tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44331528519065922542024-03-18T02:47:33.585-07:00Shut Up + RunIt really is mind over matter. No excuses. Just do it!ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.comBlogger1624125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-8926551286793849222023-11-09T14:45:00.001-07:002023-11-09T14:45:24.817-07:00TMI and My Mind is Blown<div>Raise your hand if you didn't get your period until you were 16. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnjI5AmfLhG7RrfJlG8VFpUKQq2qanor6iZJjmtKeZXofkTk0GdSmYowBkZesKa7GD0NZiqzGNl-MRNQl2AO9hFBK4fWT7ZG6GsIDmqwcngN1L-GgRpHEafjeWYtVolg2H1ql6gy2uCiBeLjFUbfz0-Pb6-QxAhiTYjfuIZBeEMR-NY7VAlFBi4vRF9o/s700/BethBB2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="466" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPnjI5AmfLhG7RrfJlG8VFpUKQq2qanor6iZJjmtKeZXofkTk0GdSmYowBkZesKa7GD0NZiqzGNl-MRNQl2AO9hFBK4fWT7ZG6GsIDmqwcngN1L-GgRpHEafjeWYtVolg2H1ql6gy2uCiBeLjFUbfz0-Pb6-QxAhiTYjfuIZBeEMR-NY7VAlFBi4vRF9o/w266-h400/BethBB2016.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, in fact, I was 192 months old (16) when <br />I got my mine</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Funny side story: We were visiting the ruins in Olympia, Greece when mine started. I think this means something, but I'm not sure what. Maybe that I am meant to go to the Olympics. Or, maybe I was just trying to get out of seeing one more Greek temple. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Also, why do they call it a period? Well, I just googled it and OMG! Now I know the Greek-connection. "<i>Period is rooted in the Greek words "peri" and "holdos" meaning "around" and "way/path." This eventually turned into the Latin "periodus" meaning "recurring cycle."</i> <b>My mind is blown</b>.)</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always been somewhat of a late bloomer. Rumor has it (according to my mom) that I was difficult and late in my potty training because I had trouble pooping and sometimes just flat out refused to go. This is highly ironic if you have read this blog for any period of time. There have been many runs and races where I <b><i>wish</i></b> I had trouble pooping because that would have saved me lots of time in porta potties, bushes and tunnels (yes, a tunnel. A story for another day). In other late blooming news, I didn't lose my virginity until the age of 28 (I kid. I'm not going to tell you the real age I was, but it was probably later than most). Finally, I am still waiting to sprout breasts. Proud <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ibtc" target="_blank">IBTC</a> member here.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know what else I was late at? <b>Running</b>. I didn't start running until I was 41 years old. Like most things in my life, I came to it by chance. You see, I'm not the best at going after things. I tend to wait around until something comes to me (I'm not saying this is the way to live life, but it's my pattern). So, one day I got a post card in the mail from <a href="https://www.teamintraining.org/choose-your-event" target="_blank">Team in Training</a> (Leukemia and Lymphoma Society) inviting to me to raise money and exchange they would train me to run a marathon. Why not? I ran my first 26.2 in Phoenix on January 18, 2009 in a time of 4:03. It was right after that I wrote my <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2009/01/" target="_blank">first ever blog post</a>, which totally cracks me up to look at because I had no pictures of me running or the finish. Just a photo of my ugly, bruised toenail.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OH101Vi2_3YlyoyNt8BiQGqJ7mITIlcTIQMypShHxWdubxaT5hV4pDCmPaUG5TDxrk0b-1gR-LWjcOx0dIyUnfCMj-sUKOeyz_0x9wJ5F1JOqn17esPWM69AmZbkFy2X5QZAEx-cGpst9Z_m927xsFfQhUs5NzHP4x1wkUQpDbmwqIyKFQr0dyI_3Z0/s504/rocknrollarizona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="435" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OH101Vi2_3YlyoyNt8BiQGqJ7mITIlcTIQMypShHxWdubxaT5hV4pDCmPaUG5TDxrk0b-1gR-LWjcOx0dIyUnfCMj-sUKOeyz_0x9wJ5F1JOqn17esPWM69AmZbkFy2X5QZAEx-cGpst9Z_m927xsFfQhUs5NzHP4x1wkUQpDbmwqIyKFQr0dyI_3Z0/w345-h400/rocknrollarizona.JPG" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is that a penis shaped popsicle?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Funny side story: I was so new to running that I had no clue how to carry things. I safety-pinned 6 gels on my singlet and shorts. I am still wondering how the hell I ran and unpinned 6 gels. What a dork.</div><div><br /></div><div>Since that day the post came 15 years ago, I cannot stop running. I'm no Forrest Gump, but it's got a hold on me now and all I do is look for that next race or opportunity. God help me if my knees give out like Aunt Ethel says they will, or my uterus falls out like they warned Katherine Switzer (first woman to officially run Boston) that hers would. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, what is my point? You guessed it: <b>It's never too late to start.</b> Just because you haven't done something for the first 40, 50, 60 years of your life doesn't mean you can't start now. Maybe you used to run but it's been 20 years since you last tried and you think those days are behind you. Give it a try. Take a chance at that thing that scares you enough to take your breath away. Let's hear it for late bloomers!</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>When did you start running?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><i>Are you a late bloomer in anything? </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><b><i>Got a good period story?</i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></b></i></div><div><br /></div>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-63891502983116031972023-10-31T08:04:00.000-07:002023-10-31T08:04:39.550-07:00Are You A High Maintenance Runner?<p>It was snowing like a mother this weekend, so I did what any respectable lazy ass would do and scrolled social media. A college friend had posted something on Facebook to score "How High Maintenance Are You?." Naturally, I took the bait because I've done all the Buzz Feed quizzes and I already know <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/gooseymoosey/cheese-personality-quiz">what kind of cheese I am</a> (sharp cheddar). </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoN2DEcpNYmEW-YUxs4EGMeFjr0sqaGSPgLa9t-kVETI8JHhz474hazwL9tQeNazVVIgTX8ysKq5fuBlNxSMDgDmFGZTnild-Ik-l65OAfMQTp53ZwVJQEXbgF08RRvmWlGQyS3bM1g98xde1fna4h6nGOSpD11ga55qYBpmNNWA0g31HBtS8X7pp18nc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjoN2DEcpNYmEW-YUxs4EGMeFjr0sqaGSPgLa9t-kVETI8JHhz474hazwL9tQeNazVVIgTX8ysKq5fuBlNxSMDgDmFGZTnild-Ik-l65OAfMQTp53ZwVJQEXbgF08RRvmWlGQyS3bM1g98xde1fna4h6nGOSpD11ga55qYBpmNNWA0g31HBtS8X7pp18nc=w427-h640" width="427" /></a></div>The friend who posted this said she scored 93. <b>I scored 12. </b>This score made me insecure. Do I not take care of myself enough? Do I smell? Why do they spell "allot" that way and have I been spelling it wrong my whole life? (BTW, I own 20+ pairs of shoes, highlight my hair and wear ((shitty, grocery store)) make up everyday).<p></p><p>25 scarves?</p><p>This got me to thinking. Maybe it's just that I'm low maintenance when it comes to body hair and heels (aren't they just for strippers?). Perhaps my special gift is being high maintenance in other areas! So, I created this. Now we are speaking my language.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgp1OeU8j5Ya1rJvQ50NoVKQajJZJQj3uFp8_kyh_zSN51o_7O6sdn0H3x5kVXGHXN22EPd2H5UBey9z-7DtLK9qtoivkE5xYhWkBvxE14RGvwgmmrx7ztyb8CPP9KiJ-YEonATVW2svhtM8xUG6IxpFQ0aZZWYLc-mSLp-8gzPZjzlEB0bIkGaC8C3Xh4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgp1OeU8j5Ya1rJvQ50NoVKQajJZJQj3uFp8_kyh_zSN51o_7O6sdn0H3x5kVXGHXN22EPd2H5UBey9z-7DtLK9qtoivkE5xYhWkBvxE14RGvwgmmrx7ztyb8CPP9KiJ-YEonATVW2svhtM8xUG6IxpFQ0aZZWYLc-mSLp-8gzPZjzlEB0bIkGaC8C3Xh4=s16000" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><b>Total Possible: 58</b><p></p><p>0-4: You are so low maintenance you basically are dead. But, good for you. You love running just for the bare bones of it.</p><p>4-20: You are semi high maintenance, but over all, quite sensible. You keep your costs low and focus on the act of running itself.</p><p>20-40: You are bordering on being very high maintenance and likely annoying to those around you, lol.</p><p>42-57: Definitely high maintenance. How do you live with yourself? </p><p>58: You are insufferable and should re-evaluate all life choices. Maybe you should take up Pickleball. </p><p><b>My score? 20 </b>(wear make up to races, have recovery shoes that cost a lot ((allot)), have 10+ pairs of running shoes, sometimes blame outside circumstances for shitty performances).</p><p>By the way, none of this is judgey just meant for fun, so don't come at me!</p><p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Give me your scores! General high maintenance (first chart), runner high maintenance second chart</span>.</b></span> <b>I'm 12/18. </b></p><p>That was fun!</p><p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR<br /></span></i></b><br /></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-11163296155165116952023-10-20T09:25:00.000-07:002023-10-20T09:25:19.180-07:00I "Ran" a 50 Miler and Now I'm Unemployed<p>Hey, I've missed you.</p><p>I suppose it's very possible to have an existential crisis at the age of 56. Not that I would know anything about that. I mean - I just lost my job, my husband got laid off, my kids have flown the nest, I have <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2023/05/my-new-nickname-and-finally-diagnosis.html">been dizzy for the past seven months</a> and I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSv0rCnH5vFVpoNLEVLkJNwsAwoHOWGiqPoDcsNY6ZokG7RiF-eo6zsdGCp5GeIkkC-TKTFtWgDYwBVYNkpH7zvVm4DQs1wsIa3jE0ZujvKrOKf9Wx3w02eO7Q5qW8j_VeW76O57yR8OWvJCitJe5_tUygaOwRWdM4RXpoVK1r_P6Nkh2BxQQRcobY7wA/s640/coffeeandpoop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSv0rCnH5vFVpoNLEVLkJNwsAwoHOWGiqPoDcsNY6ZokG7RiF-eo6zsdGCp5GeIkkC-TKTFtWgDYwBVYNkpH7zvVm4DQs1wsIa3jE0ZujvKrOKf9Wx3w02eO7Q5qW8j_VeW76O57yR8OWvJCitJe5_tUygaOwRWdM4RXpoVK1r_P6Nkh2BxQQRcobY7wA/w480-h640/coffeeandpoop.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why am I like this? Maybe this is why I don't have a job?</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>On another note: remember when our kids were young and someone would ask how old they were and we would give their age in months? I'm going to start doing that now. I am officially 682 months old. Never mind. That's sounds awful. My existential crisis (EC) just got worse. </p><p>Back to the EC. There is nothing like job searching to really emphasize all of the things you are not good at and all of the jobs you would hate. Like, who wants to be a dog food canner? And who is qualified to work at all the cool places like Google where they have personal baristas and toilets with seat warming and anal hygiene? (that's a rumor. I have no idea what toilets at Google are like but I want to find out).</p><p>I knew my job was ending. I was an independent contractor for the past 8 years and my employer was getting rid of contracts September 30. I knew this. Yet, it hit me really hard when it actually happened. I didn't realize how much my job anchored me and made me feel like I was good at something and that I had purpose each day. Even on the days I didn't like my work, and they were frequent, I still felt a sense of productivity and satisfaction. Yes, some of that was tied to making money and some of it was just knowing I had done the best job I could that day.</p><p>So, here we are. Early on (and it's only been less than three weeks) I knew I needed structure to my days. I committed to:</p><p>1. Job search for 2-3 hours day/apply to one new job a day</p><p>2. Run (or get off my ass one way or another)</p><p>3. Do something nice for someone. This could be as small as letting someone in during traffic or as big as doing CPR to the beat of "Stayin' Alive" and savings someone's life. Trust me, it's all been small stuff so far and my CPR has expired so there's that.</p><p>The only thing that has really boosted my spirits these days is running. When I run, I get perspective and feel I can conquer the world. I breathe in the fall air and everything feels okay somehow. You know what I mean. I know you do.</p><p>There is no easy solution to dealing with life's unknowns and timelines. It's a quick and unconscious deep dive into pessimism sometimes. But, I try to reframe things, remembering the words of Mel Robbins, "<i>What if it all works out</i>?" instead of, "<i>What if I end up canning dog food and never get to experience a Japanese toilet</i>?" </p><p>But, guess what? <b>I ran a 50 mile trail race </b>in<b> </b>September (<a href="https://runrabbitrunsteamboat.com/">Run Rabbit Run in Steamboat, CO</a>). My first one (and probably my last). I was severely undertrained due to my <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2023/05/my-new-nickname-and-finally-diagnosis.html">VN condition</a> (dizzy, foggy, unbalanced) but I figured I would go for it anyway. If I had my first DNF, so be it. I fell hard at mile 11, but pressed on even though I thought I might have broken my hand (see grotesque image below). The first half of the race was phenomenal and I felt great, then the last half was a slog to the finish as I got more fatigued and feared falling. I also had to poop and felt a major blister on my toe explode. Why is running so glamourous? Have you ever almost crawled across a finish line? Well, it wasn't that bad, but I was in a pretty pathetic state. And, you know what? I was stubborn and determined and I did it. At 681 months old, I did it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDP3RzRyiB6SdKdEisAAh-YLj2Fd4Kk_aWlVl0axzwPnN61Snrgy5XxrpJeoLlJBHYm_4uZ9qTolRK6FVQ8gsHbHdJ-wVDT7FoqMXWzHBi0y4LoFk6u59QL83J_UdMeXaPOERDxUcHzv4fr5b1oBDY4cW7qi0xQXHhcJdT3dAU3nnCDij1bGB2DQnhoc/s480/RRRRabbitEars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDP3RzRyiB6SdKdEisAAh-YLj2Fd4Kk_aWlVl0axzwPnN61Snrgy5XxrpJeoLlJBHYm_4uZ9qTolRK6FVQ8gsHbHdJ-wVDT7FoqMXWzHBi0y4LoFk6u59QL83J_UdMeXaPOERDxUcHzv4fr5b1oBDY4cW7qi0xQXHhcJdT3dAU3nnCDij1bGB2DQnhoc/w480-h640/RRRRabbitEars.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to haul ass up Rabbit Ears Peak. Some guy at the top (not<br />with the race) took my picture because he thought it was a cool shot.<br />As I went by I yelled out my cell number and told him to send it to me<br />and he did!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78xw_fWIiExjhzO_EKuel2LXy6CBi9HWWvvBhe8Bor88-GzSiqB_D7TFUCwRcFB_B5PZzQmJY8KH2ClBhRppxgdxnLjq3jds6ESyxyoNfca4npkHrRUvpSdW0HO-5PQwKiWU0cSZIMDo5rL1TJ4WW92gHyPtJd2HQ7XDhcTMliQnuuCugNi3NFwEtHPs/s640/RRRhands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78xw_fWIiExjhzO_EKuel2LXy6CBi9HWWvvBhe8Bor88-GzSiqB_D7TFUCwRcFB_B5PZzQmJY8KH2ClBhRppxgdxnLjq3jds6ESyxyoNfca4npkHrRUvpSdW0HO-5PQwKiWU0cSZIMDo5rL1TJ4WW92gHyPtJd2HQ7XDhcTMliQnuuCugNi3NFwEtHPs/w480-h640/RRRhands.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hand the day after. It looks like my hand is dressing up for <br />Halloween. 2 x-rays later, not broken. But still hurts, actually.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdFQ6j5MnR3cPm7j8PBonP3e-HbV4OB6jvLOgeayw-T8WTo9sW0dPiKHik9yPbolUJQdqGGF8lW-mWPfKgvRKxmrEz7pbBNFEBqlJcfmpKlJPJQ12ZbqzxrWVo30RhtYiASFQ3a-xtC_3XxgKOCiuGUjBRwRCn983aJatjNZMaHk2FV-7FiNEtyJhApE/s640/RRRfinish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVdFQ6j5MnR3cPm7j8PBonP3e-HbV4OB6jvLOgeayw-T8WTo9sW0dPiKHik9yPbolUJQdqGGF8lW-mWPfKgvRKxmrEz7pbBNFEBqlJcfmpKlJPJQ12ZbqzxrWVo30RhtYiASFQ3a-xtC_3XxgKOCiuGUjBRwRCn983aJatjNZMaHk2FV-7FiNEtyJhApE/w480-h640/RRRfinish.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That finish line feeling. Sheesh the volunteer waiting for me was just happy<br />to finally be able to go to bed.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>And, now. I look around at all of you employed bastards smiling like you love your jobs. Just like I look at people running when I am injured and can't run. It's jealousy mixed with longing or something like that. The reality is I know not everyone loves their jobs, not everyone has a job. Maybe we place way too much emphasis on our work and not enough on all of the other things that make for a balanced life like hobbies and Golden Retrievers and wine and running and Netflix and travel. Oh, did I tell you we went to Spain and Greece in August? I like the traveling version of myself a lot. She is relaxed and tan and drinks Ouzo at lunch. .</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCq222gG32UF4IB7h7GTTpYuKnjV2pcFf7zauO0Q7uG5fhZZIIQ8g_L307MKvYndazZ8mZE01yQ38ujdFG8HAam8yye7JgAEq_QEqoF7XC-28JahIP79EI5fOoozvhqTPOIu0W7aSxAczsGZsP4CyE4u7uB6FNTpOTB9CBKylHdpcQCCF4k3rD_r9WTM/s2016/IMG_9352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzCq222gG32UF4IB7h7GTTpYuKnjV2pcFf7zauO0Q7uG5fhZZIIQ8g_L307MKvYndazZ8mZE01yQ38ujdFG8HAam8yye7JgAEq_QEqoF7XC-28JahIP79EI5fOoozvhqTPOIu0W7aSxAczsGZsP4CyE4u7uB6FNTpOTB9CBKylHdpcQCCF4k3rD_r9WTM/w480-h640/IMG_9352.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike tour in Barcelona sponsored by Old Navy skirt and very heavy bike<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAL9I43LjZTLdn3uP27vdmY9jCxsYLYsW8XGDeXmgBu-UDrb2Z0yzEGa59fpT1Q9LM4lcqBFTIeltjep0JE9qMgLPOGbQHK6dS0Ddbp3AobDTiffD5qVqNoHrDgFR15WbrKP32AS1u5ubTS7HUfzSTRXD2bTvZ0yC4-h8vZEQ_M-qcMm2ziKMe4NfTpo/s2016/IMG_9372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAL9I43LjZTLdn3uP27vdmY9jCxsYLYsW8XGDeXmgBu-UDrb2Z0yzEGa59fpT1Q9LM4lcqBFTIeltjep0JE9qMgLPOGbQHK6dS0Ddbp3AobDTiffD5qVqNoHrDgFR15WbrKP32AS1u5ubTS7HUfzSTRXD2bTvZ0yC4-h8vZEQ_M-qcMm2ziKMe4NfTpo/w480-h640/IMG_9372.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Roof top sunsets in Barcelona. Same skirt I wore on my honeymoon. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe I will get lucky tonight</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihd3OaCvCPUV-HBkY69LxL2ImhkCIKwBSmOnTbYm18NpXp6yY_jrAY8epI99BiK-ExEDCImQQRPp0rBu1yGneTD81uYUgq0iuBkqWLobqCdFafOpXJnSqBBE-lqK_n-CUQAHWda09FslS4J_BajUynYaABJR7boJTnvT2b207ppM8hRw_r_A1amfdAyjM/s2016/IMG_9569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc3czw5lPwYRzOu30AsUwblPaZzxnSEOf4ad6lZfBwl5NQ8vM97Hu3vbZ_MiR0FowiQNKxf5LaPVNxZ01Ngs38baWN2VIVHJVErCAH9DqPCMGr_G6CslumEt7lZacKZePYsxwgprBiWY6HcCYAK-crjlcBpbjvYOgCmr5StLGfVLpm6ofH-czS5hGbaU/s2016/IMG_1052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCc3czw5lPwYRzOu30AsUwblPaZzxnSEOf4ad6lZfBwl5NQ8vM97Hu3vbZ_MiR0FowiQNKxf5LaPVNxZ01Ngs38baWN2VIVHJVErCAH9DqPCMGr_G6CslumEt7lZacKZePYsxwgprBiWY6HcCYAK-crjlcBpbjvYOgCmr5StLGfVLpm6ofH-czS5hGbaU/w480-h640/IMG_1052.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The island of Naxos in Greece. Still wearing the skirt. My eyes say<br />I have had a few of those small glasses of wine.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMdIG__0wft_83Vvm55kOceLmuyGDCxn63aKdFbtWL2cyxZg6BF5pgP_Hnzga44GUij-VepisVAV-yx9dxt1rM00aUBnpAeA_SgORMmFFbyNw02Aq3ihZzy34Ycw8rz6Ec1BiP_-8_GgoyeKdhWSk8YGWykBoKKu9ktKxpQrIlLCd7Wiqo7vN7wJHPR4/s2016/IMG_9551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMdIG__0wft_83Vvm55kOceLmuyGDCxn63aKdFbtWL2cyxZg6BF5pgP_Hnzga44GUij-VepisVAV-yx9dxt1rM00aUBnpAeA_SgORMmFFbyNw02Aq3ihZzy34Ycw8rz6Ec1BiP_-8_GgoyeKdhWSk8YGWykBoKKu9ktKxpQrIlLCd7Wiqo7vN7wJHPR4/w480-h640/IMG_9551.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouzo FTW. If you go to Naxos you must visit Giannoulis Taverna<br />where the food is incroyable and the living is good.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrV3EJYHvE4naoN_dKFWgpr6_v9ofPURfT-4a27h-miSBjVtwq_hW0TefV3Rnza314B2L0s2-0nn8CNZCSMS4j58zVy2xWghCebMXPsHOi-ckOV7vu7YG40eY5IvgZb5L5QVgNGe1-O87zBaChOP-aEDrMobwfAnrNRd-zrhuVlqpvgzI7OE8rfgmxSg/s2016/IMG_9514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifrV3EJYHvE4naoN_dKFWgpr6_v9ofPURfT-4a27h-miSBjVtwq_hW0TefV3Rnza314B2L0s2-0nn8CNZCSMS4j58zVy2xWghCebMXPsHOi-ckOV7vu7YG40eY5IvgZb5L5QVgNGe1-O87zBaChOP-aEDrMobwfAnrNRd-zrhuVlqpvgzI7OE8rfgmxSg/w480-h640/IMG_9514.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some village in Naxos where shirts were not required and they served<br />Rooster stew</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Hmmm...the conclusion is a probably just don't want to work and would prefer to travel and drink wine and be with friends. I think my new job is meant to be - RETIRED. Welp, too soon for that unfortunately.</span></div><p>Enough of my ranting and complaining. Tell me about you.</p><p><b>- <span style="color: #cc0000;">How many months old are you?</span></b></p><p><b>-<span style="color: #cc0000;">Ever DNF'd a race?</span> <i>Nope, not yet, but I'm sure it's in my future</i></b></p><p><b>-<span style="color: red;">Did you travel this summer, if so, where? </span><i>We went to Greece, Spain, Las Vegas, San Diego and Michigan for a Ragnar Relay.</i></b></p><p><b>-<span style="color: red;">Ever been laid off?</span> <i>Yes</i></b></p><p><b><span style="color: red;">-Did you make a career shift in your later life?</span> <i>Not yet. Please tell me what to do. </i></b></p><p>Love, </p><p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></p><p>PS: I might be on here more often. Clearly I've got time to kill</p><p>PPS: Do you want to hire me? Kidding. Not kidding.</p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-80691251276992517522023-05-01T12:37:00.002-07:002023-05-01T12:37:56.592-07:00My New Nickname and Finally, a Diagnosis<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">In the news of the weird I'm still over here being dizzy, heavy headed and foggy. I am operating at about 50% of my normal cool self. I'm still not driving, but have managed a couple disoriented runs. Yes, call me crazy for trying to run when I feel like I've just had 5 glasses of chardonnay. I just choose a wide dirt path with few people and no huge obstacles like bolders, sink holes or tiny children.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">It's been almost eight weeks. Well, 46 days to be exact. When this type of shit strikes you, you don't forget the date of onset (March 16) and you don't stop counting the days. It's been a long road to answers, but I think I've found mine. If you don't know what I'm talking about read </span><a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2023/04/life-is-hard-rip.html" style="text-align: left;">HERE </a><span style="text-align: left;">first.