />
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Here's how it's gone down the past couple of days:<br />
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<strong>Saturday: </strong>Swimming: 92 lengths of the pool (I think that's about 2,500 yards or 1.5 miles)<br />
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<strong>Sunday: </strong>Gym: 40 minutes elliptical, 30 minutes weights<br />
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<strong>Monday:</strong> Running: Four miles with MM. Started slow but picked it up to a decent pace.<br />
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<strong>Tuesday:</strong> Swimming: 68 lengths (just over 1 mile)<br />
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I'm hitting okay times. Nothing like I had been running before the injury but I'll take it. Mostly, it feels good to simply run, to allow my body to move in that familiar and well-loved motion. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello, 8s. I've missed you so. (Okay, it's the high 8s, but I'll take it.)</td></tr>
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The bummer is that I have to stay off trails for a couple of weeks, to lessen the chance of twisting/ re-injuring my foot. I'm running on pavement, which is NOT my favorite thing. I so miss the trails. I know a lot of runners love pavement but it's not my thing. The only way I can tolerate it is by blasting tunes in my ears (Hello, trashy 80s music. My favorite this week? "Tainted Love," by Soft Cell. I know, I know--trashy).<br />
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Oh, trails, I miss you so!<br />
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Have a great day, everyone.<br />
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P.S. Any views or recommendations on a good but inexpensive foam roller? Thanks!Cinthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16319692437720914477noreply@blogger.com6