Bye, 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.

Trail to Seven Falls

Catalina State Park

Phoneline Trail, Sabino Canyon

Black Bear Trail.

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.

Ben!

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.

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?

View from Blackett's Ridge.

Sabino Canyon

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.

Top of Blackett's Ridge

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.

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?"

Our friend, the snake

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Birthday memorial run

Yesterday was my dead sister's birthday.

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.

My sister, Cathie, and her dog Barney.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 What I'm reading: Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?  by Jeanette Winterson. A wonderful, beautifully written memoir of a woman growing up in an odd and destructive household.

Hello, hello, I'm back

Yes, I'm resurrecting my blog from the dead. It's been a bit, no? And there's so much to catch up.

And the big news: I'm running again.

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.

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.

Basically, for over a year, I had no life.

Sunset across the inlet sometime in December, when I still had no life.

It's a wonder that MM didn't pack my bags and boot me out the door because trust me on this: I was not in a good way for a good part of the time.

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.

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?

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.

Oh, Beebs, oh honey-there will never, ever be a dog like you.

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?

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?

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.

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.

Sun starting to set in Sabino Canyon, though I'm still a few miles from the trailhead, hee, hee.

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.

Last week's stats:
Monday: Rest day (lots 'o biking)
Tuesday: 11 miles
Wednesday: 5 miles
Thursday: Rest day (more biking)
Friday: 5.5 miles, trail, lots of incline
Saturday: 6.5 miles, trails, rough footing and oh my, the inclines!
Sunday: 6.5 miles, trails, more tough incline
Total: 34.5 miles

What I'm reading:
OMG, such a good book, and I highly recommend: Swimming Studies, 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,

Nineteen cold and slow miles, and two moose

The last two miles were unspeakable.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

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).

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.

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 those 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 still struggle to maintain a decent pace.

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).

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.

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..

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!)

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. 

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."

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.

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 another big bowl of Soy Dream.  

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.

 

Ultra 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:

Feb. 15, 2014

I wrote in large fonts because I wanted the magnitude of my terror to resonate.

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 Love it Or List It, my favorite workout show.

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 Anchorage Running Club 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 then ran 6.5 more miles. I do not recommend this. 

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.

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.

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.

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 The Stand (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).


Reading: The Stand, as mentioned. I've read it at least four times before but never stop loving it. I'm also reading Yesterday Road by Kevin Brennan and just downloaded Aurora Sky 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?

Cheers and happy running and reading, everyone.

Ultra training, week two

The good news: I'm still running.

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.

Carbs!

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.

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.

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.

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.

I love this sign, it makes me happy each time I run past.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.)

Happy weekend, everyone.

Little Su 50K, Little Su 50K, oh, what did I do?

My apologies, but I must first interrupt this posting for a moment of silence.

My beloved iPod Shuffle has died.



RIP, my lovely iPod

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.

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.

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 Mickey, remember that? "Hey Mickey you're so fine, you're so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey.")

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.

Now back to running news. Lookie this:

Dear Cinthia,

Congratulations! You are now registered for 2014 Susitna 100 or Little Su 50K. Please check the event's official website for updates: http://www.susitna100.com



Beautiful, no? P.S. Thanks for letting me steal borrow your Susitna Race photo, Ron Nicholl, and I'll see you in February.

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 Alaska Magazine  and they all made it sound so damned fun, and so damned easy.

 I also blame this woman.

Sorry, Karen, I had to steal 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.

Yes, Karen from the la chanson de ma vie blog. (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.

Nevertheless, I signed up. And now I'm in. So that's that.

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.

So naturally I chose stumbling through clumpy snow in ridiculously cold temps while racing farther than I've ever attempted as my challenge.

This race scares me. The cold scares 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.")

So, for what it's worth: I am now, gulp, officially training for a 50K.

Big cheers: A huge, huge shout out for Ali over at Ali On the Run, 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.)

P.S.: I fear that I'm hooked on The Sopranos DVDs. I'm already on Season Two.

Happy running, reading and DVD watching, everyone.