</span></div><p>Unfortunately with medical stuff, epecially out of the ordinary symptoms, it's a freaking wild goose chase to get answers. It's all about ruling things out more so than getting an actually diagnosis. After two visits to the regular doctor, a hearing test and three visits to the ENT, I was finally sent for a test called a VNG (it has nothing to do with a vagina - that would be weird, just like CLT ((the code for the Charlotte airport)) has nothing to do with ....you figure it out). </p><p>VNG stands for<a href="https://medlineplus.gov/lab-tests/videonystagmography-vng/"> videonystagmography</a>, which is one of the most bizarre tests you will ever have - so bizarre that when I was done the audiologist thanked me for not throwing up. Basically, you wear goggles (think VR) that have cameras in them to track your eye movement. This shows up on a computer screen. Then the audiologist has you watch images on a wall, and puts you in differnt positions. Then the fun part comes where cold and warm air is blown into each ear to see what your eyes do when that happens. This elicits crazy eye movements and dizziness, where you feel like you have the spins after a long night in Vegas. </p><p>The outcome of the vagina test showed a diagnosis of vestibular neuritis (inflamation in the inner ear caued by a viral attack - I like to think it was the walkers from Walking Dead). I have 60% malfunction on my right side. This definitely explains all of my symptoms and while it will go away, it could take awhile. I'll be starting what is called vestibular physical therapy to help retrain my brain and other senses to compensate for the malfunction and hopefully get my equilibrium back.</p><p>On a side note I'd also like to share that while I think my ENT is a solid, thorough and wonderful doc, he is a bit quirky. On my first visit whenever I'd ask him a question, he'd start his response with, "<i>I see 4-5 dizzies a week...</i>" So, basically I am now categorized as a "dizzy." I'm not sure this is proper etiquette - like if you saw a psychiatrist would he/she say, "<i>I see 4-5 crazies a week</i>?" </p><p>I also had an MRI on Friday to rule out all the scary stuff, but haven't gotten results back yet. I took Ativan for the MRI then had wine later and apparently things became very enteraining (you'd have to ask Ken about the details).</p><p>Turns out when you can't run you have extra time for other things that don't require too much focus like doing crosswod puzzles and Wordle, walking Annie and picking up her big shits:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UEmnyyg1JPdLDW4LU2SI7N0ZG5TGqbaqkWzqgqwLEGeNKxaOWliUqWn2yONrWgdoLdax0qT-yBpJa4FXk2ik7WgZRUgBitwyl3JM2IOyZH-iZG2CyCeu7pQ4B9I5h6zXhWBnbT7xSICtqrQTAqJeDvhLEnPT90tbpJBdQPCtu-Yz28_1ATPFD6zi/s4032/IMG_8669.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1UEmnyyg1JPdLDW4LU2SI7N0ZG5TGqbaqkWzqgqwLEGeNKxaOWliUqWn2yONrWgdoLdax0qT-yBpJa4FXk2ik7WgZRUgBitwyl3JM2IOyZH-iZG2CyCeu7pQ4B9I5h6zXhWBnbT7xSICtqrQTAqJeDvhLEnPT90tbpJBdQPCtu-Yz28_1ATPFD6zi/w480-h640/IMG_8669.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The answer is yes, you do need to see this.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I can also sit by a fire pit and drink wine and watch friends fart into the flames:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5L-SWUVXhPW4MLBqgJSphsI9jB5wpQ4nhpTt7WrFfmpPvRDPk70JIP7UoSmjCqfNYBDQWIMkIuhh8QkDRBPWFNeFQXBUz88T2g0RaDFxSN8bU0GYGO2MzaY_7t6auFKhspyj8DPaRPE203yv9FmtIPj42JByVLcy6an2SI78X8ww5qGcQMZpZPV1H/s4032/IMG_6954.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5L-SWUVXhPW4MLBqgJSphsI9jB5wpQ4nhpTt7WrFfmpPvRDPk70JIP7UoSmjCqfNYBDQWIMkIuhh8QkDRBPWFNeFQXBUz88T2g0RaDFxSN8bU0GYGO2MzaY_7t6auFKhspyj8DPaRPE203yv9FmtIPj42JByVLcy6an2SI78X8ww5qGcQMZpZPV1H/w640-h480/IMG_6954.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9vJAFGbWG1L-pXxpZmYFnYhkZSE-ot8r64eY1kUVMq-k8F7DKWbP6rnHmBRBQch3QY_2n1549sK28hPps-xFGA5UN2n7RqJiPk7lqWIgLO77n3k6Wez8Uv-LxZBqek0mu9bcK00-CFugbXx3Owg74iB9RyMDNOpHIFZ-eGlLenEDVixgzP_7PWgJ/s4032/IMG_8582.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9vJAFGbWG1L-pXxpZmYFnYhkZSE-ot8r64eY1kUVMq-k8F7DKWbP6rnHmBRBQch3QY_2n1549sK28hPps-xFGA5UN2n7RqJiPk7lqWIgLO77n3k6Wez8Uv-LxZBqek0mu9bcK00-CFugbXx3Owg74iB9RyMDNOpHIFZ-eGlLenEDVixgzP_7PWgJ/w480-h640/IMG_8582.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny bit 'o crack showing</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I'm able to sit in a manicure chair:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzbocGtIRkKdUDZk92dzOcQm4dZ695Nt-vSjvy2rPg8jxDYo71Wk5Jf-lVR6KWcoSQp1NgBM1gDZQJbmSVebrTKP0TFd7uB2n0ES0WyDCRDUHKuaCZo5AukI0HNrRNZD6Ba1Bc1NcgAj_ZIENy6nIZUNSm4X_Q4E3f0L1oLN5bIK3NjMdOjmI0Igy/s4032/IMG_8645.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzbocGtIRkKdUDZk92dzOcQm4dZ695Nt-vSjvy2rPg8jxDYo71Wk5Jf-lVR6KWcoSQp1NgBM1gDZQJbmSVebrTKP0TFd7uB2n0ES0WyDCRDUHKuaCZo5AukI0HNrRNZD6Ba1Bc1NcgAj_ZIENy6nIZUNSm4X_Q4E3f0L1oLN5bIK3NjMdOjmI0Igy/w480-h640/IMG_8645.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I've had time to watch every new show imaginable - </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Last of Us (Another day, another apocolyse. Episode 3 was 😍)</li><li>Ted Lasso, Season 3 (<a href="https://www.thekitchn.com/the-official-ted-lasso-biscuit-recipe-23211497">recipe </a>for the biscuits Ted brings everyone. You're welcome)</li><li>Survivor (I am the only one who has watched all 44 seasons? I refuse to add up how many hours that is)</li><li>Shrinking (Harrison Ford is so old. But so am I)</li><li>Bad Sisters (I wish the use of the word "twat" was normalized in the US)</li><li>The Door Prize (My potential = dizzy. You will get his if you've watched the show. If not, sorry)</li><li>A Million Little Things (this is getting very sad even if that particular character really annoys me)</li><li>Jury Duty (okay, this is worth the watch if for no other reason than the poop scene and the ending)</li><li>The Beef (I will NEVER engage in road rage again)</li><li>The Last Thing He Told Me (I read the book. The series is entertaining)</li></ul><p></p><p>I also went ice fishing becaue that just requires standing still and looking into a hole (that's what he said) and not catching anything (well, okay everyone else caught something but they are just show offs).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW18LM8x1Lu8hKkanssYBmeu-SX4xJNgrdsN0VrqYOXZmvx4qkEmwClzy6TxQIz9sXhgDXEQxThFja34Yd1NCrdx0KYerlYt85rxDm-mJMzvHH-JXEQKe2rXRLLsIkNU8Nzofxr_kqYFM8I98FbAb2FB5kKgCXi1P2sGlpkgVM7JSbJaevd9pz01fj/s800/IMG_3627.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW18LM8x1Lu8hKkanssYBmeu-SX4xJNgrdsN0VrqYOXZmvx4qkEmwClzy6TxQIz9sXhgDXEQxThFja34Yd1NCrdx0KYerlYt85rxDm-mJMzvHH-JXEQKe2rXRLLsIkNU8Nzofxr_kqYFM8I98FbAb2FB5kKgCXi1P2sGlpkgVM7JSbJaevd9pz01fj/w480-h640/IMG_3627.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was last week at Redfeather Lakes, CO. Spring in CO is not spring in other places</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gOKosVxHyhWzV-tl_pitJBpVIuxH_Kps4gPecUK2u31-rXepTcfwcOjXbz5eOJqGKUr_MBfSUVIHgeYio23cguvqX0ln3xlwzSSl20iFA3SO4bcf5Hl2JIjilflY3EsIi3p5PSZdF8_SufkHsgkcLJRZLBmBVA3NqdqJX51fwJpopV_34DZtv791/s4032/IMG_8623.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gOKosVxHyhWzV-tl_pitJBpVIuxH_Kps4gPecUK2u31-rXepTcfwcOjXbz5eOJqGKUr_MBfSUVIHgeYio23cguvqX0ln3xlwzSSl20iFA3SO4bcf5Hl2JIjilflY3EsIi3p5PSZdF8_SufkHsgkcLJRZLBmBVA3NqdqJX51fwJpopV_34DZtv791/w480-h640/IMG_8623.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I have already missed two races, including a trail half marathon in Fruita, Colorado. I really enjoy donating so much money to my running habit. Next up is the Bolder Boulder 10k on 5/29. I am determind to do this one as it is one of my favorite days of the year and I've probably done it 15 times. Plus, you can drink beer at 9 a.m. Here Ken and I are last year if you care.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2ToY8kN6AG6BHhHvhBr5KmV0TsjLLJY_Wc4kTL2O66S5qFNPqi4zrsJigf-emlSVcFecZnIR025LkUQILWf1rFkn62QmC4Ww5QALGSWnbaD0b3p0quS4_K5ocvpTThULaakFd8BiV3lVRb5oLtkKlMOImwL14-Q9v0RTB3KbnIH-q_BZLhBZa3HL/s4032/IMG_6005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2ToY8kN6AG6BHhHvhBr5KmV0TsjLLJY_Wc4kTL2O66S5qFNPqi4zrsJigf-emlSVcFecZnIR025LkUQILWf1rFkn62QmC4Ww5QALGSWnbaD0b3p0quS4_K5ocvpTThULaakFd8BiV3lVRb5oLtkKlMOImwL14-Q9v0RTB3KbnIH-q_BZLhBZa3HL/w480-h640/IMG_6005.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Well, that's enough ranting for now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Humor me:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><b>Best shows you've watched lately?</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><b>Ever had an illness misdiagnosed or hard to diagnose?</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><b>When's your next race?</b></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Later,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR </span></i></b>(aka "the dizzy")</div><p></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-75881769061822360102023-04-03T19:55:00.000-07:002023-04-03T19:55:32.021-07:00Life is Hard. RIP.<p> <span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">19 days ago, I stood up from my
desk at 4:30 pm and almost fell over. As I stumbled around the kitchen like Annie (Kristen
Wiig) on the plane going to Vegas in Bridesmaids, Ken told me to lay down and
have some Nuun. I did it because I am subservient and in a couple hours felt
better. Fast forward to 7am the next morning and you could find me flat on my
back in my dark bedroom with a bucket by my head. The same white vessel we
named the “puke bucket” for our kids when they were young. I'm sure every home has
one designated barf container. </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHZWHj-WjL2m4uiXtqyq9QZ84mySDZQsCWFVkVmRtukHKenHCe--Yizj2Zy2Di-ldU8VNmj6woFYlJZF_ZDVV4kzMlAF_W95bwvL1plYdBvnUdQdNennKvbslAvz_SSzGMw_TwUNNm0CtaQALJ90r9aagwZ9lMj7k7a59eo3Z9XOhDA7NDKV7sLFl/s1472/4FB0B378-DD5B-4ABA-ADD9-5DE66B995D06%20(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1472" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHZWHj-WjL2m4uiXtqyq9QZ84mySDZQsCWFVkVmRtukHKenHCe--Yizj2Zy2Di-ldU8VNmj6woFYlJZF_ZDVV4kzMlAF_W95bwvL1plYdBvnUdQdNennKvbslAvz_SSzGMw_TwUNNm0CtaQALJ90r9aagwZ9lMj7k7a59eo3Z9XOhDA7NDKV7sLFl/w360-h640/4FB0B378-DD5B-4ABA-ADD9-5DE66B995D06%20(1).JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother fucker</td></tr></tbody></table></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">What was happening to me? Was I
pregnant despite Ken's vasectomy and my 56-year-old eggs? Did I have a
brain tumor like WebMD said?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Well, no. It was apparently a
sudden onset of vertigo. Imagine not being able to move your head without the
spins or having literally crawl to the bathroom. Imagine that every little
sound, smell or movement made you want to vomit. Literally, I could smell Ken
microwaving chicken noodle soup downstairs and wanted to hurl. Stupid.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7ZifmEgWVK056p70zTQR--4tBujF1n4MMI8IW-3gVEm9DClOn-_E2CbzSouzUoSILGfFe9UNQHGfr95JSINl5KgQqYfq71GzfukK1M8MK_qXEhv6dagHZQJ2d5czUyVSanD346Xe6HNjfs1mqUXqq4fr8BTn1gGMi_7EwqscKBrM_qMG_Gi69z5ke" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7ZifmEgWVK056p70zTQR--4tBujF1n4MMI8IW-3gVEm9DClOn-_E2CbzSouzUoSILGfFe9UNQHGfr95JSINl5KgQqYfq71GzfukK1M8MK_qXEhv6dagHZQJ2d5czUyVSanD346Xe6HNjfs1mqUXqq4fr8BTn1gGMi_7EwqscKBrM_qMG_Gi69z5ke=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Annie is perplexed.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Never did I think it would last
this long, as we close into 3 weeks of this bullshit. I am no longer carrying
the bucket around, but the dizziness is still my constant companion and I can’t
drive or needless to say, RUN. My head is heavy and my brain is foggy.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Let’s increase the sadness factor here. On the very early morning of March 27, Ken woke me up and said, “My mom
died.” We had gone to bed that night and knew she had gone into the hospital and
was in ICU but the news came as a shock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">So, soberly (in the sense that we
are sad but not in the sense that I stopped drinking wine) we are headed to
Florida in the morning for a funeral and internment. Peg, my mother-in-law, was
a decent, sweet, funny and pious woman. She “saw the eye of God” in her last
hours and I hope this brought her peace in those final moments. I like to
believe it really did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">These three weeks have taught me
some things about patience, vulnerability and acceptance. When you are reduced
to such sadness and when you can hardly do much for yourself, you get clear on what
is important real fast. Not running sucks, but it’s not the end of the world.
What is the end of the world is not being able to walk your dog for a minute in
the sunshine or talk to your mom or best friend on the phone because you feel
too nauseous. What sucks is your brain being so mixed up that you can’t track a
thought or put on your socks. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Two ENTS, a chiropractor and my
primary doc later, there is no clear diagnosis. I just have to wait it out.
Maybe it’s BPPV (crystals in ear) or vestibular neuritis (inflamed nerve in the
inner ear). We’ve tried all the meds and the maneuvers and now I’m just sitting
here trying to not resist what is. The struggle comes in not accepting where you
are, right?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">I’m grateful we visited Florida
in February before Peg was so sick and to have a few laughs and meals with her.
Wednesday we will say our final goodbye and whether I’m dizzy or not, I’ll be
there to take it all in and to honor her memory and the amazing mom she’s been
to my husband and the devoted grandma she’s been to my kids. I won’t run while
I’m there And you know what? Who cares. Running is my passion and what I love to
do but it’s not everything.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz6Cfi5jUCpMonWxWvh3I5lfoNWGrfkPPMTeIJb2ZGI-t6Qy9MD79_Xn41Kjer2J-1VD30FT_9RihcclwsPqenSA83CA2fPaTm9OoAMMTIjWPtmFn2i2sTXs3hEvyV0TauJENovVmBm4emxVssv9y1qlmue8eHN_hSt96BAmXGaHgGFYtz1JdHsO6/s3088/IMG_8326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzz6Cfi5jUCpMonWxWvh3I5lfoNWGrfkPPMTeIJb2ZGI-t6Qy9MD79_Xn41Kjer2J-1VD30FT_9RihcclwsPqenSA83CA2fPaTm9OoAMMTIjWPtmFn2i2sTXs3hEvyV0TauJENovVmBm4emxVssv9y1qlmue8eHN_hSt96BAmXGaHgGFYtz1JdHsO6/w480-h640/IMG_8326.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p><span style="color: black; font-size: 13.5pt;">Love, <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p><span style="color: black;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b></span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></p>
<p><o:p> </o:p></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-61727817095601149912023-01-21T13:57:00.002-07:002023-01-21T14:00:56.615-07:002023 Rock 'n Roll Arizona Half Marathon Race Report - Did I Get the Goal?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I woke up to dark, cold and wet. Well, it was dark, warm and dry in my hotel bed, but outside it was rainy and pitch black. I got up and started messing with the pile of running clothes I'd thrown onto the floor the night before. But, the most important order of business, <b>coffee</b>, needed to be tended to. I filled the Nespresso water canister, popped in a capsule and hit the "on" button. Nothing. I fiddled with the power cord and yes, it was plugged in. I moved all coffee machine parts around. No go. I started to panic. Coffee was as much a necessity as my running shoes and a pre-race poop. I called to Ken, who doesn't drink coffee (freak), to help me. With half closed eyes, he looked at it, pressed buttons then declared he was sorry but he had to poop. Sigh.</span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">In the meantime I was getting behind on other things like eating my oatmeal (didn't have time to get hot water in the lobby so used lukewarm tap water - don't recommend) and pinning on my bib. I also still needed to jug some Nuun and poop ( don't mean jug poop; just get out some poop). I pleaded with Siri to tell me how to work a Nespresso maker, which she kindly did, but it still didn't work. I looked around, tears welling in my eyes (haha okay, so dramatic) and held my gaze for a moment, deep in thought. Then just like that, Christmas Vacation Style, I flipped on the light switch near the coffee maker and VOILA, a steady stream of hot liquid finally made its appearance. Problem solved. It's true I am a social worker who is very much not STEM-like in any way.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq3BcwpNedlTNsBNAuov14Mm58n0Q450ZGiUHqc7rcVDWBX_Nu6fFYfz1Dhbal1RBtDrbRCokPMLIOqiw1IjfGHgopzr2km8UgSzuE1DROpCUitihy1WE4CtIusAOJHz6PhZ7CVfXFRhBNNTayn76xdiz4W4MOwWEwnuc526nObSt_61jHBA5tF2VL/s4032/IMG_8039.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq3BcwpNedlTNsBNAuov14Mm58n0Q450ZGiUHqc7rcVDWBX_Nu6fFYfz1Dhbal1RBtDrbRCokPMLIOqiw1IjfGHgopzr2km8UgSzuE1DROpCUitihy1WE4CtIusAOJHz6PhZ7CVfXFRhBNNTayn76xdiz4W4MOwWEwnuc526nObSt_61jHBA5tF2VL/w480-h640/IMG_8039.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Dressed, hydrated, caffeinated and full of cold oatmeal (and poop ugh), we headed to the start. I said goodbye to Ken, handed him my jacket, and got into my corral in the rain. I failed to wear a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes. It doesn't really rain in Colorado. It also doesn't really rain in Phoenix, so there's that. I'd just suck it up. I told myself to embrace, not resist, the conditions. I'm very wise that way.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOiZkTT1MwXG5s4MzHa7QUsOIg9lp7JUvu2d_CZf0XjbZSSrnVbjEzhpIsMVlfcb-1YNwdDIQkgXmsEL4aY4J5AygtjkPL9JvGmflZJEDUbyQmV4s4leSXnjgJ5v97yr6_dB_ClYBUjDVRHU6giy1JsTQwGcUc8D5CZTIu3RYkdz28dxwJ0CVPTqy/s4032/IMG_8041.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDOiZkTT1MwXG5s4MzHa7QUsOIg9lp7JUvu2d_CZf0XjbZSSrnVbjEzhpIsMVlfcb-1YNwdDIQkgXmsEL4aY4J5AygtjkPL9JvGmflZJEDUbyQmV4s4leSXnjgJ5v97yr6_dB_ClYBUjDVRHU6giy1JsTQwGcUc8D5CZTIu3RYkdz28dxwJ0CVPTqy/w480-h640/IMG_8041.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Let's pause here for a moment. After <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2023/01/my-dog-eats-poop-and-other-updates.html">my accident in August</a> I've had to stay off of the trails for fear of falling and re-injuring myself. Therefore, once I was given the clear to run in September, I decided to set my sights on road running and qualifying for the NYC Marathon with my half marathon time. In the 55-59 female age group that's a 1:54. Before November, I hadn't done a road half marathon in years. My last one was the <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2017/06/utah-valley-half-marathon-race-report.html">Utah Valley Half in 2017 </a>- one of those common Utah races where they drive you to the top of a canyon and you run down (800 feet of elevation loss, no turns). I did that one in 1:50:21 and that was when I was 50. Gulp.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Yes, I'd done my long runs consistently as well as speed workouts on the treadmill. But, based on my half marathon time in November (2 hours), 1:54 seemed like a lofty, although not impossible goal. If it was easy to qualify, everyone would do it right?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The gun goes off and so do I. I decided my approach would be to not look at my watch until mile 12. I've never gone totally by feel before. Lets try it! I also promised myself that if at the half way mark I felt good I'd pick it up. It rained hard for the first 7 or so miles. So hard I thought I'd lose a contact lens. I didn't. At the halfway mark I took a Maurten gel (consistency of pure Jello) I had in my pocket and knew I had enough in the tank to pick it up. I couldn't believe how good I felt and how much energy I had. I kept telling myself to keep pushing and that I didn't do all those freezing cold long runs in the snow and sweaty interval runs on the treadmill just to not make my goal. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgMAZbjGdZfrL982oBvMNTi7WdQQfT9nWy67Wig-SkGwqg0Vh32xYXIhOghAafImVqqGUn4-ABS00Y_v-hC2gUKQ-nOSY5chBuRPLNIO4Oz_NiY8c8Yf9G6vXislL2TCBgURhcUyqQYp8ohEpxEa8gzrBQq2qoNfktqwKDR4mAOdUqggvf8umZw6B/s640/AA76BFF0-4B6F-4D1C-B4B3-6AE8A3535807.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFgMAZbjGdZfrL982oBvMNTi7WdQQfT9nWy67Wig-SkGwqg0Vh32xYXIhOghAafImVqqGUn4-ABS00Y_v-hC2gUKQ-nOSY5chBuRPLNIO4Oz_NiY8c8Yf9G6vXislL2TCBgURhcUyqQYp8ohEpxEa8gzrBQq2qoNfktqwKDR4mAOdUqggvf8umZw6B/w640-h640/AA76BFF0-4B6F-4D1C-B4B3-6AE8A3535807.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">At mile 12 I gave myself permission to look at my watch because I didn't want to miss my goal by seconds. My watch said 1:41. WHAT??? I knew I had it. I sprinted that 1.2 miles and seeing Sam with about 1/3 of a mile to the finish line was a huge boost. I ran the second half faster than the first.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfrn3GvC1XEJB7WyyJ9erEPdKPvSwy8C763zUj8R6gr2nR1QjIoBixsAusImLHGbIJ5nEgXg84QcXX7eBiEzTInaW_20_2rmudvv9EyZeSfK0Gfk3zyR1f3viU_vhb0bdwDDM-SOVFaiEGKPin9NaDXxT1u3dzyGGSWWf8fo0enfXqDbKnc1P11Th/s1100/IMG_8089.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfrn3GvC1XEJB7WyyJ9erEPdKPvSwy8C763zUj8R6gr2nR1QjIoBixsAusImLHGbIJ5nEgXg84QcXX7eBiEzTInaW_20_2rmudvv9EyZeSfK0Gfk3zyR1f3viU_vhb0bdwDDM-SOVFaiEGKPin9NaDXxT1u3dzyGGSWWf8fo0enfXqDbKnc1P11Th/w482-h640/IMG_8089.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Thing is, this time qualifies me for NEXT year's NYCM - so 2024. Hopefully I'm still alive by then.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtL3Qybk1a543INoZx9H6y0XA38dFm97sqhxUSMsf2yCJCocSd3hLuvenl20aAjIgMY0LKn6QJ8vhPBMx8kEJRDpNbyLu5au4avVv9ll28nHtmDiC6PHCsI2CtWfNiOqpRAsODTaqJQnkzpFk-2kQu2KsSgPI-902aEagtNM8SDmhvYSwV09e1noW4/s4032/IMG_8043.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtL3Qybk1a543INoZx9H6y0XA38dFm97sqhxUSMsf2yCJCocSd3hLuvenl20aAjIgMY0LKn6QJ8vhPBMx8kEJRDpNbyLu5au4avVv9ll28nHtmDiC6PHCsI2CtWfNiOqpRAsODTaqJQnkzpFk-2kQu2KsSgPI-902aEagtNM8SDmhvYSwV09e1noW4/w480-h640/IMG_8043.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Overall, I really liked this course. It's not especially scenic, except for one part around 9 miles when you climbed a hill up between two buttes and have a gorgeous view of the city (Papago Park). I also like that it's pretty flat with only about 200 ft of elevation gain. Rock 'n Roll has it dialed in with their aid stations, excellent tracking app, post race party and multiple porta potties (I never did poop). And, Phoenix in January is usually a sure thing weather wise for a race. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaeOMmTS6Kl49h-1NDUvScIpsCvAF4TGy3fvZuvBh6x7pwLnuLddNwWCcDZ6qJIO5SF4MOXFFS8KUaO6r4--VDwXpDmHzIVw_DXwrA_vpAo2iY7bJ-XpAjgqN5qdr-VwaOcYRaVnqmTCpU1Au_CDHfiCA2KWcR2vqqySEk6VEh1JlWAgP6lBTgcRFk" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiaeOMmTS6Kl49h-1NDUvScIpsCvAF4TGy3fvZuvBh6x7pwLnuLddNwWCcDZ6qJIO5SF4MOXFFS8KUaO6r4--VDwXpDmHzIVw_DXwrA_vpAo2iY7bJ-XpAjgqN5qdr-VwaOcYRaVnqmTCpU1Au_CDHfiCA2KWcR2vqqySEk6VEh1JlWAgP6lBTgcRFk=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly not my photo as I wasn't in a helicopter, but you get the idea.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />Thanks for reading along. I'm a big fan of race reports so thanks to anyone who has written one and has filled me in on their experiences and what to expect.<div><br /></div><div><i style="font-weight: bold;">What's your next race? </i>I don't have anything officially signed up for until the Bolder Boulder in May. But, will likely do something before then.</div><div><br /></div><div><b style="font-style: italic;">Are you obsessed with your watch while running or do you go mostly be feel? What watch do you have? </b>I've been going by feel on my long runs, but use time/pace for speed workouts. I have a <a href="https://www.suunto.com/en-us/Products/Sports-Watches/suunto-9-baro/suunto-9-baro-black/">Suunto 9 Baro</a> and absolutely love it. Been using it for almost 5 years.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Favorite pre-run fueling?</i></b> I usually do oatmeal/graham crackers and/or a Honey Stinger Waffle</div><div><br /><p></p><p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></p><p>PS: Leave your email above on the top right to get updates when a new post comes out. Also, follow me on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shutuprun/?hl=en">HERE </a>for more fun.</p></div>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-39603279117659541312023-01-13T15:43:00.000-07:002023-01-13T15:43:26.327-07:00Do NOT Water Down My Margarita + Countdown to Race Day<p>I'm feeling the love. I missed you too. People still DO read blogs!</p><p>It was really reassuring to learn how many of you have dogs that eat turds. But, the question keeping me up at night is why don't cats do it? My estimation is that they are far too sophisticated for that BS. If they were going to do it, they would be so embarrassed about their behavior that they would likely hide shamefully in an old Amazon Prime box and do it in there under the dark of night.</p><p>Tomorrow we leave for the airport at 5am for Phoenix to get there in time to get the the Rock 'n Roll race expo before it closes. I chose our hotel (<a href="https://www.hilton.com/en/hotels/phxtypy-canopy-tempe-downtown/">The Canopy</a>) not only because it is at the start line, but also because it has a lovely rooftop pool and bar. It is a slam dunk that if you go to Phoenix in January, or really anytime for that matter, the sun will shine upon you and you can put on your bikini (or tankini or one piece) and lay by the pool with a margarita. Eff you Phoenix. This does not look like vacation weather.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V9AXb3O8hQBaOZsXtEGMPV6qRokcRav9IkCwu5YXhpbSCQiM5otkaUwChkXaiQI9zfQsOLR_OGATKKr6JodXaRx9U1uySFrCp1tWJYIIN5r7w3-hk7_ZKWrmJmUBD5BdPjkbi7NOP9BxWYeY4xOQXe7TjUTayR9rVRPC2-VZD8KfPLIcpimtu1A9/s1208/Screenshot%202023-01-13%20at%203.21.29%20PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1208" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V9AXb3O8hQBaOZsXtEGMPV6qRokcRav9IkCwu5YXhpbSCQiM5otkaUwChkXaiQI9zfQsOLR_OGATKKr6JodXaRx9U1uySFrCp1tWJYIIN5r7w3-hk7_ZKWrmJmUBD5BdPjkbi7NOP9BxWYeY4xOQXe7TjUTayR9rVRPC2-VZD8KfPLIcpimtu1A9/w438-h640/Screenshot%202023-01-13%20at%203.21.29%20PM.png" width="438" /></a></div><p></p><p>I do love to run in cooler temperatures and don't mind the rain if it's not pouring or going sideways. So, the race weather is fine. But, I don't like to lay by the pool in the rain because my margarita gets watered down and my headlights come out (IYKYK).</p><p>Did you know my first ever race was a marathon (Rock and Roll Arizona - same race I'm doing Sunday) and here is <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2009/01/">my first ever blog post about that race</a>! 2009. God I'm old because I thought I was old then but I now see I was young and supple and now I'm old(er), periodless and I take things like fish oil, calcium and Vitamin D regularly (I even have a day of the week pill holder). Gasp.</p><p>Just for fun here's me in Vegas last summer because I wasn't blogging then so you didn't get to see this.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOirIzOf7yCmUnM2f3S8Bcoili3341Z7_4y6lfNr80X_LGu_saXWd2w9_jbzicjc-V_kfIReK_ROqaJq4X0PeUzi64JSSebD2q0O6LCy_bzsl2bt0znwkgUwIit5duy2iKRi3ypXpQvoQt3p4su_ShDJh1_1sxR96UZMM9_JnZYWfSUyz1S0BmAzjA/s3088/IMG_7117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOirIzOf7yCmUnM2f3S8Bcoili3341Z7_4y6lfNr80X_LGu_saXWd2w9_jbzicjc-V_kfIReK_ROqaJq4X0PeUzi64JSSebD2q0O6LCy_bzsl2bt0znwkgUwIit5duy2iKRi3ypXpQvoQt3p4su_ShDJh1_1sxR96UZMM9_JnZYWfSUyz1S0BmAzjA/w480-h640/IMG_7117.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>Not only was my arm still broken, but I had an eye infection so I couldn't wear my contacts. Add to that drama that I don't have prescription sunglasses and did not have enough time to get them before the trip so I did the very classy "Wear Over the Glasses Sunglasses" (WOGS). Just to legitimize this trend, you can even find it on the Urban Dictionary <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Glasses%20on%20Glasses">HERE</a>. You can barely even tell I have two pairs of glasses on or that's what I told myself. I did look pretty hot going through the Wynn slightly intoxicated with a sling and double glasses. In all fairness, I did wear an appropriate shirt (this was from New Years but I wore it n Vegas too).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2xJ7ynBf8gfFHS5RcqRggY05P-G3XIsDT47U3FjDH9-C_kJeYlQpuLpgkLlNj2I7uqtJTMjFM4ilOl-n07acoAU7R2_ec_kcRk0gbUTXA2-4xG-SjovegyhIkWmgzpAQGE7t7cDA7gn98LQT6jrJVLbxRAnYLNFX3r8gyw-tMcHfrbYcYYwIcbw8/s4032/IMG_7895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2xJ7ynBf8gfFHS5RcqRggY05P-G3XIsDT47U3FjDH9-C_kJeYlQpuLpgkLlNj2I7uqtJTMjFM4ilOl-n07acoAU7R2_ec_kcRk0gbUTXA2-4xG-SjovegyhIkWmgzpAQGE7t7cDA7gn98LQT6jrJVLbxRAnYLNFX3r8gyw-tMcHfrbYcYYwIcbw8/w480-h640/IMG_7895.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That would be Fireball</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>Oh, and on that note about Vegas. I got kicked off a blackjack table for the first time in my life. Erika, Clair and I were at a table at Resort World having the time of our lives winning! I would get quite excited when I got a blackjack and flail my body around (plus I had a broken arm and I'm blaming that all day long). The first time I spilled my vodka tonic all over the blackjack table, soaking the deck of cards, the pit boss and dealer laughed and assured me it was no big deal. "<i>HAHA everyone does it! No problem lady</i>!" The second time, they were a bit more subdued, but still smiled and cleaned it up. The THIRD time it was actually Erika who spilled her Absolut citron and soda (so this whole thing is clearly her fault), and the pit boss said "<i>Get out. You are kicked off this table</i>!" I feel pride.</p><p>Welp, it's 3:25 p.m. so I need to pack and lay around before I go to bed and get up. </p><p>I'll let you know how the race goes. I have goals. I'll tell you later.</p><p><b><i>What's your favorite weather to race in</i></b>? 40s, partly sunny, no wind.</p><p><b><i>Got a good Vegas story</i></b>? I have too many to count but someday I'll tell you about when I gave Erika's cell phone number to a gang member from LA. This is the kind of stellar friend I am.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></p><p><br /></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-8083729164110468202023-01-09T17:02:00.001-07:002023-01-09T17:15:05.294-07:00My Dog Eats Poop and Other Updates<p>God, I'm so rusty at this...not sure I even know how to tipe enymoor.</p><p>Why now? I don't know. Today's been a boring, gray January day and I'm feeling less than energized by my job and life. It's the time of year for all you SAD suckers like me (Seasonal Affective Dickheads). I don't really have SAD per se (that's what anti depressants are for), but I do have the BLAHS (which stands for...Big Lazy Ass Hoe Show? I don't know). </p><p>So much has happened since my last blog post ten months ago. For example, I got my first gel manicure and my nails are finally growing into real nails instead of little shitty papery things that make me look like I've been working in the mines of Appalachia <random. Picking your nose with gel nails is the bomb, btw.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ysX11GLwX32WMcNy_XjOhHSrgtWPz-AKT56Lqzm9-F9sPbKwv3haCGiv6e_XAw_wufvwZwxQ8-cL6tpg0WOo5WtLekp-FccPIOZZzNz4B5wMXdm6v4tOsk0zTY6Rzjq2K5gpvSWvjfJoyRQYwR7AX-3ExkrnS1Des89MWi0IbARtcW4KUDmPM-b2/s1750/IMG_7992.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1664" data-original-width="1750" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ysX11GLwX32WMcNy_XjOhHSrgtWPz-AKT56Lqzm9-F9sPbKwv3haCGiv6e_XAw_wufvwZwxQ8-cL6tpg0WOo5WtLekp-FccPIOZZzNz4B5wMXdm6v4tOsk0zTY6Rzjq2K5gpvSWvjfJoyRQYwR7AX-3ExkrnS1Des89MWi0IbARtcW4KUDmPM-b2/w400-h380/IMG_7992.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p>I also stopped getting periods, which is less messy and annoying, but also means the hot flashes rage on. If you are 30 and reading this and don't think this will be your life, it will be your life and get over yourself!</p><p>Okay for real - in the spirit of keeping you updated, I got a puppy, Annie. She's an English Cream Golden Retriever, she's perfect and she'll be a year old in February. She also almost killed me in August when she pulled me over onto a concrete slab breaking my humerus (upper arm by the shoulder and there is nothing humorous about it), breaking two ribs and collapsing my lung. What a bitch. </p><p>Here I am:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRp9baYf7Un8S_N7QrEmv9YPtNW34XCA4RzfQeqmbYZAgygIk_LqgdC2ZgQBwbLu6_2vOPmnH1irxQBWAQV_hFmVUOiUAYph0wYpB46y_Cmh0DxuTRxkcIGgzaJkdLViL6apULQV4Un6rOt-ybk6GCg90168nB3QxtbAb9PwCNaq1dyDHqw84kWog/s3088/IMG_6811.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRp9baYf7Un8S_N7QrEmv9YPtNW34XCA4RzfQeqmbYZAgygIk_LqgdC2ZgQBwbLu6_2vOPmnH1irxQBWAQV_hFmVUOiUAYph0wYpB46y_Cmh0DxuTRxkcIGgzaJkdLViL6apULQV4Un6rOt-ybk6GCg90168nB3QxtbAb9PwCNaq1dyDHqw84kWog/w480-h640/IMG_6811.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>And here she is:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISFiBm6iTBX6Z_oZdlcNEBxjy8puElICHPhusJBLWRwUDTXRA6Z6WNPUvSuCGRZ1T1ACRN5XMzZKwjfO5xmjg4XKEcEYIstyc118aWkkeDqxOfNClFpEpzl0dJI58BCvYeSKieyponAzRMm3gafKxg-mFiS1oxIj07x1WoUCVdw4Mwd7LIZzm3qpw/s4032/IMG_6074.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISFiBm6iTBX6Z_oZdlcNEBxjy8puElICHPhusJBLWRwUDTXRA6Z6WNPUvSuCGRZ1T1ACRN5XMzZKwjfO5xmjg4XKEcEYIstyc118aWkkeDqxOfNClFpEpzl0dJI58BCvYeSKieyponAzRMm3gafKxg-mFiS1oxIj07x1WoUCVdw4Mwd7LIZzm3qpw/w480-h640/IMG_6074.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>And here she is eating the cat:</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzntJMjG8rvfUIBxEQRtfZP8tSpRPLT3iUCC1FjM9BqvgYHYFVaP9Vrk_ZsebBdTG7U956PbpBgnGKqKuTrh-lA2dk5IwSOa6-AhC9LCX5smNoeuldkd1nJ-WWATjan05otTBC08bAw2bdOH956Y4KtiaRw_zl5oiDiExwo9ASzVLtnrPpeCweMw1B/s4032/IMG_6911.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzntJMjG8rvfUIBxEQRtfZP8tSpRPLT3iUCC1FjM9BqvgYHYFVaP9Vrk_ZsebBdTG7U956PbpBgnGKqKuTrh-lA2dk5IwSOa6-AhC9LCX5smNoeuldkd1nJ-WWATjan05otTBC08bAw2bdOH956Y4KtiaRw_zl5oiDiExwo9ASzVLtnrPpeCweMw1B/w480-h640/IMG_6911.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>Who looks better?</p><p>I still love her and I know deep down she is sorry for what she did. She shows me how sorry she is by digging in the yard and eating her own poop and and humping her favorite blanket at 5 pm sharp each night. Why are dogs so weird? Eating poop is not okay. Sometimes I know she's found a frozen poop nugget in the yard because I look out there and see her munching on what seems to be a tootsie roll, just loving life. </p><p>I still love her.</p><p>What else? Well, the "my dog sent me to the hospital" debacle happened exactly a month before the 50 mile race I had been training for all summer (Run Rabbit Run in Steamboat) so I watched Yellowstone and drank chardonnay and ate cheese instead. I did, however, manage to do the Richmond Half Marathon in November, and ran a personal worst time (2 hours). Yay me. Don't worry. I'm doing Run Rabbit Run this year barring any freak accidents.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRN72JVclU9ieYDoPbNZbEilOHoCaX0oiuvhd2u8xo-fJ2TX2HDr6tuAdbnVXBAEAIlqbsdFRLapHit4C5hUegnonLz-RYZm-GG-6CMtKcjF6HDQ2Z-jV-Z7FLewiEV8FE3UGc5KhLeoJ_K-1LMrunOpuNP8-oeMjIFHVumkpVBfp-SvGjeEHY6MI/s4032/IMG_7475.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRN72JVclU9ieYDoPbNZbEilOHoCaX0oiuvhd2u8xo-fJ2TX2HDr6tuAdbnVXBAEAIlqbsdFRLapHit4C5hUegnonLz-RYZm-GG-6CMtKcjF6HDQ2Z-jV-Z7FLewiEV8FE3UGc5KhLeoJ_K-1LMrunOpuNP8-oeMjIFHVumkpVBfp-SvGjeEHY6MI/w480-h640/IMG_7475.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>I am looking for redemption next week, however, as I'll be running the Rock and Roll Arizona half. Good news, I know I will not have my period that day! I've traded in my Nikes for Saucony's and I could not be happier. <a href="https://www.saucony.com/en/endorphin-speed-2/50614W.html">I am loving the Saucony Endorphin Speed.</a></p><p>Well this was just a check in. I wonder if anyone reads blogs anymore. I miss them. I'm glad you're here. Did you miss me at all? </p><p>What are you training for?</p><p>Does your dog eat poop? Or what other obnoxious things do they do?</p><p>Do you still get periods?</p><p>How old are you? I'm almost 56 (February 22, 2023 - message me if you'd like my address to send gifts or money to).</p><p>Also - if you want to get emails when a new post is up please put your email address in the box a the top right. Feedburner went away and I guess I lost all those email subscriptions. Bastards.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-45907090124551736922022-03-31T16:34:00.000-07:002022-03-31T16:34:17.319-07:00I'm Finally Ready to Write This: Goodbye Sweet Heidi.<div><i><u>Disclaimer</u>: Don't blame me if you choose to read this without Kleenex and get snot on your shirt.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbCQWH_VJC3VIwonFLIHBALGsZhDYy3NlZxE4Wr9EDoP5K4yRxCCOlRe_kEI8mhdqu4a9hs4Af61Q1iVbKdn4VICQ-w2zTyZmBg_Kbx09FfGqAGHS9jtXyQhBkKzv5lbLcAwAyoDuaMn-yjrNdMGrggLPyJnpkOzAMM39_7VAVLuXtlX67xF1Cv8H/s1287/heidi4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1287" data-original-width="1032" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbCQWH_VJC3VIwonFLIHBALGsZhDYy3NlZxE4Wr9EDoP5K4yRxCCOlRe_kEI8mhdqu4a9hs4Af61Q1iVbKdn4VICQ-w2zTyZmBg_Kbx09FfGqAGHS9jtXyQhBkKzv5lbLcAwAyoDuaMn-yjrNdMGrggLPyJnpkOzAMM39_7VAVLuXtlX67xF1Cv8H/w514-h640/heidi4.JPG" width="514" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She truly touched so many people as a therapy dog with hospice for two years</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><br /></div>In late November I challenged myself to journaling every day for 100 days. I did pretty well, only missing a few days here or there. I wrote an entry on Day 39 (12/23/2022): "<i>These are some things that kept me up in the night: Are the pets inside and safe? What does my day look like tomorrow?</i>" Sometimes after worrying about things at night, I would get up and journal in the morning about what kept me up. It seems so much clearer and non threatening in the light of day. But, really, we never know what is coming. Because the next day Heidi died.<div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fdY8sqM1yvL27dNBOcdsT28dH-J_IVPAJ9XP89Sr-7oNS-0yKe3WJUhTXfMOT_Ekgwp4H402PSA7iAnU0BWEhG8NTC746QKln0oWTHcvF1Nlk-AMG2AKs-wbQ7Nf_prXETH-JQOGNt_C06I9f4KIGn5MGkp9QG09hiGSc_JjYB2fTp71IFqKVqKU/s640/IMG_1970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="640" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4fdY8sqM1yvL27dNBOcdsT28dH-J_IVPAJ9XP89Sr-7oNS-0yKe3WJUhTXfMOT_Ekgwp4H402PSA7iAnU0BWEhG8NTC746QKln0oWTHcvF1Nlk-AMG2AKs-wbQ7Nf_prXETH-JQOGNt_C06I9f4KIGn5MGkp9QG09hiGSc_JjYB2fTp71IFqKVqKU/w640-h634/IMG_1970.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie Brown was a top favorite!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>Hardly a day has gone by since Christmas Eve that I haven't thought about writing the story of that day. But I just couldn't. Some of you have asked me more about Heidi, so thank you. I realized that part of her story is not just all of the wonderful days we had with her (9 years!) but how she left us. If you've read this blog over the years, you knew Heidi too. I think I'm ready.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ironically, I love Christmas Eve for all of the anticipation, build up and magic that encompasses that day. This year, I slept like crap the night before and asked Ken if he would walk Heidi for me (he did weekends, I did week days). I never do that and I regret so much that I missed her final walk. Truth is, she seemed fine that morning. She hung out in the kitchen while I cooked two huge lasagnas for that night. As I took a short rest in the living room to catch my breath, I heard a crash. Ken yelled to me that Heidi had fallen over and my heart sank because I knew. You know how you just know? I did.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRZ0TDqafnj40by1hS4qYLHUsLrlg0u0fNiDr1FcCzS-l8SpJ6tj58ubYRK7F-zDRuKsnilI9kR_RYOLBR8KwbpqQ_l3GwrpzHkNuH8laQeVANO7C3W0u7BwRUy4c9RyKsDDKt-QnVJc7zkRdC-CE0QQpJdaObQOFEyjgzPlWUeAUksGXUgxoaf85/s3264/IMG_6149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRZ0TDqafnj40by1hS4qYLHUsLrlg0u0fNiDr1FcCzS-l8SpJ6tj58ubYRK7F-zDRuKsnilI9kR_RYOLBR8KwbpqQ_l3GwrpzHkNuH8laQeVANO7C3W0u7BwRUy4c9RyKsDDKt-QnVJc7zkRdC-CE0QQpJdaObQOFEyjgzPlWUeAUksGXUgxoaf85/w480-h640/IMG_6149.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forever loved her stuffed animals that she carried around</td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div>She was conscious, but did not want to get up. I had no clue what to do with a 70 pound dog who would not get up. My heart raced, tears clouded my eyes. I felt like I wanted to throw up. I called a few emergency vets and told them what happened. The gravity of their voices and hesitancy to give me any reassurance just confirmed what I knew.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, we found a emergency vet who would see her immediately. The kids, thankfully home for the holidays, helped me and Ken push her onto a sheet. The four of us carried her to the car. I had this out of body experience for a second - watching her family carrying her sick body, a joint and loving effort. I knew I would never forget that image of all of us together, hearts hurting, lifting her body into my Ford Edge, for her last ride.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGC2fzsRgAroDnSRR-pOax_xMOhWmhF6qVmVKwnqSVcBAPuIiZV63CUeTC5u7vNOIDGYlVIxctZycQIQV142e55viig2V8BCDQb4GJuEYwRYAAryekN5VxyEQB6eyAfCPY4Vaky5fcDg3qy-v55f3_fab_dEvbIaW0-CIsJqDGCpFTus--BRh8VIL/s1280/IMG_6408.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGC2fzsRgAroDnSRR-pOax_xMOhWmhF6qVmVKwnqSVcBAPuIiZV63CUeTC5u7vNOIDGYlVIxctZycQIQV142e55viig2V8BCDQb4GJuEYwRYAAryekN5VxyEQB6eyAfCPY4Vaky5fcDg3qy-v55f3_fab_dEvbIaW0-CIsJqDGCpFTus--BRh8VIL/w480-h640/IMG_6408.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>At the ER we quickly learned Heidi's stomach had filled with fluid - blood. She had not been sick, had not seemed sluggish, but likely her body was riddled with cancer we did not know about. A surgery that would likely hurt her more seemed unnecessarily cruel at this point. I've always felt that pet owners need to know when to let go and to not hold on selfishly because they don't want say goodbye. We knew our answer.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were taken to a "comfort room" (I didn't find much comfort there) and they brought Heidi in and she laid on a blanket. She was comfortable, yet sleepy, as she'd been given some pain medicine. They left us to have some final moments with her to say goodbye. For Christ sake, I'll never be ready. Then the vet came in and explained what would happen next. They put medicine to relax her into her catheter and once that was in they let us know they would be administering the medicine that would stop her heart (and break mine). They started to give that to her. We all were in the midst of having our final goodbyes, laying over her body and whispering parting words, when the <b>catheter failed</b>.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIebfsg9chECacBvCpOdQJrjG-9CzRIgop-5Yp0OrKepZi5KjCnmw65rO6Gxlxwsp6s5WaaTdIfGyVvExl9VXOfyD9CQo4ngzqQE--lG1VKW07Lp2y9yv5naQkn2OWXAiEhYQWfXplM81Cvi7tqgYssErlPaxcwXfnAyoU5X0NeC0pCtMhf6rlGWyu/s1800/heidi6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIebfsg9chECacBvCpOdQJrjG-9CzRIgop-5Yp0OrKepZi5KjCnmw65rO6Gxlxwsp6s5WaaTdIfGyVvExl9VXOfyD9CQo4ngzqQE--lG1VKW07Lp2y9yv5naQkn2OWXAiEhYQWfXplM81Cvi7tqgYssErlPaxcwXfnAyoU5X0NeC0pCtMhf6rlGWyu/w512-h640/heidi6.JPG" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a lady - crossing her legs</td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div>So, yes, to add horror to this whole thing, as she was half way gone things halted. And, we waited while they desperately tried to find another vein. I practically had a panic attack watching them poke and prod by sweet girl in her final moments. Finally, they figured it out and she was gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you have lost a pet or love a pet or both then you know the pain.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTu3mXCN4Wdan1jBoGaI7HnuRt-ivxJX3cZqwZs3UhJahBTkX5LEM3dZQLgMMEY-iLZqOK0m8AG6KhyvXY-AGu_p_llNohsJ6FxiOFimlF4nT_QPNV0loC9mYn5O4kDdbBVIROxJm1y6GrwJ_t1g28WbaOiuL2SRAeBuvPMU82hc7KTb9-iF18Yb0/s1141/heidi7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTu3mXCN4Wdan1jBoGaI7HnuRt-ivxJX3cZqwZs3UhJahBTkX5LEM3dZQLgMMEY-iLZqOK0m8AG6KhyvXY-AGu_p_llNohsJ6FxiOFimlF4nT_QPNV0loC9mYn5O4kDdbBVIROxJm1y6GrwJ_t1g28WbaOiuL2SRAeBuvPMU82hc7KTb9-iF18Yb0/w464-h640/heidi7.jpg" width="464" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken just a few days before she died when we did pet therapy </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Grief for me looks like many different things. There is the obvious crying, drinking of wine, laying on the couch and crying more. Then there is the inability to look at any pictures of her, the regret over not having saved the last huge bunch of hair from her brush (then getting on hands and knees and trying to scrape it out of the carpet), the unexpected tears when I saw her dog poop in the yard (poop doesn't usually make me cry unless it's during a race and I'm about to shit my pants). And, a thousand other things.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>It's been over three months now. Just this week I put her picture on my desk. Maybe soon I can wear the PJ pants Ken gave me for Christmas with her picture all over them. And, I can finally write this post.</div><div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ELQsu7lhA0H4RZydc_3prDziLGAxH5AHJcEtX7o1dgJ5cPGoJvOuGyQMbHjHObDKYVJDaNWey4ljDk1Hh32ivM2rqGUlxUaquzhQh7QT9e5Q4ElyIXkVikt5c9thelv6OcH_OjHsGpfOBQy8FJzxX2SrUHxshQrnW4hAWefnIM6ryl9OwvsJawqz/s2016/heidi8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ELQsu7lhA0H4RZydc_3prDziLGAxH5AHJcEtX7o1dgJ5cPGoJvOuGyQMbHjHObDKYVJDaNWey4ljDk1Hh32ivM2rqGUlxUaquzhQh7QT9e5Q4ElyIXkVikt5c9thelv6OcH_OjHsGpfOBQy8FJzxX2SrUHxshQrnW4hAWefnIM6ryl9OwvsJawqz/w480-h640/heidi8.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I've got a beautiful paw print and a gorgeous wood box with her ashes. I keep it close by.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYV7ukTOOQ1D0AVd1wp8l8FPlNRzGgo8BxyVYsK9QRk9G0TRiNR2lYI9xYGhjBAZhTaXBi8IrnemflgE58X7QPxyNKaYkF1DdYRhiMvKNbWoTDy8RRtYCZXs0uPznyRV58WoO-NqdpjsecFH203-NWw1SKZBd-pxfGaBNFEB8fSDoe_q0TA0tXPdR/s2016/heidi9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYV7ukTOOQ1D0AVd1wp8l8FPlNRzGgo8BxyVYsK9QRk9G0TRiNR2lYI9xYGhjBAZhTaXBi8IrnemflgE58X7QPxyNKaYkF1DdYRhiMvKNbWoTDy8RRtYCZXs0uPznyRV58WoO-NqdpjsecFH203-NWw1SKZBd-pxfGaBNFEB8fSDoe_q0TA0tXPdR/w480-h640/heidi9.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>And, the cat. Well, Krosby was/is sad. We got Krosby as a kitten and I truly think he looked at Heidi as his mama. He slept cuddled up to her belly. He roughhoused with her. He adored her. Sometimes he sits on the couch looking out the window where she was when she fell over and I swear he is looking for her. Or, maybe that's a story I just make up. I don't know. But I do know he misses her. We all do.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiXP93Y8IaQswI7wmUje-VquF75DU-6CZIxliLfYdes_NFpdgwJfIz_EJLLHnMxttk8z7n2nYk9C4_kOcMjmXMG0PILub_K_JPz2akFUfSVe_Fh0aT1N71a6u92Y1yLhhxBkyA4eznSDBeQRV4oRN94myyefvn_6UtqhOm4llQO_zmXDm1PjKuBhF/s640/IMG_7203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRiXP93Y8IaQswI7wmUje-VquF75DU-6CZIxliLfYdes_NFpdgwJfIz_EJLLHnMxttk8z7n2nYk9C4_kOcMjmXMG0PILub_K_JPz2akFUfSVe_Fh0aT1N71a6u92Y1yLhhxBkyA4eznSDBeQRV4oRN94myyefvn_6UtqhOm4llQO_zmXDm1PjKuBhF/w640-h640/IMG_7203.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't love spring time (in Colorado it's super temperamental, muddy and windy), but I do love that it symbolizes new beginnings and growth. It's when the baby animals are born! When the crocuses poke up their heads from the frozen soil. When the birds start chirping with the sunrise.</div><div><br /></div><div>And fittingly enough, it's when I will get my new puppy. I wasn't looking for a puppy. I wanted a 1-2 year old female Golden Retriever rescue. They are hard to come by, but I was prepared to wait. The day I put in my application last week I got a call. There was a litter of English Cream Golden puppies. Did I want one? Oh, hell. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCYpRyG-mmA9aLfGlZOV43tDEfHIoRmvnKOh-Qwlh5kNn4bUfkrscdvLG3UwFgi26Z5dJUQgtW0Q-bQuUqsyzcilBFeOHt1TltkMAVMAbGSkAspIxgLvclwJ0X5FH3BB0ppTDZ1pPQU62b4pjFsOXWajAEBRhcHXnmCTlCp1beQPDit1ljYLcnDsm/s1280/heidi5.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCYpRyG-mmA9aLfGlZOV43tDEfHIoRmvnKOh-Qwlh5kNn4bUfkrscdvLG3UwFgi26Z5dJUQgtW0Q-bQuUqsyzcilBFeOHt1TltkMAVMAbGSkAspIxgLvclwJ0X5FH3BB0ppTDZ1pPQU62b4pjFsOXWajAEBRhcHXnmCTlCp1beQPDit1ljYLcnDsm/w480-h640/heidi5.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which one is ours??</td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div>We will meet her April 9 at noon. She will come home April 16. Say what you want, but this feels serendipitous. Maybe a little nudge from Heidi. A new start.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Love,</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b></div>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-79073152340304181972021-10-23T11:29:00.004-07:002021-10-24T09:41:05.320-07:00My Personal Rim Job (Rim to Rim to Rim of the Grand Canyon)<p>HI! Do you hear something? That is the sound of me resurrecting this blog from the annals of the blog graveyard. I know there are other causalities out there. But, this resurrection could only be done for something epic like me not having to poop during a 48.3 mile run.</p><p>Or, maybe that I <i>even</i> did a 48.3 mile run.</p><p>Or, maybe that the 48.3 mile run was done from th<b>e South Rim of the Grand Canyon down to the Colorado River, up to the North Rim of the canyon and back again. In one day! </b>This is called Rim to Rim to Rim or if you are really cool, you call it R3.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">48.3 miles. 12,000 feet of elevation gain. 18 hours (about 15 hours moving time - yea we took lots of pictures and stuff).</span></b></p><p>Yea, I know other people, many other people, have done this before me and will do it after me. Yea, I know this is something crazy ultra runners do for fun and torture because we are like that. But, this is ABOUT ME. I did R3 last Saturday and I need to process it so can you please read about it? Not to mention, I scoured the internet obsessively before doing R3 for other people's reports on their day so this is my way of giving back to the R3 world. </p><p>Would it be shocking if I told you I tried to buy a hat to wear during the run that said "I {heart} Rim Jobs" (this exists; of course it does), but it didn't come in time. </p><p>I have no clue when I first decided to do this. Probably after 5 glasses of chardonnay on a Tuesday. Julie agreed we would do it and that was that. Team Beth and Julie. Team Bulie. Team Jeth. Whatever.</p><p>We really committed to it all back in March when I reserved our room at a lodge in the Canyon. You have to do these things 500 years in advance. And, you have to pay out the ass for what looks way less nice than the Rosebud Motel from Schitt's Creek (but was actually quite nice on the inside). <a href="https://www.nationalparkreservations.com/lodge/grandcanyon-yavapai-lodge/">Yavapai Lodge </a>FTW.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCZ49IF0hiJlh81qiSEDkYtsArqDT1p5OY5ORh2Up5DfUMJviciO6XDhlhqrjhnBjBoLtl6ALbEBF6dUzd8-4tbA-gZOrbyPQ2ZqZJCyOg_yVPLkOyioyF6oGmmp8THLb79Nw_s5NRgs/s1200/yavapai.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCZ49IF0hiJlh81qiSEDkYtsArqDT1p5OY5ORh2Up5DfUMJviciO6XDhlhqrjhnBjBoLtl6ALbEBF6dUzd8-4tbA-gZOrbyPQ2ZqZJCyOg_yVPLkOyioyF6oGmmp8THLb79Nw_s5NRgs/w640-h480/yavapai.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p>Plans made, training started, researching commenced.</p><p>I control my anxiety and make up for anything that I lack like common sense by over preparing. You have no idea how many hours I put into planning my gear, fueling, hydration, route, water sources. I really did think of it all. In the end I didn't bring anything but duct tape because that's all anyone really needs in life. I kid, but I actually <b><i>did</i></b> bring duct tape (pro tip: wrap a few feet of duct tape around a business or credit card to make a for a lightweight travel option!)</p><p>We flew to Phoenix on Friday October 15. As I boarded in Denver, I approached the gate agent with my zipper fully down (not intentional) and he seemed pretty excited about it saying "Well, alright! Here we go!". I had a glass of wine at 8:30 a.m. on the flight because I was anxious. We drove 3 1/2 hours to the Grand Canyon, stood on the South Rim and said "Holy shit what the actual hell have we gotten ourselves into?" We went to the tavern and had pizza and beer and prided ourselves on the fact that we were<b> truly living life and taking risks.</b> Then I slept for a total of 3 hours because I was so stressed about truly living life and taking risks.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg4jSWw_3VCyqohy7TpXZZg1RP7mPwsQdjBb3O3nffZS2hD6JYY7D78NSiEqhYKbR4Q-FenyImQQLqMBh9HbiGlzCKE1l9olzdc5A001tTZVipBAis7CaxzQo1AecYvgnHvCFOv45ADo/s2048/IMG_8463-2.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGg4jSWw_3VCyqohy7TpXZZg1RP7mPwsQdjBb3O3nffZS2hD6JYY7D78NSiEqhYKbR4Q-FenyImQQLqMBh9HbiGlzCKE1l9olzdc5A001tTZVipBAis7CaxzQo1AecYvgnHvCFOv45ADo/w480-h640/IMG_8463-2.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looks easy</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15BTU8x07tUUpR1DtgAYB-DTxu34iQFzBpO6bdaqB-XSSI6dEfZwLjiRXqyBntuANXxV04XpKCCjzdz9EgFq3dLeVXDk8Os6TwtQjCY6riynSm6bQLcpKLVl6zOvB4q9_Ek0zRZIZpTE/s2048/IMG_4480.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi15BTU8x07tUUpR1DtgAYB-DTxu34iQFzBpO6bdaqB-XSSI6dEfZwLjiRXqyBntuANXxV04XpKCCjzdz9EgFq3dLeVXDk8Os6TwtQjCY6riynSm6bQLcpKLVl6zOvB4q9_Ek0zRZIZpTE/w480-h640/IMG_4480.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The R3 Eve. Still looking perky and hopeful.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;">2:30 a.m</b><span style="text-align: left;">. Packs ready to go. Water filled. Layers on. Went to the lodge to choke down microwaved oatmeal. I don't really eat oatmeal but it seemed like the thing to do. Parked near the Bright Angel Trailhead (where we would finish in God knows how many hours). Called <a href="https://www.webcontactus.com/xanterra-taxi-service-grand-canyon/">the 24 hour taxi service</a> (no ubers/lyfts in the park). Got picked up and paid $14 cash at the South Kaibab trailhead where we were dropped and left to die. Had some quality time with the pit toilet. On a side note, most people take the South Kaibab trail down and Bright Angel back up because Bright Angel is more gradual and there are two water sources on the trail (SK has none).</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhyMCr9dOSFuqYPW1QODCUmOOHdJVGaQA7-hzyfxGzxJL8Z7KJl0RDjfARO4a0Xrhqviq7zCuoPCzGXEQJ-_-Y6Ar4QzjmStRktsO5_ovBKDxJb8qDsmw1LrFHxWTaqaVH6DQkz9vFB4/s2048/IMG_4483.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQhyMCr9dOSFuqYPW1QODCUmOOHdJVGaQA7-hzyfxGzxJL8Z7KJl0RDjfARO4a0Xrhqviq7zCuoPCzGXEQJ-_-Y6Ar4QzjmStRktsO5_ovBKDxJb8qDsmw1LrFHxWTaqaVH6DQkz9vFB4/w480-h640/IMG_4483.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What a wrinkled mess of crap</td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEida5f_Po0efWfmNLJxyQPOiededPaSTVRB_utKLyXCGrYm9xaQ7Del4Bzx3mcCgIk-Ihdd5fBgaIexoErSHuF_3fMttzI9x0cFx0-W_8LMWDXXRju3SralulpfhUhmtQhfcTOcOZwCNe4/s2048/IMG_4488.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEida5f_Po0efWfmNLJxyQPOiededPaSTVRB_utKLyXCGrYm9xaQ7Del4Bzx3mcCgIk-Ihdd5fBgaIexoErSHuF_3fMttzI9x0cFx0-W_8LMWDXXRju3SralulpfhUhmtQhfcTOcOZwCNe4/w480-h640/IMG_4488.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, how do YOU look at 3 a.m eating oatmeal?</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBs_zMCtAh-RNXyxMGmH4xLk88MFCfAmIoQFAByJHJppWjJYLLUz3RDfM8uRlvcVAjKff9viwOe0R6ES4mQVVpDY7W9LK2AVdV2RG5g8xQ6uSEhjTAUfGWT7vOiDHeceIQMfS0P6FMVvU/s2048/IMG_4491.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBs_zMCtAh-RNXyxMGmH4xLk88MFCfAmIoQFAByJHJppWjJYLLUz3RDfM8uRlvcVAjKff9viwOe0R6ES4mQVVpDY7W9LK2AVdV2RG5g8xQ6uSEhjTAUfGWT7vOiDHeceIQMfS0P6FMVvU/w480-h640/IMG_4491.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I suppose I am half way crying and half way still asleep. Or drunk.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>4 a.m</b>. Darkness. Wind. Cold. Let's go descend this fucker of a trail into the abyss. Poles in hand, headlamps on. We screamed "We are doing it!" as I tried not to look over the edge. For the next 7 miles we descended in complete darkness, howling wind and dust flying into my contact lenses. I could sense the extreme drop offs, but couldn't see them. The sun came up just in time for us to see the Colorado River at the bottom. Holy shit. We are at the Canyon floor. Only 2% of people ever actually go below the rim of the canyon and we were at the bottom.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsb8rU2ScHSpYhG-Mh4CXRCk_GyMdaO2VCL4VD20kSQrdxanCUnXghDjkdPrcjwKtI5WR_EmbO9-Yxm41gL92TFyFyBmbXqGygSwhFVE9MotHj7VSA15OEYaxYc3qoGtDN_gm7taZrYoQ/s2048/IMG_4492.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsb8rU2ScHSpYhG-Mh4CXRCk_GyMdaO2VCL4VD20kSQrdxanCUnXghDjkdPrcjwKtI5WR_EmbO9-Yxm41gL92TFyFyBmbXqGygSwhFVE9MotHj7VSA15OEYaxYc3qoGtDN_gm7taZrYoQ/w480-h640/IMG_4492.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seems safe<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimsgBi4otkIqTbxKRk1Q2wp0TS5omlkMO1U9izLlDQ9IklaJfa01kYh2fvAN_giPHyHxM6YzQFVzEji_1L57kRHcKk8MxDXHz8CfU5EWPPEW9lzvmnkxnNL7WhOMLxFFkGTVrjecKKPY/s2048/IMG_4500.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimsgBi4otkIqTbxKRk1Q2wp0TS5omlkMO1U9izLlDQ9IklaJfa01kYh2fvAN_giPHyHxM6YzQFVzEji_1L57kRHcKk8MxDXHz8CfU5EWPPEW9lzvmnkxnNL7WhOMLxFFkGTVrjecKKPY/w480-h640/IMG_4500.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple miles from the bottom we came across this lone cross. It was really beautiful.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6dY_sZ-_HWALAlSWku8V3Y0z7q-tAEZouBm62WifCmtPvn5NW8GWlfdjw1Z6utV7Vkz5Flfo5KCNCXGlPqdvNLJa-aySA5LWTqxo58Nfr2nTenrGEkBx4k_FxO-yYd0CqLpq5w_IYYk/s1599/southkaibab.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1599" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix6dY_sZ-_HWALAlSWku8V3Y0z7q-tAEZouBm62WifCmtPvn5NW8GWlfdjw1Z6utV7Vkz5Flfo5KCNCXGlPqdvNLJa-aySA5LWTqxo58Nfr2nTenrGEkBx4k_FxO-yYd0CqLpq5w_IYYk/w640-h360/southkaibab.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just for fun, this is what part of the trail looks like in daylight. Gulp.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRtIEi3Lx3RgchwLjU2Iq7vKlf6M_0xO0bV2scJcnLy1tcearxnfaYVjwmcVmrSiHQcIve7pbsRfkfSOI2RZy_1bGw69ZTFp-IwwuH7VQWNulZelHESAK9N1ap5dmbY1V49-CLmpMDpI/s2048/IMG_4508.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIRtIEi3Lx3RgchwLjU2Iq7vKlf6M_0xO0bV2scJcnLy1tcearxnfaYVjwmcVmrSiHQcIve7pbsRfkfSOI2RZy_1bGw69ZTFp-IwwuH7VQWNulZelHESAK9N1ap5dmbY1V49-CLmpMDpI/w480-h640/IMG_4508.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to cross the Colorado River for the first time on the Black suspension bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b><br /></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66pOqdq9l-iVQRr0AXZjWESq2UL8RxdnVugQqz9EFYNs0poIDdmgfnyaCuIPX0lhxIExlHeDVDu65S7Zsf18SDMVpTymeFyu2yUz7P3zfL0OJrIO0wx9aIwIYWl9h26x7_KfOUhv-cDs/s2048/IMG_4512.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh66pOqdq9l-iVQRr0AXZjWESq2UL8RxdnVugQqz9EFYNs0poIDdmgfnyaCuIPX0lhxIExlHeDVDu65S7Zsf18SDMVpTymeFyu2yUz7P3zfL0OJrIO0wx9aIwIYWl9h26x7_KfOUhv-cDs/w480-h640/IMG_4512.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3BQAcfVqWmmZghuAcbV3oNHRlBjaV2jL7HXN6s_dJEXOixd2uZUoiZ3G2Ad0AWSQLxaA7px6MiDSuj7qQ33XDjcxF8EYjYGnyt6Vc4UpvpmvsA-XyN8Tgwo8Ko9CTk_cyR0tw_ygpYg/s828/R3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="826" data-original-width="828" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ3BQAcfVqWmmZghuAcbV3oNHRlBjaV2jL7HXN6s_dJEXOixd2uZUoiZ3G2Ad0AWSQLxaA7px6MiDSuj7qQ33XDjcxF8EYjYGnyt6Vc4UpvpmvsA-XyN8Tgwo8Ko9CTk_cyR0tw_ygpYg/w640-h638/R3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><b><p><b><br /></b></p>7 a.m.</b> Reached Phantom Ranch, topped off our water and ate. Ditched the layers and stuffed them into our packs (DO NOT stash clothes or anything else along the trail. This is considered littering and the rangers will take stuff). It is about 40-50 degrees warmer at the bottom of the Canyon than at the rim. We were aiming to eat 200 calories per hour. I carried 3L of water in my pack and it weighed a million pounds but that is better than it weighing no pounds and me succumbing to dehydration like 200+ people do a year in the Canyon (I told you I did my research). I was NOT going out by helicopter no matter how cool and Hollywoodish that sounds.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghX0xU81XK4TgqiiF3Psp3txM-yLGW_23iJHGBYRlAWpu_6wZQku_7feMPhSfKeXAWgy9PIqL3TE0okenMwx-D2zODSD21a2HvjGxA0ZDDXDv5gB3Oj3phExZ5yPSMIIfBui9k2WOZAEo/s2048/IMG_4515.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghX0xU81XK4TgqiiF3Psp3txM-yLGW_23iJHGBYRlAWpu_6wZQku_7feMPhSfKeXAWgy9PIqL3TE0okenMwx-D2zODSD21a2HvjGxA0ZDDXDv5gB3Oj3phExZ5yPSMIIfBui9k2WOZAEo/w480-h640/IMG_4515.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV6tkcRKnARTrw211TPpJ8krwrS_-6NVGpjs4xOGWJgqyiOhFNlOqU_gXeTSEPxF8D0-n1xD1tYTXvA_ySACAKRTx4rAKpBtKtzV-g2rMzEdiD_LJnD8CA2f1N8Zg031NGRd92SzSscM/s2048/IMG_4519.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV6tkcRKnARTrw211TPpJ8krwrS_-6NVGpjs4xOGWJgqyiOhFNlOqU_gXeTSEPxF8D0-n1xD1tYTXvA_ySACAKRTx4rAKpBtKtzV-g2rMzEdiD_LJnD8CA2f1N8Zg031NGRd92SzSscM/w480-h640/IMG_4519.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>9:30 a.m. </b>Arrived at and passed through Cottonwood Campground after running a very gradual uphill through the "box" of the canyon for about 7 miles. Started the remainder of our long ascent to the North Rim (about 7 miles and 6,000 feet). Ate a turkey and cheese sandwich on a Wonder Bread bun and chugged some Tailwind.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJy0W5V1LFKiqL0i7oLUth0QNmOHtaes010uVRaiBe-Yjh8kaTQSzQ5wqafLLDvdm02GHrtgnebVqf_C4lUWWGrwt9NWzToz08VnsUii7DR78ZQ7mCG9ya03flaFVN3T_EZKHnQLGUlAs/s2048/IMG_4523.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJy0W5V1LFKiqL0i7oLUth0QNmOHtaes010uVRaiBe-Yjh8kaTQSzQ5wqafLLDvdm02GHrtgnebVqf_C4lUWWGrwt9NWzToz08VnsUii7DR78ZQ7mCG9ya03flaFVN3T_EZKHnQLGUlAs/w480-h640/IMG_4523.JPEG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p><b>12 p.m. </b>Arrived at the North Rim to snow on the ground and cool temperatures. 22 miles in! The climb to this rim was slow going, but very manageable and we just kept pushing forward. It was indescribably gorgeous so I won't try to describe it <that's how smart I am. Just go do it someday. There were multiple places where the trail was literally cut into the side of the canyon with very steep drops. Thank you amazing trail workers in the 1920s who made this trail for me. Just for me. I wasn't modest about literally hugging the inner canyon wall. At the top of the rim we had cell service for a minute (there is none in the canyon at all), so texted the entire universe to let them know we made it about half way and would be done in 9 to 10 hours. I then stuffed my face with trail mix, more turkey/cheese and Tailwind. Popped some Tylenol like candy.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GF4hANrP0CuNt70LmiqP0ajvXNIV7Shyphenhyphenl1GLHQTCwje6c43kVheVc36QnWjwYnOtExv0esVWEgElJyouQLxdMD2EJloz1zpaLwSiBNab8KXFVALABb6iMS9Ne-P9EOQYCGZsA1WCIV4/s2048/IMG_4530.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GF4hANrP0CuNt70LmiqP0ajvXNIV7Shyphenhyphenl1GLHQTCwje6c43kVheVc36QnWjwYnOtExv0esVWEgElJyouQLxdMD2EJloz1zpaLwSiBNab8KXFVALABb6iMS9Ne-P9EOQYCGZsA1WCIV4/w480-h640/IMG_4530.JPEG" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB2eglRcXeCs7PAiHmjOG2fs1nAIjtg1PcCa8v-ix21Hg1zL9T3nqhlWPH0rN43ucrvihilycSu5uNHCiUWYbdDRDZBdcPKte0-TzwIe7M-U6wGywxPSnQiPPnJcvXdemqi0oogcOSDI/s2048/IMG_4533.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB2eglRcXeCs7PAiHmjOG2fs1nAIjtg1PcCa8v-ix21Hg1zL9T3nqhlWPH0rN43ucrvihilycSu5uNHCiUWYbdDRDZBdcPKte0-TzwIe7M-U6wGywxPSnQiPPnJcvXdemqi0oogcOSDI/w640-h480/IMG_4533.JPEG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi North Rim! Sorry we can't stick around. </td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>12:30 p.m</b>. <b>to sunset:</b> There is just something mentally uplifting about being halfway done with anything. I could be doing a one mile run and once I get to .5 miles, I rejoice. The only thing was - it wasn't exactly halfway. It was one rim to the other, but the way back is longer (as in - it ended up being over 26 miles). We maneuvered down the North Rim pretty quickly, but my left knee was bugging me. Shut up knee! Asshole. I knew I had many many miles of climbing to go, so I tried to not panic. My go to when things are tough is to not assume will get any worse and to just keep moving forward. And, to pop 4 ibuprofen at a time which is really good for both your stomach and your liver. Walking seemed to hurt as much as running, so we kept running. We knew the sun would set at 5:55 p.m. (I plan! I research!), so our final 10 mile climb would be in the dark with the mountain lions, steep cliffs and homicidal maniacs. Foreshadow.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdCEmYCnHSd0s92IRBd_vPhxdF2HZD-Wd6DNi7mBEvjaB5_uv4L5mD1acC5Mo6b2U5Arqg6kk5P6Vq0l2VrFlSqf0_sr8shVG5xIJorxJA_xrQBEfWS7cxzJtQ4nUMFIHaWyzaG8sZlI/s2016/bethnorthrim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdCEmYCnHSd0s92IRBd_vPhxdF2HZD-Wd6DNi7mBEvjaB5_uv4L5mD1acC5Mo6b2U5Arqg6kk5P6Vq0l2VrFlSqf0_sr8shVG5xIJorxJA_xrQBEfWS7cxzJtQ4nUMFIHaWyzaG8sZlI/w480-h640/bethnorthrim.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just taking a stroll</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDBOp6carpQq2r6SDOqLKCFvMi4W7UhZ9MzGQXtAUiKwZNKoYhlvaNDNKBIDb3NhICJPY7QvrjfYSt_OH84t3tmyoaWM_9ttAu5oo-O_sFyvjvthd0We0g_ZwTqfWLLJVvirIf6BEkr4/s2048/IMG_4545.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDBOp6carpQq2r6SDOqLKCFvMi4W7UhZ9MzGQXtAUiKwZNKoYhlvaNDNKBIDb3NhICJPY7QvrjfYSt_OH84t3tmyoaWM_9ttAu5oo-O_sFyvjvthd0We0g_ZwTqfWLLJVvirIf6BEkr4/w480-h640/IMG_4545.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YUCCA<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ptoI51rAz9J332Z-iksxToQMW3EgDXZIH-segh-cXSJUuQFRR3JcKb9r8CvNXZ1njl5IebnksP6cpx5XQXE-Yddw0NbIH6mSq1NcFBDp033PqhiTIwvDxqYKWsuoDOq2nx7wqed08iM/s2048/IMG_4549.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ptoI51rAz9J332Z-iksxToQMW3EgDXZIH-segh-cXSJUuQFRR3JcKb9r8CvNXZ1njl5IebnksP6cpx5XQXE-Yddw0NbIH6mSq1NcFBDp033PqhiTIwvDxqYKWsuoDOq2nx7wqed08iM/w480-h640/IMG_4549.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Over the course of the day my trail name became Gritty Titty. I'm down with that.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjE4tSUYU5DhHCTrN-YoXQeZpY5gg5YAl1jv56jEjEGcfgazerrOzJmWPBimXnJfL0tExmhSLh-aPfqfPfi9KoJ-r9fAdUm6tUlrcVmMXCbn7p4MJpTNBpVMS-TL1T5h49S957dyrdxeg/s2048/IMG_8455.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjE4tSUYU5DhHCTrN-YoXQeZpY5gg5YAl1jv56jEjEGcfgazerrOzJmWPBimXnJfL0tExmhSLh-aPfqfPfi9KoJ-r9fAdUm6tUlrcVmMXCbn7p4MJpTNBpVMS-TL1T5h49S957dyrdxeg/w640-h480/IMG_8455.JPEG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean....stunning</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Sunset:</b> We topped off our water for the last time at Phantom Ranch while watching the visitors (who either packed in or came down by mule) eat their steak dinner and drink their damn wine and beer. It's fine! I'll just suck on some more of my spigot water through my bladder tube and eat my soggy Wonder Bread. There is infamous lemonade that you can buy at the canteen but it was closed for the day. It was the countdown to the finale with only ten miles to go. We estimated that if we could do 20 minute miles as we climbed 6,000 feet we'd be done by 8:30 or 9pm!! Way earlier than we thought! In time to go to the tavern for a burger. HAHAHAHAHA. It was really funny we thought that was possible.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2t4744VfFT07MtDqWWXfitz0g_BwAEBvyP7GjrERjypooM-ACvI0Nl0uDlmJ3YKmuS0u4nxljkc1tFfUkd-8VTMDwaARETHb5a_mR1jRz6A2tp064AJVj2-mbmi7LXx2lFd99uk6ljYo/s2048/IMG_4548.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2t4744VfFT07MtDqWWXfitz0g_BwAEBvyP7GjrERjypooM-ACvI0Nl0uDlmJ3YKmuS0u4nxljkc1tFfUkd-8VTMDwaARETHb5a_mR1jRz6A2tp064AJVj2-mbmi7LXx2lFd99uk6ljYo/w480-h640/IMG_4548.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>6:30 pm.</b> Headlamps back on and we cross the Colorado River for the last time. We start our long ascent to the top of South Rim. Shut up knee!! It's starts off super gradual with the soothing background of a roaring creek, chirping crickets and croaking frogs. Literally no one was out there with us, which felt unnerving. But, then I looked up and way up where God lives or where heaven is or at least Jeff Bezos there were twinkling headlamps. For fuck's sake. We were hiking <i><b>up there</b></i>. This is about the time Julie noticed a flashing red light behind us that kept getting closer and closer. We could look down at the switchbacks and see it coming. It definitely belonged to a person, but why did they have a red light instead of the usual white light? Obviously because they were coming to get us. Julie was really scared and at one point told me to "go faster." I was like "what the HELL Julie! I am climbing up the Grand Canyon at night with over 40 miles in my legs. I can't go faster. I will just have to die instead." We passed other hikers and Julie warned them about the flashing red light coming soon. Finally, the red light was upon us, so we pulled off to the side to let "it" pass. Well, "it" was a female ranger HAHAHAHA! "Julie you have been afraid of a RANGER for the last hour! Julie is afraid of RANGERS! Julie warned people about RANGERS coming to get them." It actually still is funny to me.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_ecI2ADAT2OnJP3f5hPoTPkrtWzyJ23O8D4IigqIwvChA54wF7euXU127_sxzukHj48RltQmtb-WnKvUeo4JkxZ0fEgiaA0LXD-o9bgtXbFijvCb8euPF-13wlolv9N48Ehk_cTZFtk/s640/brightangel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_ecI2ADAT2OnJP3f5hPoTPkrtWzyJ23O8D4IigqIwvChA54wF7euXU127_sxzukHj48RltQmtb-WnKvUeo4JkxZ0fEgiaA0LXD-o9bgtXbFijvCb8euPF-13wlolv9N48Ehk_cTZFtk/w640-h480/brightangel.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><b>8:30 p.m</b>. We hit the 3 Mile Resthouse. ONLY three miles to the top. In real life, not Canyon life, that would take about 30 minutes. Well, these three shitty miles went on for a literal lifetime. If you ever do this run/hike you will hate these final miles and you will want to destroy them. Shut up knee! You will keep looking up when you think you are at the top and you will see lights taunting you above - hikers still climbing. You will pass people lying on the trail and puking (not kidding!). You will find curse words streaming out of your mouth as you trudge on, afraid to stop because your legs might not hold you. You will stop and eat a salted watermelon GU because you think it will give you life to climb that final mile. And, it does. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZO6TFtO6JkjitE3jn1tfVAXcCC7_0ySfRAwKQFStLkN36WDdtl9vBpQnByDfQIQTDB376_F7C31i0UlHf-Bkd9ulsLW_l2ziFKfUbawYQwCBKNCEXQ0zzv-5-xZvEaZk06i-7kHduvc/s2048/IMG_4553.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZO6TFtO6JkjitE3jn1tfVAXcCC7_0ySfRAwKQFStLkN36WDdtl9vBpQnByDfQIQTDB376_F7C31i0UlHf-Bkd9ulsLW_l2ziFKfUbawYQwCBKNCEXQ0zzv-5-xZvEaZk06i-7kHduvc/w480-h640/IMG_4553.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrQSZRWIxG11pEl5Cerz6qzsWjV-gTHQRX_2ChpNERev8qC4lQVmwh8_echtkuP19z1z4nZhe33igmfW_yg8h9YtW0X1dyIO3M_o7dEj11KJF94NCJY49Scb0IuIcBOHZqIk7K0mPeIs/s2048/IMG_4552.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHrQSZRWIxG11pEl5Cerz6qzsWjV-gTHQRX_2ChpNERev8qC4lQVmwh8_echtkuP19z1z4nZhe33igmfW_yg8h9YtW0X1dyIO3M_o7dEj11KJF94NCJY49Scb0IuIcBOHZqIk7K0mPeIs/w480-h640/IMG_4552.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warning on the trail that you might throw up. Thanks.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>10:00 p.m</b>. Then, there she is. The TOP in all of her glory. We saw it steps away and both broke into tears. No matter the planning or the best of intentions, so much can happen over the course of this day that you cannot control. Things that will thwart your attempt to finish R3. We knew and accepted that. But, here we were, at the top, DONE. All the the training, anticipation and effort behind us. I am still processing that day that felt like a lifetime of memories. That I got to share it with a dear friend of 25 years was a true gift. That my almost 55 year old body allowed for this type of journey is not lost on me. If able, do it while you CAN. That thing you've been wanting to do but haven't. Because, honestly, there will be a day when you can't. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIw-3IlNK0rKpxjExZEIB22nljpUz-XLxnmfkg_I855mRlMsz9tBtdmK78MMqNqzLDnGRnpDuFRGZfxKdWJYeKnzpupXh2ujEeSCui0x45bcakQrN2tKKlXr3VDY2hD4fATiD9NVSEmV8/s2048/IMG_4555.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIw-3IlNK0rKpxjExZEIB22nljpUz-XLxnmfkg_I855mRlMsz9tBtdmK78MMqNqzLDnGRnpDuFRGZfxKdWJYeKnzpupXh2ujEeSCui0x45bcakQrN2tKKlXr3VDY2hD4fATiD9NVSEmV8/w480-h640/IMG_4555.JPEG" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">God, I look crazy. </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJeiVoSD7b8Y6JBTE9dWyYuWYg1AulEHrYYLAkrtnJElNGNoboS4GO4diHjJrjnyJ2zsCm0pnddB-tddb8CZDegHFnUlU6ao_W-hVGSHEWTHIlzrkpqiYXKl2mI4d8mvP8ntay-wRql8/s1280/GCstats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="789" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJeiVoSD7b8Y6JBTE9dWyYuWYg1AulEHrYYLAkrtnJElNGNoboS4GO4diHjJrjnyJ2zsCm0pnddB-tddb8CZDegHFnUlU6ao_W-hVGSHEWTHIlzrkpqiYXKl2mI4d8mvP8ntay-wRql8/w394-h640/GCstats.jpg" width="394" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><b>Gear:</b></p><div style="text-align: left;">Pack: Salomon Adv Skin 12 (seriously the BEST pack ever; worth the investment)</div><div style="text-align: left;">GPS Watch: Suunto 9 Baro (best battery life out there)<br />Sunglasses: Goodr<br />Shoes: Salomon Wild Cross</div><div style="text-align: left;">Socks: Ridge Supply<br />Shorts: Asics<br />Tank: GRIT tank from Stephanie Bruce (got tons of comments on this)<br />Jacket: Salomon Lightening Lightshell<br />Long Sleeve: Lululemon Swiftly Tech<br />2nd Jacket: Patagonia Nano<br />Poles: Black Diamond Distance FLZ</div><div style="text-align: left;">Headlamp: Black Diamond Storm<br />Gloves: Athleta</div><div style="text-align: left;">Visor: Ironman</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Food:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b>2 Salted Watermelon GUs<br />2 turkey/cheese sandwiches<br />2 Honey Stinger waffles<br />1 sleeve Honey Stinger chews<br />Handfuls of monster trail mix<br />1 Snickers bar</div><div style="text-align: left;">Handfuls of gummy fish</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Drink:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b>2 L Tailwind (lemon lime)<br />3-4 L water<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">10 Salt Stick tabs</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Other:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="text-align: left;">First aid supplies</div><div style="text-align: left;">Duct tape</div><div style="text-align: left;">Extra headlamp (in case one went out, which happened)</div><div style="text-align: left;">Flashlight</div><div style="text-align: left;">Water filter - Sawyer</div><div style="text-align: left;">Emergency blanket</div><div style="text-align: left;">Vaseline</div><div style="text-align: left;">Ibuprofen and Tylenol</div><div style="text-align: left;">Extra shorts</div><div style="text-align: left;">Extra socks</div><div style="text-align: left;">Hand warmers</div><div style="text-align: left;">Sunscreen and lip balm (Sun Bum FTW)</div><div style="text-align: left;">Phone</div><div style="text-align: left;">Trail map</div><div style="text-align: left;">Cash for snacks, lemonade at the canteen and for taxi ride</div><div style="text-align: left;">Extra contact lenses</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Optional: </b>(we did not have these)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">GPS Spot or similar - shows your location since your phone won't work</div><div style="text-align: left;">Travel Insurance - in case you need to be rescued (World Nomads)</div><div style="text-align: left;">Tampons/pads (We are too old for that shit) HAHAHA</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, GO GET IT! Oh, and thanks for reading. Say "hi" in the comments. Please.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-37376355413571728942020-09-15T11:28:00.008-07:002020-09-15T11:32:06.510-07:00How To Make Things A Little Less Shitty<p>Hi, it's me again. Just popping in randomly and exactly when you thought (hoped) I was gone for good. Nope. Even though I'm erratic, I'm still around complaining about 2020 like everyone else. All those memes, WTF? Like when people say, "<i>2020, stop throwing things at me. Leave me alone</i>." As if the year 2020 is attacking you personally. It's attacking the planet. All of us. </p><p>I've been working very hard on <b>letting things go</b>. It's just too much. All the sad stories. All the depressed people. The fires. The protests. The economy. The cancelled trips and races. </p><p>My son losing his job, then finding another one but working remotely out of his Phoenix-based bedroom to make a living when he should be out working in some fun office making friends and having FACs. </p><p>My daughter struggling with finding out college kind of sucks right now because while she is in an apartment and technically enrolled in school, she's not able to meet new people, party, dive off of fraternity fireplace mantels into waiting drunken crowds (not that I ever did that), be stupid and enjoy those Wonder Years that college is. </p><p>My parents who are 81 years old and had extraordinary travel plans to countries I can't pronounce that are now upended and might never happen. </p><p>Myself who got into the field of social work to interact with people and to help, whereas now I'm meeting people through my computer screen on Zoom while my cat jumps up and attacks my hair bun. Essentially I am and spending way too much time having conversations with my Golden Retriever and smelling my newest Yankee Candle.</p><p>These are the things I am desperately trying to let go of. I am 53 and a chronic worrier. Just ask Ken. He hates it. If there is one thing I have learned in my years it is that if you are worrying about something and can do something about it you better as shit do it. But, if you are worrying about something and it is totally out of your control (hello, Covid) you better as shit let it go because what.is.the.point? It will make you sick and you will find yourself awake at 2 a.m., your heart racing, your palms sweating (or if you are pre-menopausal like me your body from your big Morton's Toe to your butt crack to your pierced ears sweating). It's not fun and not a way to live.</p><p>Easier said than done.</p><p>And, what I will say to you runners is we have a magical thing to do that rescues us in some way from all of this bullshit and we are lucky. Not everyone gets how restorative and healing running is. They think it's all heavy breathing and sharting and muscle aches, but we know it is so much more. I can shart and breathe heavily and ache but I am still feeling 76% better after a run than before it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdCwlx16mWllOyXZZLQwgqpwdmKmzADXPOvaPBwlG8gAsvGFPuiOe1Ma162wUIZcMuKnuInxsicHlDavX8shgjzgz8KbDaHg5ynn1Zia7wvXq3aqXECzpl9MmzutDpeyUFHgL_YwhKnU/s640/IMG_1274.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="479" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSdCwlx16mWllOyXZZLQwgqpwdmKmzADXPOvaPBwlG8gAsvGFPuiOe1Ma162wUIZcMuKnuInxsicHlDavX8shgjzgz8KbDaHg5ynn1Zia7wvXq3aqXECzpl9MmzutDpeyUFHgL_YwhKnU/w480-h640/IMG_1274.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p>So, I run on. And I bike on. And I swim on. And, sometimes I climb 14,000 foot mountains in the snow in September because....well, just because.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LYJr7gc9kfkpLKbq2THbHQgeDg7QJ-aQCsyz9QA9J7rG15Bu1xAQAms1nLArpjYnGtHzGjXDu_Au7EKDvQRCgvJNCul18eudRfR_ae9Zx1fBoL5wOsH4UtREc8BDELjLI7dbjvJHjuA/s640/IMG_1367.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LYJr7gc9kfkpLKbq2THbHQgeDg7QJ-aQCsyz9QA9J7rG15Bu1xAQAms1nLArpjYnGtHzGjXDu_Au7EKDvQRCgvJNCul18eudRfR_ae9Zx1fBoL5wOsH4UtREc8BDELjLI7dbjvJHjuA/w480-h640/IMG_1367.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That little person is Ken<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgoAi8F5_xNUumKYXigzMkOXIoC_GGzDRRRhqXlItLOkX7_41oDMCuQO4GPTuEzY3J5WN15aNxNAqQVE6LG3tDbKJHFp9CeIYDOaHhbygniBy7oYAGpxXNxG-OL-CHK1SWjycY6RBx1s/s640/IMG_1371.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgoAi8F5_xNUumKYXigzMkOXIoC_GGzDRRRhqXlItLOkX7_41oDMCuQO4GPTuEzY3J5WN15aNxNAqQVE6LG3tDbKJHFp9CeIYDOaHhbygniBy7oYAGpxXNxG-OL-CHK1SWjycY6RBx1s/w640-h480/IMG_1371.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bet my sky is bluer than yours<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QBCC_sYvmpW3nyhFTcTGnAfxoZW8gxffU7yaYOZp8OwFBsfYTZLxu5eHRo_RcCE_YMEjoyAhnIlFfPwcGnEpNL4vlf5lPyeJu_SRcUiR0GCAMLGSa7Zzhkxg-6peLlIJEND9tquFqBs/s640/IMG_1355.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0QBCC_sYvmpW3nyhFTcTGnAfxoZW8gxffU7yaYOZp8OwFBsfYTZLxu5eHRo_RcCE_YMEjoyAhnIlFfPwcGnEpNL4vlf5lPyeJu_SRcUiR0GCAMLGSa7Zzhkxg-6peLlIJEND9tquFqBs/w480-h640/IMG_1355.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I am basically climbing Mt. Everest in my mind</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Some people don't feel motivated to run right now because there are so few races. I will run whether I am training or not. It's survival for me and one thing that helps me to feel normal. I will continue to run through any temperature, any weather element. I will run not really looking at my watch because I don't really care how fast or how far. I care how it makes me feel and that life after a run looks a bit brighter and manageable than life before a run. I will run because I get a perspective on life that I can't really get any other way. After my runs I often think, "It will be okay. I have this. I have the fresh air. I have my health. I have strength in my mind, body and spirit."</p><p>If you're not a runner, of course that's fine. But I hope you have something that can give you this boost too.</p><p>The other thing I do? Instead of fixating on all of the cancelled plans and things we can't do right now, I <b>look to the small things that make me happy </b>and aren't going away soon (except for Schitt$ Creek. Almost done with the series. Sigh. <i>Ewww David</i>!):</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>That damn Yankee Candle (Home Sweet Home scent)</li><li>Reading something inspiring/thought provoking/calming every morning and carrying that sentiment with me throughout the day.</li><li>Wine</li><li>Schitts Creek</li><li>A good book read on the back porch in the sunlight (I'm currently reading <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Place-Us-Fatima-Farheen-Mirza/dp/1524763551">A Place for Us</a></i>. Very good. Also just finished <i>Untamed</i>. Some solid nuggets in there)</li><li>Strong coffee with half and half (I prefer Peet's Major Dickason's dark blend)</li><li>A new recipe to try that actually doesn't taste like dog feces (I just tried <a href="https://pinchofyum.com/triple-berry-cheesecake-muffins">Triple Berry Cheesecake Muffins</a> because why not? And they were orgasmic)</li><li>Wine</li><li>A cozy comforter ordered from Amazon for the winter months (<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008UOBMSC/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_image_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">this one</a>. I'll let you know how we like it)</li><li>A long phone call with a dear friend (hey Julie, Clair and Erika)</li><li>Getting a huge breakfast burrito every Saturday morning from a local spot. Benny's Tacos rocks.</li><li>Wine</li><li>Riding our <a href="https://retrospec.com/collections/beach-cruisers/products/chatham-1-step-thru-single-speed-beach-cruiser-bike?variant=18225317052513">cruiser bikes</a> to a brewery on a nice night</li><li>Planing an adventure (<a href="https://www.alltrails.com/explore/trail/us/colorado/the-decalibron-mounts-democrat-cameron-lincoln-and-bross-trail?mobileMap=false&ref=sidebar-view-full-map">here's what we were going to do</a> but we only made it one summit due to snow)</li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CPmhjEmsmL0gdXTAbr9GZWxuOU2h2mGO52ZM4p5jGrqcOiIgyhXN6jNXmZVcSQDkDQHZlc_R7qPbqHq_C7U21CcfGRyf1cSgOjZGVGkuUuQ_dbQ6Wak2lqg2Fpic4dxhGwTbCQhrD-s/s759/IMG_1332.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="759" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CPmhjEmsmL0gdXTAbr9GZWxuOU2h2mGO52ZM4p5jGrqcOiIgyhXN6jNXmZVcSQDkDQHZlc_R7qPbqHq_C7U21CcfGRyf1cSgOjZGVGkuUuQ_dbQ6Wak2lqg2Fpic4dxhGwTbCQhrD-s/w540-h640/IMG_1332.jpg" width="540" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is today's mantra<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><p></p><p>What I want is for us to not give up on life because of all of this. Don't let Covid be an excuse for you to hide from things and whimper into a corner. <b>Do what you CAN do and enjoy what you CAN enjoy. </b>Because some of those things still exist. They might not be grandiose like your dream vacation<span style="font-family: inherit;"> (<span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #222222; white-space: pre-wrap;">γεια ελλαδα - Hello Greece)</span></span> or seeing your favorite band in concert (see you next time Hoodoo Gurus), but there are still things there to appreciate. You just have to notice them and DECIDE to appreciate them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilszK_HVz-7k0R9I6CJ7SeSOu2XJAGehyphenhyphen5xkDdP13CQLazBIgMwbSV9dazBPB_kGYWWZ0X3_r-B6Yl84lIOi_oud11APIWDdZsRgFiOfLTW4xXPHi-yf0cmtLvbJMtX_f72ii1NA12vUQ/s640/IMG_1392.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="625" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilszK_HVz-7k0R9I6CJ7SeSOu2XJAGehyphenhyphen5xkDdP13CQLazBIgMwbSV9dazBPB_kGYWWZ0X3_r-B6Yl84lIOi_oud11APIWDdZsRgFiOfLTW4xXPHi-yf0cmtLvbJMtX_f72ii1NA12vUQ/w624-h640/IMG_1392.jpg" width="624" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>So now, and for everyone reading here, <b>tell me one thing in the comments that you do each day to make your day somewhat brighter or at least A Little Less Shitty (ALLS). Sometimes all we can hope for is ALLS.</b></p><p>Thanks for being my friend (or, I hope you don't mind I assume we are friends),</p><p><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>SUAR</b></span></i></p>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-72341928378674884162020-07-26T14:09:00.000-07:002020-07-26T15:39:29.232-07:00Ripping Off The Band Aid Do you ever realize that the more you put things off, the bigger the snowball becomes and the harder it is to just start?<br />
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I've missed blogging and this community. But, there has been a part of me that is simply shut down to blogging and to this type of writing. It's not really because I don't want to. I just think my creative juices (sounds dirty) and motivation have been stalled. I could blame it on Covid because Covid sucks ass and it's become easy to make it the scapegoat for everything that is not right. Because honestly, no part of life is not affected by this beast of a virus that has cancelled races and weddings, sidelined vacations, sent countless people into fear-based living and mask wearing. I don't think it's a hoax. And I do have a mild crush on Fauci, although I'm pretty sure I can throw a baseball better than he does.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Side note: Did you know he used to be a marathoner, and now at age 79 power walks 3.5 miles a day?</span><br />
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But, let's be real. I stopped blogging long before Covid stole the show. I've asked myself many times, "What happened that girl who was so tuned into writing that she did it with fervor every day for so long?" Truly I'm not sure. Maybe I burned out. Maybe I thought no one really cared anymore about what I did. Maybe I felt blogging had lost its touch and was slowly fading away. So many bloggers I know don't blog anymore but a have become podcasters and Instagram stars. I am neither (although I do think I could put on a hell of a podcast if I could find the time. It could be all fart noises, hot flashes and swearing). Whatever the case, I just felt BLAH about it all. <b>And, if I'm honest, becoming apathetic and complacent and in a place where I let life just happen to me scares me the most.</b><br />
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So THANK YOU to a few of you have who reached out to ask "Where the hell are you?" (I'm here in the same chair at the same desk) and to those who have showed concern, wondering if I am still running and shitting my pants (yes, occasional sharts), curious if I still like my Sleep Number bed (no, just traded it in for a king-sized bed - a Casper) and if I'm healthy (yes, aside from being 53 and dealing with the beginnings of menopause and a few more aches and pains).<br />
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It was you guys giving me a slight kick in the ass that made me want to rip off the band aid and say "hi" after not posting since early December 2019.<br />
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The truth is, I miss the blogging world and the days when I connected with so many people that way. I looked forward to reading several blogs a day because it felt like checking in with friends and now I hardly read any. I'm not a big fan of the blogs that want to tell me the best foods to eat for runners or how to prevent injuries. I can read that shit on any running site. What I love about blogs are the personal peeks into a person's daily life beyond the superficiality and abbreviated blurbs of Instagram. What I've also missed is the chance to write freely, unedited content where I am writing solely what is true and honest for me and not trying to impress a certain audience.<br />
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Here is what I look like now in case you forgot.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken in June in Tabernash, Colorado on our 25th wedding anniversary</td></tr>
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And now a few updates:<br />
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<b><i>What has changed in my life since Covid?</i></b><br />
<br />
Everything. Emma (age 19! If you've been reading forever you met her when she was 9!) came home from San Diego State mid March and is still here. She had online school through May and has been working at a kids summer camp. She is returning to San Diego for online school and is moving into a ridiculously expensive apartment with there others. I don't love paying out of state tuition for online (WTF! stupid), but we are really trying to make sure she continues to have somewhat of a college experience. Nothing is normal right now and we are all doing things we would not normally do or find acceptable!<br />
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Sam (age 22! If you've been reading forever you met him when he was 12!) graduated in December, got a really cool job then lost it a couple of weeks after Covid started. He was unemployed for a few months, but started a job remotely thee weeks ago. He came home for a bit from Phoenix when the cases started to get really high there. He's been here for a month and probably going back next week. Ken's got a new job, thankfully, cause he hated his past job. I am still doing my same social work job but it is now 100% remote, at least for now. No one has been sick and w don't know anyone who has been. My parents are 81 years old, and are doing well. Fingers crossed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fam - ASU 12/2019 - before shit hit fan</td></tr>
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<b><i>Am I still running?</i></b><br />
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I started running way more when Covid hit because it was all I could do. It was the mental and physical release I needed. But, I got sidelined with some weird ankle pain and it even hurt to walk. I didn't see a doc because our insurance sucks right now and if they ordered an MRI, etc it wouldn't be covered. So I took three weeks off and now I'm fine. Go figure. I self-diagnosed on Google and it is either the Bubonic plague or peroneal tendinitis (No, not <i><b>perineum</b></i> tendinitis - that's your TAINT people, not your ankle). Anyway, I've been putting lots of miles on my bike and swimming too, so, you know, forced cross training.<br />
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<b><i>How's my mental health been through all of this?</i></b><br />
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Up and down. The ups are having my kids home, still having a job, being healthy and still getting outside a lot. The downs are the obvious things like - all the unknowns about life as we know it, all the negativity and divisiveness out there right now, not being able to be with friends like normal, no races to look forward to and our cancelled 25 year anniversary trip to Greece (with no refunds! No, I don't want a voucher, I want my f$cking money).<br />
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<b><i>What I'm doing with my time beyond exercise:</i></b><br />
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- Netflix/Amazon Prime - The Imposters, Ozark (omg the ending of Season 3!!), Jeffrey Epstein (low life scum), Babysitters Club (makes me feel happy, that is all), The Wall (best game show ever), Tiger King (don't judge me), Little Fires Everywhere, Waco, Too Hot to Handle (don't judge me again) and many more.<br />
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-Books - American Dirt, My Dark Vanessa, Big Summer, The Revised Fundamentals of Caregiving, The Dutch House to name a few<br />
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-Cooking new recipes - <a href="https://pinchofyum.com/ridiculous-baked-gnocchi-with-vodka-sauce" target="_blank">Gnocchi with Vodka Sauce</a>, <a href="https://cookieandkate.com/fresh-spring-rolls-recipe/" target="_blank">Fresh Spring Rolls</a>, <a href="https://pinchofyum.com/instant-pot-mac-and-cheese" target="_blank">Instant Pot Mac and Cheese</a>, <a href="https://pinchofyum.com/coconut-curry-ramen" target="_blank">Coconut Curry Ramen</a>, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_1407711669"></span>Shrimp Enchiladas</a><br />
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-Cruising - as a gift for our anniversary, I got Ken and I cruiser bikes (see below from <a href="https://retrospec.com/collections/beach-cruisers/products/chatham-1-step-thru-single-speed-beach-cruiser-bike?variant=18225317052513" target="_blank">Retrospec</a>). Free shipping and only $199. We've been cruising around town to breweries, lakes, etc. So fun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely doing my next Ironman on this baby</td></tr>
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So, this is a good start. I've had fun. Have you?<br />
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I'd like to know:<br />
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-One word to describe your Covid experience? Mine is shit-fest (is that a word?)<br />
-Have you are anyone you know been sick? No<br />
-Best book you've read lately/best show you've watched - see above<br />
-What is your best advice for these times?<br />
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<b>My advice?</b><br />
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Keep a positive mindset and know that this situation is temporary, but also know life will likely feel pretty different for a long time. But, does that have to be bad? No. We just have to adjust expectations and make do what you CAN do. Don't give yourself permission to totally check out, eat Fritos all day and die a slow death while watching Too Hot to Handle (<oh, wait, that's me). But seriously, keep your head up and do the best you can. That's all.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've also found it helpful to drink</td></tr>
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b><br />
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PS: And I've kept up on Instagram, follow <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shutuprun/?hl=en" target="_blank">here</a> for the most fun you've ever hadShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com95tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-86996379360168324402019-12-08T14:14:00.001-07:002019-12-09T06:05:40.806-07:00The Race of a Lifetime - I Just Conquered the Toughest 50K Imaginable in OmanI don't know how to start, so I'm just going to start. I probably don't ever have to run a race again because I have experienced the true Mecca of running and nothing can top what I did the day after Thanksgiving. <-okay, dramatic, but it was pretty cool. So, settle in. This is about to be a long AF blog post.<br />
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On Saturday November 30th I flew 8,000 miles to the heart of the Middle East - the country of Oman to be exact. Don't feel bad if you don't know where Oman is. No one does. Well, at least no one I know, but that could be because we are ignorant Americans. Apparently, most people actually <b><i>do</i> </b>know where it is and go there. In fact, 50% of people living there are ex-pats!<br />
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<img alt="Image result for oman" height="530" src="https://cdn.britannica.com/77/5777-050-7D8C474C/Oman-map-boundaries-cities-locator.jpg" width="640" /><br />
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Not gonna lie. As I got on the plane, alone mind you, and set off on this 20 hour journey, I asked myself why I didn't just stay home on the couch watching Hallmark movies and eating chili cheese Fritos. Seemed like the more comfortable thing to do.<br />
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But, according to memes and shit like that, life is not to be lived in the comfort zone, so bring on another glass of (free) chardonnay and movies I wouldn't normally watch (<i>Book Smart </i>was pretty funny btw).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpDTAJ4eLE8UgoYTQzvvOjUDaDsZInnfkBNMPTRnaPfOyxbuArWi-zJVNEx5wBJbohXSF9pwE5JHtE79Tj-qWP6ItYKTpTE41hqeUT-WQlkOSFyIhLb5N4wLXAcp7A3DPZHtW5L4vWUg/s1600/IMG_8453.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXpDTAJ4eLE8UgoYTQzvvOjUDaDsZInnfkBNMPTRnaPfOyxbuArWi-zJVNEx5wBJbohXSF9pwE5JHtE79Tj-qWP6ItYKTpTE41hqeUT-WQlkOSFyIhLb5N4wLXAcp7A3DPZHtW5L4vWUg/s640/IMG_8453.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozy spot to spend the next ten hours. I LOVE the middle seat so much.</td></tr>
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Side note: I watched a video with Meghan Markle last night (jet lag, still can't sleep) and she said flying was like taking a <i><b>vacation in the sky</b></i> because she drinks wine and watches movies. I am guessing Meghan is not slumming it back in coach with some guy farting and snoring next to her (unless it's Prince Harry), but I digress.<br />
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Bleary eyed, I landed in the capital of Muscat and looked for my ride. After an hour, he showed up wearing his <i>dishdasha</i> (full length robe) as all of the Omani men typically do. Yea,this doesn't look anything like Longmont, CO.<br />
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I got to the <a href="https://myskhotels.com/en/hotels/almoujmuscat/" target="_blank">Mysk Hotel</a>, super nice and modern-like, and was put into a smoking room, which is ironic for a supposed ultra runner. I reasoned, it's okay if I die from second hand smoke. Then I won't have to run the race on Friday.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice hotel pool overlooking the marina leading out to the Gulf of Oman</td></tr>
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The next few days were beyond imagination. I guess I should say here that I went to Oman on a media trip to write an article for <i>Women's Running Magazine</i> about the <a href="https://omanbyutmb.com/" target="_blank">Oman by UTMB</a> (Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc) 50k taking place in Al Hamra (there were also 130k, 170k and shorter race options), Oman on November 29, 2019. I planned to cover the race, but more so discuss the place of women in sport in this country and how it is has evolved over the years.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line of the race. Not exactly Denver</td></tr>
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So, the next four days took me, 6 other journalists and some elite athletes doing the race on a whirlwind tour of the country (well, not all of it, but some highlights). We saw mosques, went to souks (markets), hiked into wadis (water filled canyons in the desert) and snorkeled in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ad_Dimaniyat_Islands" target="_blank">Daymaniyat Island</a> with sea turtles and eels. I consumed more hummus, schawarma, cardamom laced coffee and dates than you can imagine (and still remained constipated - yay me!). All of this before we headed up 2 1/2 hours into the Al Hajar mountain range to the race venue.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fantastic traditional Omani lunch. What is missing? WINE! Because there was none to be found!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NfCPrFMymGBrZZ3lWCRKx7BUILfwIOHFKW5jLYa_0MgaeHO15Jc2x7RAJ1vZQmcmDeFkPM_eiuvSI248rueWx9LiisgRH5ENzsLFmrHPjdeD97YH-Sv5pGCh7t9d5fECrSWtLkAoe6g/s1600/IMG_8535.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6NfCPrFMymGBrZZ3lWCRKx7BUILfwIOHFKW5jLYa_0MgaeHO15Jc2x7RAJ1vZQmcmDeFkPM_eiuvSI248rueWx9LiisgRH5ENzsLFmrHPjdeD97YH-Sv5pGCh7t9d5fECrSWtLkAoe6g/s640/IMG_8535.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a hike to the Old Town of Muscat. <br />
Got to the top just in time for the sunset Call to Prayer.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDYGnMTXdEuFchyphenhyphenc-XvNqQB58FttVTwSk6-SXoqRhM3_oAIcP41fmPe7SUH-kouzEdFesDqcQhAXYJR6nUmR5gvz8nYY9ReDG8xHZH0OvZPGfqlOedpunVFtYRRZlU8OFm9z60FGEvdU/s1600/IMG_8563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDYGnMTXdEuFchyphenhyphenc-XvNqQB58FttVTwSk6-SXoqRhM3_oAIcP41fmPe7SUH-kouzEdFesDqcQhAXYJR6nUmR5gvz8nYY9ReDG8xHZH0OvZPGfqlOedpunVFtYRRZlU8OFm9z60FGEvdU/s640/IMG_8563.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mutrah Souk. Amazing market with frankincense burning everywhere. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXpcVmaZvr-m5vd8oykmNHZWcqDUnQgln_8F55WwrINgUYOiHbAfRVUgXr8wcKlZn7jLUVCumn2kAGvI4uRz_Y34nS2FcMyQfgWUJgugXkzsDSVbx-oAWjgqlOiKz1n0M3MFtGorgf-k/s1600/RXYH5602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXpcVmaZvr-m5vd8oykmNHZWcqDUnQgln_8F55WwrINgUYOiHbAfRVUgXr8wcKlZn7jLUVCumn2kAGvI4uRz_Y34nS2FcMyQfgWUJgugXkzsDSVbx-oAWjgqlOiKz1n0M3MFtGorgf-k/s640/RXYH5602.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtous45a0rV73ggk5IRD9LG4WKhx2tZSoWYMccUiPdVzsAE7BkPZwS46eQPpWozOmJ_Y4ghoUg6LDCEQjnRA2FfmosG1QqDzcx7q2FWlARtPXiqE11nRuTRs2ClsTlmJLHWPNxOmG8mNk/s1600/IMG_8624.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtous45a0rV73ggk5IRD9LG4WKhx2tZSoWYMccUiPdVzsAE7BkPZwS46eQPpWozOmJ_Y4ghoUg6LDCEQjnRA2FfmosG1QqDzcx7q2FWlARtPXiqE11nRuTRs2ClsTlmJLHWPNxOmG8mNk/s640/IMG_8624.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a wadi or canyon that fills with water when it rains. We were able to swim<br />in it to caves and waterfalls.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sbLSDM6dZyTrXQBqQ17_-aMJp-Eqp6vpOBe5jIqEoFTPr9nqNlHg2OVvWS6dZ7O7z1rlTWtAXA6k3zDT4iWMcUri0scrR6s7D7jFu65C25trsofb_gkweMFKRmX72Jw2K2n0cCkhC3Q/s1600/IMG_8664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="562" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0sbLSDM6dZyTrXQBqQ17_-aMJp-Eqp6vpOBe5jIqEoFTPr9nqNlHg2OVvWS6dZ7O7z1rlTWtAXA6k3zDT4iWMcUri0scrR6s7D7jFu65C25trsofb_gkweMFKRmX72Jw2K2n0cCkhC3Q/s640/IMG_8664.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cave. So cool</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfN_iRHx986n_1l52vps4IIsk8XMFDgRW8d0VpiUu6QCLI8zAtczRO-2xhmB04RfeD_tCU4MRC_kDouhrkafQu6NWQoXIxMwNWG7zQ5xIke5NUiVv3olVhykuaKowjIrtqJHkGBx4Cpw/s1600/IMG_8605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPfN_iRHx986n_1l52vps4IIsk8XMFDgRW8d0VpiUu6QCLI8zAtczRO-2xhmB04RfeD_tCU4MRC_kDouhrkafQu6NWQoXIxMwNWG7zQ5xIke5NUiVv3olVhykuaKowjIrtqJHkGBx4Cpw/s640/IMG_8605.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is this a good look? Grand Mosque/Muscat</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhuTrgr5F673Gpmg8oPiHogKYH62D-LSo7cWVxgOQh8LSLmIBnaCj_GHq9vuRy5JViZYPmPAOtHYk-IO9Rpdb5pfCbaBIhM9I6HYsU2HrN5xMFHmDfnzJEeN45FG6gzZuhDNsT_piNcM/s1600/IMG_8693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhuTrgr5F673Gpmg8oPiHogKYH62D-LSo7cWVxgOQh8LSLmIBnaCj_GHq9vuRy5JViZYPmPAOtHYk-IO9Rpdb5pfCbaBIhM9I6HYsU2HrN5xMFHmDfnzJEeN45FG6gzZuhDNsT_piNcM/s640/IMG_8693.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boat ride to the Daymaniyat Islands about an hour from Muscat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMrVrTLvh0vpZ7HmEUW7_XgKo9NClKQB2uhochdWRiVrCy_SPcBl5JbwE0ytkrATuFqeJg2Go4MBiEzYnH2rl4eoRn2H__yfibKgkwb2zvnUGFhikItHQUXGaPSEG6E9Z9KsirOWeTHbc/s1600/IMG_8714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMrVrTLvh0vpZ7HmEUW7_XgKo9NClKQB2uhochdWRiVrCy_SPcBl5JbwE0ytkrATuFqeJg2Go4MBiEzYnH2rl4eoRn2H__yfibKgkwb2zvnUGFhikItHQUXGaPSEG6E9Z9KsirOWeTHbc/s640/IMG_8714.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">November in Oman</td></tr>
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Now is a good time for an intermission to tell you about where we stayed in the mountains prior to the race. We arrived at sunset to the <a href="https://www.alilahotels.com/jabalakhdar#top" target="_blank">Alila Hotel</a>, built into the side of dramatic mountains cliffs. This place was pure magic. I don't know how else to describe it. I watched the sunset and teared up from the beauty of it all. Also, I have never felt so far away from home tucked into a remote mountain range somewhere in the Middle East. Thanksgiving was tomorrow, but there was nothing around me to remotely suggest that was the case That was some surreal shit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AYU3aFWbdomc5iJ02YtN-gil6r4uCWXXJiQcngGuGMYlYQgVgkN0kbm_sRe3sultG0n2PLWZVi0ihQN72-l70HSCjfZ8MT-lP16PKlZ68QvSJpwLg0j6kk5Vny4XzwZICgAjbXJjLA4/s1600/IMG_8751.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6AYU3aFWbdomc5iJ02YtN-gil6r4uCWXXJiQcngGuGMYlYQgVgkN0kbm_sRe3sultG0n2PLWZVi0ihQN72-l70HSCjfZ8MT-lP16PKlZ68QvSJpwLg0j6kk5Vny4XzwZICgAjbXJjLA4/s640/IMG_8751.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset at the Alilah.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolR25fBHc9Ne42dWbY2LkXbAjDBoH26eJJWwdAcU5Di_FzloyB2vIyuLlEkBVAnqAfM5OK4m126YoAS_c1WVNAl66PoS2TvYXgWeC_9L4dYLb8SH07Z_C1Fy9nl2bgh3vydIpkCfnxEk/s1600/IMG_8769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolR25fBHc9Ne42dWbY2LkXbAjDBoH26eJJWwdAcU5Di_FzloyB2vIyuLlEkBVAnqAfM5OK4m126YoAS_c1WVNAl66PoS2TvYXgWeC_9L4dYLb8SH07Z_C1Fy9nl2bgh3vydIpkCfnxEk/s640/IMG_8769.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My villa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzkJyHbzn5VtqnuAlVVr2OE-e13vwFYqJda4qRYphBymFEAwwQrmOrbcbZvKsIrH6z87rpqzgbdmua_drxtDJo3VCQhDwsTTJAKyUK3OOHP3vbqPeASbsa9NVHN4_8hsRbo0eQQyUZCs/s1600/IMG_8734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzkJyHbzn5VtqnuAlVVr2OE-e13vwFYqJda4qRYphBymFEAwwQrmOrbcbZvKsIrH6z87rpqzgbdmua_drxtDJo3VCQhDwsTTJAKyUK3OOHP3vbqPeASbsa9NVHN4_8hsRbo0eQQyUZCs/s640/IMG_8734.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously gorgeous room with views to die for</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SvycdO2DrAotwZP6sTMkiWh0w7nBjt8O8RquSHd2IyyfT94N1Foq2SZaKnNzF9-fQ6lTIJqK39OuqMWxkyJo-3GYdFP2yRJhVuSPC6VAp0JY9JGEi305wrzYAOSxYhU6DB7-5AXrjGY/s1600/oman1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1" data-original-width="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SvycdO2DrAotwZP6sTMkiWh0w7nBjt8O8RquSHd2IyyfT94N1Foq2SZaKnNzF9-fQ6lTIJqK39OuqMWxkyJo-3GYdFP2yRJhVuSPC6VAp0JY9JGEi305wrzYAOSxYhU6DB7-5AXrjGY/s1600/oman1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1Y-7XlYcVOS1Y3VLaBY5gaB6DGpiC-ZP1aLPlLx4mViO8kdA2bncCsSAgrxNkcEilPblfpWGOCWUeGsiK5p6qontCka3O6Cxn0CY3s_Q88GLutOC1_Hu07lzSYXfheGYnTXop-eu_2Y/s1600/oman3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1" data-original-width="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh1Y-7XlYcVOS1Y3VLaBY5gaB6DGpiC-ZP1aLPlLx4mViO8kdA2bncCsSAgrxNkcEilPblfpWGOCWUeGsiK5p6qontCka3O6Cxn0CY3s_Q88GLutOC1_Hu07lzSYXfheGYnTXop-eu_2Y/s1600/oman3.jpg" /></a></div>
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After seeing off the 130k and 170k runners on Thanksgiving, we transferred to a hotel closer to the start, grabbed our bibs and had a gear inspection of my pack (we had to carry: headlamp, 800 cals food, 2 liters water, water proof coat, whistle, evacuation insurance, emergency blanket, bandages, phone - WTF was going to happen to me out there?).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMgvzZQXpbyewR3lkJVDjaXJH905EEYhcU5jGws68GfKHJXbNHdgmQrXr3tHcZlNBHrG4Lp3mrr3A-veml0Vc8NFL1_A_l6kMh2TMMw5L-eQygn026OClWmZzr7t3kriulKyoPVcJjTg/s1600/IMG_8790.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="542" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJMgvzZQXpbyewR3lkJVDjaXJH905EEYhcU5jGws68GfKHJXbNHdgmQrXr3tHcZlNBHrG4Lp3mrr3A-veml0Vc8NFL1_A_l6kMh2TMMw5L-eQygn026OClWmZzr7t3kriulKyoPVcJjTg/s640/IMG_8790.jpg" width="542" /></a></div>
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I had a chance to interview Nadhira Alharthy, the first Omani woman it summit Mt. Everest (May 2019) and who would be running the 130k race.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OU4r2MyQkeGtQJEZX0REINRvRIgsSjc4zQJvBH0PtfDB4Vykb28cpvv9Wj0dTrFbzXIGnlnNVLA_7pq3hxY24wFNFOq5oYQhm_MDDRgTdS_-cn86SFY2PaxrwXQQxehhW0ezPhD0RO4/s1600/IMG_8802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OU4r2MyQkeGtQJEZX0REINRvRIgsSjc4zQJvBH0PtfDB4Vykb28cpvv9Wj0dTrFbzXIGnlnNVLA_7pq3hxY24wFNFOq5oYQhm_MDDRgTdS_-cn86SFY2PaxrwXQQxehhW0ezPhD0RO4/s640/IMG_8802.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Given the drastic and rugged landscape I had been observing over the past few days, I anticipated (and was not wrong!) that this race was going to chew me up. I truly had no clue what to expect so I just embraced the unknown and knew I could take whatever was thrown at me. I may not be the fastest chick out there, but I DON'T GIVE UP.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrfoEZ6xyHEj-f53JysRV-StHehYhaWxN8ZFkFNRf3diEfBQ1MkYmeAPnyEKrwu1-2iYVUGPkHzqyCndyU50enToBAoDPLWf56uDtH-JuHjs2RTrgx0SAsa4FfLDrKpLTzqmj_9KkfoE/s1600/IMG_E8770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="611" data-original-width="640" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbrfoEZ6xyHEj-f53JysRV-StHehYhaWxN8ZFkFNRf3diEfBQ1MkYmeAPnyEKrwu1-2iYVUGPkHzqyCndyU50enToBAoDPLWf56uDtH-JuHjs2RTrgx0SAsa4FfLDrKpLTzqmj_9KkfoE/s640/IMG_E8770.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We got to the start around 6am and hung out in the media tent until go time. I stuffed down a Clif Bar, a banana and coffee. I've only done one 50k (last June) and it took 8 hours, 20 minutes. The Oman race would have 8,300 feet of climbing, so about 1,000 more than my previous 50k. I figured I'd finish in 9 hours or so. HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Ignorance is fucking bliss!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiS0oD39FtInmqqI1AMQYCWWvNXkhLTUq0xtCBkQ3X7PopaJfYfVsvftfnGOs0ec3Eh2Vm_UvdXfN4YYo-5zRvHBxNGefieoV2UXVeBFAOqyOgwFt-zw556XgBq1nwPibb2grcVEoHe0/s1600/62a41862-e21b-4a85-a150-3b855ecd54b3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiS0oD39FtInmqqI1AMQYCWWvNXkhLTUq0xtCBkQ3X7PopaJfYfVsvftfnGOs0ec3Eh2Vm_UvdXfN4YYo-5zRvHBxNGefieoV2UXVeBFAOqyOgwFt-zw556XgBq1nwPibb2grcVEoHe0/s640/62a41862-e21b-4a85-a150-3b855ecd54b3.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right before race start. This is Raul from Spain and Katie from the UK.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykLs_VCgCoWLi2fJ6HNIpiUy4s1cCS90Cj_5RFaAUAM7884XtLk16PDDPmneNVmgr4JIawHqmOZwFDFm2ZDwh6c0IbiOwfRU7guBm-on-3tdV1cvAzi7yF5iOzhiK4awOlB1HtY9hjHA/s1600/IMG_8869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykLs_VCgCoWLi2fJ6HNIpiUy4s1cCS90Cj_5RFaAUAM7884XtLk16PDDPmneNVmgr4JIawHqmOZwFDFm2ZDwh6c0IbiOwfRU7guBm-on-3tdV1cvAzi7yF5iOzhiK4awOlB1HtY9hjHA/s640/IMG_8869.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no clue what I'm in for</td></tr>
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My plan was to eat a lot, drink a lot and pace myself for a long day. I wanted to talk to people, take pictures and soak up the experience. And I'd prefer to not shit my pants. Goals.<br />
<br />
And, we were off. The first few climbs weren't that bad. Single track and technical, but do-able and somewhat runnable.<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/AVvXsEjo1eH4_X4AAMDlPbjSPuekNseG4oBvsMqWy2YxhbT2yCxOlwz9zhyphenhyphen0R6iPgHn6FO1_2AQ-Z7z7gj1oWbOdWOpWygIKcbMbyI833VT79WXjsznJZ-KJ1U5U7bYd1Dt7_4cTYn_VxMFLkIU/s1600/IMG_8883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo1eH4_X4AAMDlPbjSPuekNseG4oBvsMqWy2YxhbT2yCxOlwz9zhyphenhyphen0R6iPgHn6FO1_2AQ-Z7z7gj1oWbOdWOpWygIKcbMbyI833VT79WXjsznJZ-KJ1U5U7bYd1Dt7_4cTYn_VxMFLkIU/s640/IMG_8883.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok, so maybe not super runable</td></tr>
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After we hit about 10 miles, it started getting interesting. The terrain turned from loose rock to slabs of granite and sharp volcanic rock. The climbing was relentless, and there was not a moment when you did not have to be concentrating on each and every step so as to not face plant or fall off of the mountain. Guys, there were<b> no parts</b> of just nice, smooth trail. Because most of the course had no "real" trail, the route was marked by green dots painted on rocks every 5-10 feet. Oh, and there were also red dots which meant, "Stay the fuck away or you will plunge to your death." Had it not been for those markers, I would now be adopted by a Bedouin family and living in the Omani desert.<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/AVvXsEj0V_W3Q5mOB-lbT6hFqP5Fb_Tg-Td0zwDgJCP1bievkTMu5rMvehUfnj2ToWjMJ6vF2z2vNyMecm0MqryNihcovv53VK9x5Om2qaaJ1HTYpZxcWc_FyioewI7kgHdR_3AwNUMrg1ZzjPw/s1600/IMG_8881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0V_W3Q5mOB-lbT6hFqP5Fb_Tg-Td0zwDgJCP1bievkTMu5rMvehUfnj2ToWjMJ6vF2z2vNyMecm0MqryNihcovv53VK9x5Om2qaaJ1HTYpZxcWc_FyioewI7kgHdR_3AwNUMrg1ZzjPw/s640/IMG_8881.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow the green dots or else</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After one especially tough climb, an Omani guy came up beside me and was mumbling, "<i>shit, shit.</i>" I asked if he was okay and he told me, "<i>All the food in my stomach!? It just came out my mouth</i>!" Christ. Well, if read this blog you know I have total and complete vomit phobia. Although I was tired I could not run away quickly enough from the Omani puker.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WX9dP8srocLwGvA_UtmrQ9QcPhVqRARiBqy5XGVbBKWu5V0C4qC65u5JmFgo9o8ESbjM1_vto_oBdUsVmyI9SExShvhJlfUfXRR4wxwcL7qT2-6LvEtMBGU4jaT658OkDFqFXZx4alw/s1600/IMG_8897.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WX9dP8srocLwGvA_UtmrQ9QcPhVqRARiBqy5XGVbBKWu5V0C4qC65u5JmFgo9o8ESbjM1_vto_oBdUsVmyI9SExShvhJlfUfXRR4wxwcL7qT2-6LvEtMBGU4jaT658OkDFqFXZx4alw/s640/IMG_8897.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The climbing is no joke, friends</td></tr>
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I trudged on, sometimes talking to people, sometimes completely alone for miles at a time. I reached the halfway mark (about 16 miles) in about 4 1/2 hours at 7,808 feet. This was the highest vertical point of the race, so I assumed the rest was downhill and would be fast. HAHAHAHAHA! The sun was relentless (yes, it is the desert) and there was not ONE ounce of shade. Not even some little frankincense tree I could huddle under. I was starting to feel somewhat nauseous so when I was handed a cup of chicken noodle soup being cooked over a fire I gladly accepted. It was like the nectar of the gods (or Mohammed).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOopqbQboQ8-idKQq8VBW0YF9i55kZjXTpodVs8wHjtrxvIy0Q0JIg1hj_FsIlwEPXfRTJYiLIj7OmHmrsSYSfk5w6ZcMKpNwilBaqdPV2kAdlbgQPAIdCasPNLlDIcjPPgC8XeMb34o/s1600/IMG_8890.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDOopqbQboQ8-idKQq8VBW0YF9i55kZjXTpodVs8wHjtrxvIy0Q0JIg1hj_FsIlwEPXfRTJYiLIj7OmHmrsSYSfk5w6ZcMKpNwilBaqdPV2kAdlbgQPAIdCasPNLlDIcjPPgC8XeMb34o/s640/IMG_8890.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello and thank you for the soup guys</td></tr>
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Welp, the terrain just kept throwing stuff at me. I kept thinking that this is what running on Mars must be like. Unforgiving, jagged, uneven rock. We had some nice vertical descents, but it was impossible to go fast given the fact you had to crawl over boulders and traverse slabs of granite, tilted at some ridiculous angles. I never forgot to stop and look around because the scenery was stunningly gorgeous and even though I was starting to feel like shit, I was pinching myself that I WAS HERE, DOING THIS.<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/AVvXsEgjCVnypZB6ecd31qe6zWUPD_ikt3orqU8cBM5Mj_VQyVi-60OrA-H64VQQkhtLRoCDEdgdJgo78tdpGRE2K5c7Feol_kAeJsraZGLhKzpfl-cWcWEpbDenjeq1Qs5193z-GoPdSGXW1y4/s1600/191129_UTMBOman_VC_086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCVnypZB6ecd31qe6zWUPD_ikt3orqU8cBM5Mj_VQyVi-60OrA-H64VQQkhtLRoCDEdgdJgo78tdpGRE2K5c7Feol_kAeJsraZGLhKzpfl-cWcWEpbDenjeq1Qs5193z-GoPdSGXW1y4/s640/191129_UTMBOman_VC_086.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo cred: <b style="font-size: 12.8px;">©Oman
Sail/Lloyd Images.</b><br />
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7 hours in and I was doing about 19 minute miles. I got so discouraged I stopped looking at my watch because it was too frustrating how slowly the miles were clicking by. On one especially daunting and relentless climb, I sat down in the middle of the trail (the first time I had sat down since the start). Hassan from France (who I had leap frogged with most of the race) asked if I was okay. I told him, "I JUST NEED A FUCKING MINUTE!" He told me we had about 10k to go until we had our frosty beer in our hands (which was a lie because Oman is a dry country and there would NEVER be any beer at the finish). I knew I would do the final 10k, but it also seemed impossible. I know this sounds dramatic, but I was SO spent at this point. I had long ago decided this was the toughest race I'd ever done including my two Ironman races. It was taking a lot of will power to keep moving forward. Everything hurt and I was sick of jumping off rocks and sliding down granite.<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/AVvXsEjDzIjswUQGrsfZQigWmZ9ibteAg5sOzVzXpwVhCLz_2REE800vYlLwqxPKWkYfhnX4SyQBFK6dlGEiRhcqfMqslmCGm1nFTU7KELnLdgAYD3wmnJcRPL4g-Nwb_SfZEwJUN5OYDkqwXG0/s1600/IMG_8902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDzIjswUQGrsfZQigWmZ9ibteAg5sOzVzXpwVhCLz_2REE800vYlLwqxPKWkYfhnX4SyQBFK6dlGEiRhcqfMqslmCGm1nFTU7KELnLdgAYD3wmnJcRPL4g-Nwb_SfZEwJUN5OYDkqwXG0/s640/IMG_8902.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No big deal just passing through abandoned villages that were thousands of years old.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o7qy4gZuB276NJbL40LJhVl92lPl7AvkETWSIkuRaM4WdvLr96nU9Yqnb1UarspqHDuNAs1UzZbva2fHCyNNKKknM3yenQSooRIuZkn2865uFeJSPBj-33VrF1LuUmrf2CCrIJghMb4/s1600/IMG_8898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7o7qy4gZuB276NJbL40LJhVl92lPl7AvkETWSIkuRaM4WdvLr96nU9Yqnb1UarspqHDuNAs1UzZbva2fHCyNNKKknM3yenQSooRIuZkn2865uFeJSPBj-33VrF1LuUmrf2CCrIJghMb4/s640/IMG_8898.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The final part of the race you actually go through an oasis of sorts - a 300 year old village called Misfah. It's wasn't a rock trail anymore, just slick limestone and lots of stairs. It was incredibly scenic and I wanted to be less tired so I could appreciate it more.<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;"><img alt="Image result for misfah oman" height="360" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/3XXN1irV_j8/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes I ran on those. Nothing like having a concrete balance beam at mile 30 of a race.</td></tr>
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Finally I came to the top of the last hill and saw the town of Al Hamra below. I could hear the finish line although it was still a few miles away. The sun was setting and I could not believe I had been out here more <b>than ten hours</b>. As I made my way down the final single track towards the town, the Muslim call to prayer began as it does every evening at dusk. The voices of the <i>iman</i> worship leaders from various minarets echoed around me as the sky changed from orange to dark. It was one of those moments in life that was pure magic. Suddenly every step of the past ten hours had been fully worth it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCTRafX2kF_HBh-vJJtrw-A1xUp-Sf6S3hwBYjjPhT7NJsnT4WL1jEsayILqI_-k_KwukKkspwY0_dCeU5NrjDoYjFR82YXBpKLxfDw7xWKf0Lxu_g7zPUPebbgnQG1mykg0JPtYgjAU/s1600/IMG_8905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCTRafX2kF_HBh-vJJtrw-A1xUp-Sf6S3hwBYjjPhT7NJsnT4WL1jEsayILqI_-k_KwukKkspwY0_dCeU5NrjDoYjFR82YXBpKLxfDw7xWKf0Lxu_g7zPUPebbgnQG1mykg0JPtYgjAU/s640/IMG_8905.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Then in 10 hours and 46 minutes I was DONE! Turns out I was the first in my 50-59 division as well as the first American woman to cross the line!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Ta8njWWT2x6FUiQvhsrs3a-5mmLA68rj-e0y_cGxwAWKM2N5YswXkg2vfsgPI0dWDBk-cUheyMOndS11OhVkAjEQjwobL3BRaB2AaQlENRN6H5o2cz5jPx-l7mU0nk_4tuaUEBvzktU/s1600/IMG_8949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Ta8njWWT2x6FUiQvhsrs3a-5mmLA68rj-e0y_cGxwAWKM2N5YswXkg2vfsgPI0dWDBk-cUheyMOndS11OhVkAjEQjwobL3BRaB2AaQlENRN6H5o2cz5jPx-l7mU0nk_4tuaUEBvzktU/s640/IMG_8949.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken the next day. These men were not in my division but agreed to pose with me.</td></tr>
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How to summarize this day. Brutal. Unforgettable. Challenging. Eye opening. Fantastic.<br />
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This is only the second year UTMB has had this race in Oman (last year they only offered the 130k distance but they have grown the race from about 350 to 1,600 people! Considering the harsh and remote landscape they did a phenomenal job of marking the course and keeping everyone safe. I can't say enough about the race and the country, itself. It truly is an adventure destination chock full of something for anyone and everyone. Sandy beaches, rugged mountains, sand dunes, city life. And, the most amazing food. It's a long journey, but one well worth the time you have to spend watching movies, drinking wine and sleeping upright next to farting strangers. Trust me.<br />
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Oh, and you just might see a camel on the road.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwz7b0ET6OygMTsJLEXTQar3Iq_6i6sEG_x7Pt2wS3geMm3dsovpae33vOXqXbCspw2tvcu2vN-MAPYEJ3nzMoOPdDtQduv5X7aR22qtEoAStBC3FwAb6Gj1L-cPZAQJ8ArC1IShyphenhyphenKWE/s1600/IMG_8957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwz7b0ET6OygMTsJLEXTQar3Iq_6i6sEG_x7Pt2wS3geMm3dsovpae33vOXqXbCspw2tvcu2vN-MAPYEJ3nzMoOPdDtQduv5X7aR22qtEoAStBC3FwAb6Gj1L-cPZAQJ8ArC1IShyphenhyphenKWE/s640/IMG_8957.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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These two - Ellie and Morgan were our hosts and kept everyone organized. They were amazing and I love them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSFchqqcY4WQLepIRxBzCO6ynpRAAIhspyEiMZxX6abReV3UQZQ7gCxaaDyFY77NhGiYIrU4dBHpkiQ1KytzfTdDAFf58etyRT4RBrCSSZcstBDMtQ78ZdLplxxa5W3Gjnt40_rEKVgY/s1600/IMG_8965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSFchqqcY4WQLepIRxBzCO6ynpRAAIhspyEiMZxX6abReV3UQZQ7gCxaaDyFY77NhGiYIrU4dBHpkiQ1KytzfTdDAFf58etyRT4RBrCSSZcstBDMtQ78ZdLplxxa5W3Gjnt40_rEKVgY/s640/IMG_8965.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Thanks to <a href="https://www.omansail.com/" target="_blank">Oman Sail </a>for hosting us and showing off the country, its people and the race course. I hope to back one day. That is, once I recover and actually want to do another race!<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>SUAR</b></i></span><br />
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<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-56999471189030675102019-09-22T14:47:00.000-07:002019-09-25T14:28:29.559-07:00I Forgot How Hard That Was - Harvest Moon 70.3 Race Report 2019Last weekend I did my first triathlon (1.2 mile swim, 56 miles bike, 13.1 mile run) in five years. It hurt like hell. I don't know if it's cause I'm five years older or just a pussy, but that took a lot of mental and physical fortitude.<br />
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Since the <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2019/06/2019-dirty-thirty-50k-race-report.html" target="_blank">Dirty Thirty 50k</a> in the beginning of June, I switched gears from trail running to full triathlon mode My workout life became swimming, biking and running. I returned to the pool full of its pubic hair, used band aids and senior aerobics (hey, pussy posse! Remember me?). I rejoined the cycling world putting in miles upon miles every weekend, usually followed by very hot runs that turned into death marches. I put in my time and had no clue how it would all shake out.<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/AVvXsEjs0mQQp6Ck5Q1hWfRx46eQeVufoDBmwzrH96wYMSL2ICDvRhzZGsWQsBi1KFCSPvwBAnPPZkW04Bfwd3IMDgYpQrZjIqZWSxvmKr3uqExxiKcOP6Y3J5QNVaQXocxrqByexvCY-u-6soM/s1600/IMG_7651.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs0mQQp6Ck5Q1hWfRx46eQeVufoDBmwzrH96wYMSL2ICDvRhzZGsWQsBi1KFCSPvwBAnPPZkW04Bfwd3IMDgYpQrZjIqZWSxvmKr3uqExxiKcOP6Y3J5QNVaQXocxrqByexvCY-u-6soM/s640/IMG_7651.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look happy, but I had just made my third trip to the porto potty<br />
and was fearing how my colon would hold up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Race morning was too early, as most race mornings are. I spent lots of time literally choking down my calories because I cannot eat that early. I gagged on my jelly and butter sandwich. Plus, I had spent the entire day before volunteering for race set up, which involved lots of heavy lifting and walking and time in the baking sun. This was not a smart idea.<br />
<br />
It was cold at the Boulder Reservoir. 46 degrees to be exact. The very last thing on the planet I wanted to do was get in the water and swim 1.2 miles. I was literally shivering as we waited on the beach in my sleeveless wet suit. I hate being cold more than I hate almost anything except vomit. Vomit wins.<br />
<br />
<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/AVvXsEhOleOSpfHdrk_607dDp3OFnhTUgRjiE4-_gr9d6moUc4Z-Mv0L366eG73wu71mFToTcb9uO2LAukVRj5xDtmDhNpbQxuRcWNUgHyopsEZ7Qaiwrn1CSlzb-D7Z7tgXnb_7rSXJlCRmv2U/s1600/IMG_7659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOleOSpfHdrk_607dDp3OFnhTUgRjiE4-_gr9d6moUc4Z-Mv0L366eG73wu71mFToTcb9uO2LAukVRj5xDtmDhNpbQxuRcWNUgHyopsEZ7Qaiwrn1CSlzb-D7Z7tgXnb_7rSXJlCRmv2U/s640/IMG_7659.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my friend Jeanne. We are the same age and very well matched for paces on the bike and run<br />
My goal is to beat Jeanne.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The swim went not that well. By the first buoy I was gasping from the cold and could not catch my breath. I told myself to get my shit together, to take deep breaths. I did the breast stroke for a second and got on my back to catch my breath. I thought, "Just go because the sooner you get this done the sooner you will be warm." One buoy at a time. Made the turn around and headed back to the shore.<br />
<br />
<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/AVvXsEgi-6cNd68dlt7w6P0rlQz5Mm84dHWbB4w15Y8hPaKx1IbiMWJ3ty5JnYJyvorxBbcFWt2PKRbtMKpCV3-J8Ttz4f0BqqgLOogrHxISRaG7-q9nPXs0meulop7Cur2rzubBcnd32UhK-uY/s1600/IMG_76551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-6cNd68dlt7w6P0rlQz5Mm84dHWbB4w15Y8hPaKx1IbiMWJ3ty5JnYJyvorxBbcFWt2PKRbtMKpCV3-J8Ttz4f0BqqgLOogrHxISRaG7-q9nPXs0meulop7Cur2rzubBcnd32UhK-uY/s640/IMG_76551.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here I go with my cone head</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><i>Swim: 1.2 miles 40 minutes</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEhNSKD2WnUNU3HpTktrMS7Wp4_jtil1IamCGaRq4U2AvkXeQt1JfJ8BD0j8H14x6wRldta6FG_FPcggF81mLzNW77Xo6GC2wyFJpotUgspcnMfjbq02Q3Ub3sdz6U4FBbdYXyMjKBsiLwE/s1600/IMG_7656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSKD2WnUNU3HpTktrMS7Wp4_jtil1IamCGaRq4U2AvkXeQt1JfJ8BD0j8H14x6wRldta6FG_FPcggF81mLzNW77Xo6GC2wyFJpotUgspcnMfjbq02Q3Ub3sdz6U4FBbdYXyMjKBsiLwE/s640/IMG_7656.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how you get beach waves in your hair</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I started the bike and waited about 30 minutes before I started eating. Then I ate every hour. 3 gels, one Honey Stinger waffle with peanut butter, lots of water and some Nuun. Also, 4 salt stick tablets, which I taped to my bike so I wouldn't forget. The bike for me is a dance of holding back to save my legs for the run and pushing enough so that I feel competitive. The route was two 28 mile loops. I felt strong. But, the whole time I dreaded the fucking run. It was hot, almost 90 degrees. I was already tired and how exactly was I going to squeeze out a half marathon? But I knew I would.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Bike 56 miles 3:08 </i></b><br />
<br />
I swapped out my biking shoes for running shoes and my race helmet for a visor, then hit the road. To me, one of the most despicable feelings in the world is when you get off the bike after a few hours and attempt to run. Your legs are made of jello and your mind is mental mush.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegmmJT_JwwGJhPDif4wQD5gUbRKSuERI1kveblvAnA8WWS3wPX2ZtfY0GGBJhODIU4gMvZEYNSh07VWGf8KdcTWE3xPrCy5MO2VqYc-xTv6Hea3zExIKC0HJbs_0y0NyhqEeYDMWlDF0/s1600/IMG_7653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegmmJT_JwwGJhPDif4wQD5gUbRKSuERI1kveblvAnA8WWS3wPX2ZtfY0GGBJhODIU4gMvZEYNSh07VWGf8KdcTWE3xPrCy5MO2VqYc-xTv6Hea3zExIKC0HJbs_0y0NyhqEeYDMWlDF0/s640/IMG_7653.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I knew the run would be a grind to be taken one mile at a time. Thankfully, there were aid stations about every mile. I had given up eating at this point, but when I approached aid I'd yell "ice, water, coke!" I'd dump the ice in my (non existent) cleavage, pour the water on my my head and drink the coke. Seemed to be a good combo. I slogged through those miles mentally ticking each one off as I went.<br />
<br />
Finally - the finish line chute and Ken are in sight!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJsWxPs93Ahn3OA9XLcDo8Pc-NMco2hHzanEJwwqPgYye-tHeqzOlqKteEfSkdku2QzeH7KwUjDOatesTKV_Z_HbDzsyCPT5YGDprZWIj0kkqV-JcfJ4aG9A5Krsq2Soa-KQxF2D2NRo/s1600/IMG_7654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizJsWxPs93Ahn3OA9XLcDo8Pc-NMco2hHzanEJwwqPgYye-tHeqzOlqKteEfSkdku2QzeH7KwUjDOatesTKV_Z_HbDzsyCPT5YGDprZWIj0kkqV-JcfJ4aG9A5Krsq2Soa-KQxF2D2NRo/s640/IMG_7654.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Run 13.1 miles: 2:17</i></b><br />
<br />
It felt good to sit down. I tried a beer, but no go.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UPixvmHQKsnvmEDksO1G_lqElrgS-d07XSkyUsm-btQkIK4Dl0UvyD1as3_d1RV1QmzDOk9IJwUY7qQXPAQ9fZK3Bt27pBPeA76QHiE4DO0iCCqBVvEyIq4rqR4kt5MxsQIrT4oEoGQ/s1600/IMG_7658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1UPixvmHQKsnvmEDksO1G_lqElrgS-d07XSkyUsm-btQkIK4Dl0UvyD1as3_d1RV1QmzDOk9IJwUY7qQXPAQ9fZK3Bt27pBPeA76QHiE4DO0iCCqBVvEyIq4rqR4kt5MxsQIrT4oEoGQ/s640/IMG_7658.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Then I was completely surprised to be...<br />
<br />
<b><i>1st in age group with a total time of 6:13.</i></b><br />
<br />
Getting up on the podium block was the toughest feat of the day.<br />
<br />
<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/AVvXsEgwi8O3Lc2jvr2urXGmTS0K1DKXUtjwC6LaAUGyLzbDLzA4odmpfInsZusvzXzXAnIyzTuiSxI5L02g7CQmV9I774KomkdMJW7XvLkeCOYKSHkH5DG0vmNnorgz8ISzmhJpTD3SERJ3fP0/s1600/IMG_7688.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi8O3Lc2jvr2urXGmTS0K1DKXUtjwC6LaAUGyLzbDLzA4odmpfInsZusvzXzXAnIyzTuiSxI5L02g7CQmV9I774KomkdMJW7XvLkeCOYKSHkH5DG0vmNnorgz8ISzmhJpTD3SERJ3fP0/s640/IMG_7688.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That is some serious sweat on my ass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0JRYHGeML0gPv2TTVhgnoVq8xESmKzgY365AyXWY1QKVLOZXj4dSnWZQr2LQdEZxbAJRVA8bTYlPE2R0foLiMPJAj769FyjNnNlGTMBBoid7mkQ7isLKUaJqm4-04nSQNlaDFuxEbR8/s1600/IMG_76523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn0JRYHGeML0gPv2TTVhgnoVq8xESmKzgY365AyXWY1QKVLOZXj4dSnWZQr2LQdEZxbAJRVA8bTYlPE2R0foLiMPJAj769FyjNnNlGTMBBoid7mkQ7isLKUaJqm4-04nSQNlaDFuxEbR8/s640/IMG_76523.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I truly forgot how tough longer distance triathlons are. Now...more training for the running races I have in my future:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Bourbon Chase Relay in Kentucky: October 17</li>
<li>A brand new trail 50k in<span style="background-color: yellow;"> __________ </span> Stay tuned for where this will be.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<br />
<div>
<b>Hint:</b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>It's at the end of November</li>
<li>It's not in this country, or on this continent</li>
<li>It's hot as hell</li>
<li>The country is bordered by three different countries </li>
<li>Its coast is on one gulf and one sea</li>
</ul>
<div>
Can you guess??? If you do I'll send you some gum. Really, I will. I just got a bunch of thirst quenching gum for while you run. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks for reading, friends!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-52084526962527583412019-08-15T13:04:00.003-07:002019-08-15T13:05:11.169-07:00A Different Kind of Race + Taint TalkI seriously <b>ghosted every single one of you</b> for the past six weeks. I am a douche.<br />
<br />
I'm a believer that the best writing comes from a desire to write not an obligation. And, I just haven't been feeling it. Never fear - I'm still out here doing my thing. Since the <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2019/06/2019-dirty-thirty-50k-race-report.html" target="_blank">Dirty Thirty 50K</a> I've kicked my triathlon training into high gear to get ready for the <a href="https://www.withoutlimits.co/harvest-moon-triathlon-race-info" target="_blank">Harvest Moon 70.3</a> in Boulder next month.<br />
<br />
But last weekend I did a trail race just to mix things up. It was the <a href="https://www.cirqueseries.com/a-basin" target="_blank">Cirque Series - A Basin</a>. You've likely never heard of this series. Neither had I. I thought maybe I was joining Cirque du Soleil and I'd have to contort myself to the point of seeing my own taint - but NO! This is a newer series that goes to more extreme locations and makes people run up idiotic mountains with steep drop offs and bipolar weather.<br />
<br />
I'm into that kind of thing (better than the taint business. Did you know a taint is basically the same as a perineum? There is this add for medication that comes on during the 6 o'clock news that actually uses the word "perineum" ((there is some side affect - like gangrene of the perineum? Who first discovered that?)) any way, I am always yelling at the TV "IT'S A TAINT"!! Or, that's what the Urban Dictionary would say).<br />
<br />
Speaking of the Urban Dictionary. Here is a funny side story that has nothing to do with a taint or the race. My parents, who are 80, were recently at a concert in Boulder at this famous place called Chautauqua, you know it if you live here. So the eighty year olds were wondering what Chautauqua meant, so my dad Googled it. Somehow it immediately took him to the Urban Dictionary (a foreign land for my dad) and he found out Chautauqua actually meant "liquid shit." He shared this with all of his octogenarian friends, who rightfully questioned if that was the true meaning. Turns out it really means "an adult education movement," but that is so...YAWN compared to liquid shit. I love my dad.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLukyZXbSxFoX8_IxJ4pSxMNCp96YftiWdAJtk771cZTobcy1b_g2XGJww6ByV3sNGpa01ErMekrpeBfEjom5RK2kSAF9-WS7zunV96tkZbdI9iBP5GWvS6mSH6Wnhqe33gnN2N6vbAg/s1600/liquidshit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="592" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLukyZXbSxFoX8_IxJ4pSxMNCp96YftiWdAJtk771cZTobcy1b_g2XGJww6ByV3sNGpa01ErMekrpeBfEjom5RK2kSAF9-WS7zunV96tkZbdI9iBP5GWvS6mSH6Wnhqe33gnN2N6vbAg/s400/liquidshit.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Moving on. So, this race was at the A-Basin ski area, about an hour outside of Denver. A-Basin is located at 10,800 feet which means you can't breathe for (liquid) shit. It was only 7 miles, but the first half was extremely uphill (as in you are climbing up the ski mountain to the top of a peak). We ran (if you can call it that) up to almost 13,000 feet. Here's what it looked like:<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/AVvXsEiQGehL8UB3qSMPm1cIhUb5P8ZN7uQrJyPb_dmHWyYrNMBYq2eumyH1m4BJRW5PU3mRem5rUoDslge-rQviuD2z2xgOESYaxlEMSRIVK5GOfIE_ZfNmNkmlM8yz8Nd6d-SkSCmQXkAvUjk/s1600/68354057_874635542917975_7741876759485743104_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGehL8UB3qSMPm1cIhUb5P8ZN7uQrJyPb_dmHWyYrNMBYq2eumyH1m4BJRW5PU3mRem5rUoDslge-rQviuD2z2xgOESYaxlEMSRIVK5GOfIE_ZfNmNkmlM8yz8Nd6d-SkSCmQXkAvUjk/s640/68354057_874635542917975_7741876759485743104_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View on the way up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiN6Ykw4BQRjFFPBP6Gsm4nive2OjkyN4wVVwHb7dLydIeSTgtXd7Mm15Nkg-wjErQfVIPvFLoFfezuhTz4NZxbugky9T2Ov546vHUzhQ5u9-mKRdEiMgDmQenkFsmadWrQVMJF49IROtg/s1600/67972878_874630412918488_6370255816519319552_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN6Ykw4BQRjFFPBP6Gsm4nive2OjkyN4wVVwHb7dLydIeSTgtXd7Mm15Nkg-wjErQfVIPvFLoFfezuhTz4NZxbugky9T2Ov546vHUzhQ5u9-mKRdEiMgDmQenkFsmadWrQVMJF49IROtg/s640/67972878_874630412918488_6370255816519319552_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a little stroll along the ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEgkV_1FiUqHnalZcdA544jUrkASnZUopB3SLSasBqoJQykL67-OzwVDO3yhCsHzouL_n2je7r-E2gADuOukQ2PgGmTpMQZLTafaAAEfafxqDCpLm2TSV0eUgTYpQMrkAzXdskSiiQBYmG8/s1600/68360181_874634426251420_7030624608990527488_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkV_1FiUqHnalZcdA544jUrkASnZUopB3SLSasBqoJQykL67-OzwVDO3yhCsHzouL_n2je7r-E2gADuOukQ2PgGmTpMQZLTafaAAEfafxqDCpLm2TSV0eUgTYpQMrkAzXdskSiiQBYmG8/s640/68360181_874634426251420_7030624608990527488_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hello. Can I please take your baby home and raise him with my Golden Retriever?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvY9HWY-i2J9gCvRwKOq9_gOawqeRkIWeggDZGCenas_kvkQEQTEV3ocZfBT-GVEXc5HgBgsS-64fgakBj3tkxaPBxNq-LFvZ_ELtFc2pkPOQT3fdUHjxCUMVLFEuka8v3_y1lpdvfPi0/s1600/68712065_874632896251573_4507381118441357312_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvY9HWY-i2J9gCvRwKOq9_gOawqeRkIWeggDZGCenas_kvkQEQTEV3ocZfBT-GVEXc5HgBgsS-64fgakBj3tkxaPBxNq-LFvZ_ELtFc2pkPOQT3fdUHjxCUMVLFEuka8v3_y1lpdvfPi0/s640/68712065_874632896251573_4507381118441357312_n.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see me?<br />
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</tbody></table>
As we came down, we actually encountered some trees, which can be rare at 10,000 + feet.<br />
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<br />
The whole race I was thinking how I just did not want to <b>come in last</b> because the average age was probably 30 and everyone's bodies were perfect and boobs were taut and muscles were tight (don't look at my 52 year old gut).<br />
<br />
But I <b>won my age group</b> (50 to 59) because there were only four of us and that is why I like getting older.<br />
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A fun and adventurous day. If you're in Utah, Colorado, Idaho or Alaska and are looking for a thrill, check out the series.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b><br />
<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-30172541782807908092019-06-07T12:55:00.001-07:002019-06-07T15:50:00.909-07:002019 Dirty Thirty 50k Race ReportIt's 4 a.m. and I get a whiff of something horrible in the SUV. Turns out it's Jeanne's egg and ham sandwich that she is eating prior to the start of our Dirty 30 50k in 2 hours. Who eats that before a race? Apparently Jeanne. Normally it might not have smelled so bad, but I had that pre-race queasy stomach. Nerves mixed with curvy mountain roads of Golden Gate Canyon. Let's not throw up before this thing even starts.<br />
<br />
The race starts at 6 a.m. We live over an hour away and wanted to be sure to get parking and poop time. Plus, there's always the last minute debate about what to wear and the application of "taint paint", i.e., anti-chafe stuff to hidden body parts.<br />
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I knew this was going to be a long day. 32 miles takes a minute to run even if you're not attempting to climb up and down technical trails going up to almost 10,000 feet. Just the course elevation profile was enough to make me shart.<br />
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<img alt="Image result for dirty 30 elevation profile" src="http://dirty30.org/wp-content/uploads/d30-50k-elevation-profile-750x500.png" /><br />
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So, yeah, that's 7,250 feet of vertical for my first ultra marathon.<br />
<br />
Before I moved from the lowlands of Maryland to Colorado I had no idea about measuring things in feet. Who gives a shit about feet? But once I got here I realized that's how people talk about the hills and mountains. For perspective:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The famous Heartbreak Hill in the Boston Marathon = 91 feet of vertical</li>
<li>The vertical gain from base camp to the top of Mt. Everest is about 10,000 feet</li>
</ul>
<br />
Those are two extremes, but you get the idea. <b>7,250 feet of vertical over 32 miles was gonna hurt.</b><br />
<br />
I guess you're supposed to have a <b>race strategy</b>. Here was mine: Power hike the really steep/technical climbs. Run the flats and downs. Eat 150 calories an hour. One gel every hour then supplement with "real food" (i.e. candy, potatoes, chips) from the aid stations. And most importantly, do not stop. Keep moving forward no matter how slowly.<br />
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Mentally, I broke the race down by aid stations: Mile 5, Mile 12, Mile 17, Mile 24, Mile 29.<br />
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It's 39 degrees at the start. Being cold is my least favorite feeling after being nauseous (foreshadow) and needing to poop desperately while stuck at a train crossing (not that that has ever happened to me).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YM8fiYZapCf3sDBxHoSy0JQOydkf7dBzZfnA5f-M4ct0IchXf_OrO5z5pSq1cTY54dE0PSWoqzMzXJhnxevSHvjXAVU8PGQBkkJ6zO96S7w4vIJ7ewaRh-36CWPLc8ucultUetL_Fhw/s1600/IMG_6512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1YM8fiYZapCf3sDBxHoSy0JQOydkf7dBzZfnA5f-M4ct0IchXf_OrO5z5pSq1cTY54dE0PSWoqzMzXJhnxevSHvjXAVU8PGQBkkJ6zO96S7w4vIJ7ewaRh-36CWPLc8ucultUetL_Fhw/s640/IMG_6512.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wore my tooth for the occasion</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We start out at about 8,000 feet and I quickly realize I have no clue how to pace myself. I want to work hard and push but I don't want to burn out over the course of such a long day. I basically go by perceived effort. When my heart rate gets high, I slow down. After the first big climb of the day, I hit <b>Aid #1</b> in 1 hour and take a shot of Coke. I don' know why. It was there.<br />
<br />
I quickly head out towards climb #2. I'm feeling solid, but it's still way too early to really tell. I play leap frog (and hopscotch and four square!) with these two twenty something girls from Michigan. They smell good, which is a weird thing to say, but when you're behind people for miles and miles you notice these things. At least it wasn't farts. I find out it's essential oils: <a href="https://www.youngliving.com/en_US/products/peace-calming-essential-oil-blend" target="_blank">Peace and Calming from Young Living</a> (better than farts!). I spend some time thinking I might want to get some. I have a lot of time to think. I'm happy that at 52 I can hang with the twenty somethings (and later I would pass them and not see them again!)<br />
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I also think a lot about the next aid station and what I need to eat. I notice that one the downhills my stomach is sloshing, which means I need to eat and I probably need more salt. I reach into my pack for a Salt Stick tab and realize the valve on my hydration bladder has been leaking onto my tabs and they are disintegrating. Shit.<br />
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<b>Aid Station #2</b> (12 miles) in 2 hours, 47 minutes . Feeling really good. I grab an orange and some potato chips. I dip boiled potatoes into salt. I grab a couple of pickles. I'm in and out in about 3 minutes. I take note of this sign.<br />
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Spoiler: For once it will NOT be me!<br />
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Coming out of Aid 2 is a short but enormous climb. There are so many huge boulders to climb over it is tough to even know where the trail is. Then we are awarded with a nice down for awhile. That's when I fall gracefully into a bush. My only fall of the day! At this point I'm already thinking about Aid 3 at 17 miles because I'll be more than half way done. DONE. But I'm not even letting myself entertain the thought of being done yet. Just got to stay in the present and not get ahead of myself.<br />
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I cruise into <b>Aid 3 </b>(17 miles) in 4 hours, 21 minutes. This is the Cadillac/Thanksgiving of all aid stations with perogis, turkey roll ups, pickles, candy, fruit, peanut butter and jelly. But it was also incredibly over stimulating, crowded and hectic as this is the only place on the course where spectators can be. I had planned on eating a lot but just wanted to get out of there. Probably a mistake. A volunteer filled my bladder and I thought it was full, but it wasn't so that was also a (rookie) mistake.<br />
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Here comes the third climb of the day. It's getting hot. I need a boost, so I decide to listen to a music for a bit, something I never do on the trail. After two songs, I was over it. Trail running and headphones just don't go together. I am approaching mile 20 and fading a bit. I'm tired. I've been out here awhile and I still have so far to go (and the steepest climb of the day). I don't buy into my mind trying to psych me out. Instead I stop looking at my watch completely and press on.<br />
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As I come into <b>Aid 4</b> (24 miles) in 6 hours, 20 minutes, I'm told this is the last chance for food on the course. I drink some Tailwind but don't fill my bladder because I thought I still had a lot of water left. I'm a stupid idiot fucker. I grab a bunch of boiled potatoes, pretzels and pickles and head out towards Windy Peak.<br />
<br />
I've done Windy Peak twice before this. It involves climbing 1,300 feet in about 2 miles. I guess it's pretty but I'm always in too much pain to notice. It is also strategically placed at about mile 28 of the race, so let's all give the finger to the race director (Love you Megan). On the way up WP I started getting crazy nauseous, which never happens to me. Then I realized I was dehydrated and was out of water. It would be one huge peak and 3 miles until the next aid station. I felt like shit summitting the peak and it took awhile because it's steep, technical and rocky. Even coming down is kind of treacherous with lots of loose rock.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="windy peak golden gate canyon state park header" height="431" src="https://dayhikesneardenver.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/00-windy-peak-golden-gate-canyon-state-park-header.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty but painful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I came close</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I hit <b>Aid 5 </b>(29 miles) in 7 hours, 54 minutes. I chug some water and Tailwind, and haul ass out of there towards the finish. There are a couple short climbs before I begin the descent to the end. A volunteer tells me I have 1.25 miles to go and it is at this point that I finally let myself believe I am going to finish. I can hear the crowds and the music. I'm getting so close. My goal was to finish in 8 to 8.5 hours and it's been 8 hours, 15 minutes. I cruise into the finish, spying Ken and Emma waiting for me.<br />
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Finish lines are weird because they are the ultimate combination of everything. I feel disgustingly sick, totally elated, extremely fatigued, super emotional and significantly proud. I cry for all of those reasons.<br />
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Glad to get 4th in my old hag age group (50-59)!<br />
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No race is complete without learning some lessons for next time if: 1) there is a next time, and 2) you are open to learning. I'm still processing the day, but here are a few takeaways:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I hate the bladder. I prefer bottles. With the bladder it's too hard to know much you're drinking and to get enough fluid. Personal preference. I did not pee the entire race. I have just ordered <a href="https://www.salomon.com/en-us/shop/product/s-lab-sense-ultra-8-set.html#1191=10034" target="_blank">this vest</a></li>
<li>Keep Salt Stick tabs away from water. Duh.</li>
<li>Don't even attempt music.</li>
<li>Eat more.</li>
<li>Learn to suffer better. Don't be afraid of it. It comes with the territory.</li>
</ul>
<div>
That's all folks. That's enough, right? Thanks for reading this long, drawn out report. But, if I can run for 8 hours, 22 minutes, you can read this whole thing. Ha. Now onto half ironman training...mixing it up!</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b></div>
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<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-45384308823774562412019-05-20T16:17:00.002-07:002019-05-20T16:17:22.979-07:00The Ass Kicker Run: Boulder Skyline Traverse (5 peaks, 18 miles)<br />
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As I sit here writing this, my quads are burning. As in, the type of burning that doesn't let you sit down on the toilet seat without grimacing. This is the reward I get for the ball busting run I did on Saturday with Jeanne, my trail wife. It was the last big run before taper starts for the <a href="http://dirty30.org/" target="_blank">Dirty 30 50k</a> coming up on June 1.<br />
<br />
I really don't know why it's called the Dirty 30 (probably because there is dirt and it's just over 30 miles and it rhymes). I like to think there's some dirty hidden surprise I will find on the trails when I run the race. Like your dad's old <i>Playboy </i>magazine. I'll let you know how that works out.<br />
<br />
Before I tell you about the nut busting run from Saturday - let's review the weekend long runs I did to prepare for this dirty event:<br />
<br />
12 miles, 15 miles, 18 miles, 20 miles, 21 miles, 22 miles, 16 miles, 18 miles<br />
<br />
All of these were done on trails with significant vertical. And, all of them were done with a longish run the next day (8-10 miles). My weekly mileage was 45-50 miles.<br />
<br />
Moving onto the testicle busting run.<br />
<br />
For our final hurrah, we chose the <b>Boulder Skyline Traverse</b>. This is a run known to locals, but not one that you'll probably find in many guide books. It is a point to point, that can be done north to south or south to north. The ascent and descent are fairly close regardless of which way you do it. We chose to start on the south end. In total our ascent was 5,823 and the descent was 5,858. All in all, you run up and down 5 mountain peaks over the course of 18 miles. I am not sure, but that might be why my quads hurt.<br />
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<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1GGYC00h-N4v1n-y3_ae5ja7xL5HJZCYwq84CAHHCoBInCEj3nC6TS6W7JytWLAG-CmwM9xGtXr02j-CuaNMXFMKgGocjWnKgeSdeV7bYjqnlwYznx4j65g_vEaZX6w2EZcd_zYvqRg/s640/Boulder+Skyline.jpg" /><br />
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All I can say is thank God for <a href="https://www.suunto.com/en-us/suunto-collections/suunto-9/" target="_blank">my watch</a> because it has a navigation option that is spot on. Without that I would have ended up in a bouncy house in someone's backyard. Or a brewery. Then maybe my quads wouldn't hurt so bad.<br />
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After leaving a car at the finish point (Mt. Sanitas Trailhead) we drove down to the Mesa Trailhead in south Boulder. I tried to shove some oatmeal and a banana down my throat. But, early morning eating is not my forte. After leaving some turds in the pit toilet (cause inquiring minds wanna know) we were off (7:45 a.m.). We started climbing immediately, which meant some power hiking. That gave Jeanne enough time to tell me about her in-law's bed bug infestation. The things you learn from friends on long runs!<br />
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The up was relentless. We veered into Shadow Canyon, which is a never ending trek over boulders and streams to the top of South Boulder Peak. In total - 3,000 feet of vertical over 3.5 miles. On the way up we caught up to a woman hiking solo. I thought she was talking on the phone. Turns out she was yelling things to herself so that she would keep going. I know I have done that. "Keep going and you can wine later!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlKxkoYSkFMYjr29_aD-eos7scI9i4aYOTWaFDUozDZJzBMwqWyy_c1xGQ-ePdMGoGjerKHTJwcJZ3CJKWdMvkSorXJjWzruHt8J7_V3DoANhVJMgeEIyJakZ4wXk-2oTNYLFI21uIXs/s1600/IMG_6296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxlKxkoYSkFMYjr29_aD-eos7scI9i4aYOTWaFDUozDZJzBMwqWyy_c1xGQ-ePdMGoGjerKHTJwcJZ3CJKWdMvkSorXJjWzruHt8J7_V3DoANhVJMgeEIyJakZ4wXk-2oTNYLFI21uIXs/s640/IMG_6296.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How is this a trail?</td></tr>
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Finally, we reach the summit of Boulder Peak I took a GU - I was a bit late as I try to GU every hour or so.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 8,549 feet</td></tr>
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We head down with our sights set on the next one - Bear Peak. This is a pretty well known hike in Boulder - in fact it is the run that Dave Mackey was on when he fell and had a rock crush his leg - leading to the eventual amputation of the leg. But now Dave is out there crushing it once again, running ultras everywhere and even being given the distinction of <a href="https://www.leadvilleraceseries.com/leadmanleadwoman/" target="_blank">Leadman</a>.<br />
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It's a pretty short jaunt up to the top and we get there at about the 2 hour mark - but only 5 or so miles in. 2 hours to go five miles! I am proud of that 24 minute mile!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrr2YJ4BPJBjJ_VlxDmx6Khaky1fckJwtz6nLkTLHt-yfr7XlmV2MJu85NGfF4EGuAUsmINcc8kWexUktqPo3L06W_R3io7flFUW9q_xvusn95jIOw4PiYBMYh1hXHdPysQDG8Ds_FcE/s1600/IMG_6304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrr2YJ4BPJBjJ_VlxDmx6Khaky1fckJwtz6nLkTLHt-yfr7XlmV2MJu85NGfF4EGuAUsmINcc8kWexUktqPo3L06W_R3io7flFUW9q_xvusn95jIOw4PiYBMYh1hXHdPysQDG8Ds_FcE/s640/IMG_6304.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Bear - 8,459 feet</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Bear Peak looking at Green Mountain</td></tr>
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Next, it's onto Green Mountain. We took the saddle from Bear to Green. It was crowded going up a it was no mid morning. I love listening to people's conversations on the trail. Overheard two ten year olds.<br />
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Boy 1: I ate so much cake and pizza<br />
Boy 2 : Dude! Did you get a sugar rush?<br />
Boy 1: Yea man and I almost barfed.<br />
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Sugar rush? At ten are you really looking for a rush from things? What's next Fireball?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top of Green - 8,150 feet</td></tr>
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We topped Green and I quickly ate half of my turkey/cheese sandwich and we headed down towards Flagstaff Mountain and hopefully away from the crowds. We cruised down for quite awhile through shaded single track trails of pine needles before summitting Flagstaff. There is no actual ta-da! summit on this one, so we just guessed it. We dropped down into the city of Boulder, stopping at the park to refill our water. There were birthday parties going on and I strongly thought about stealing some pizza, but ate the rest of my turkey sandwich instead because I am not a thief.<br />
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We were at about 14 miles at this point and headed towards our final summit. We actually had to run by my car, which was a huge tease because I really wanted to just get in it and drive away. But we had one more trail to conquer - The bitch - Sanitas.<br />
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I've hiked Sanitas multiple times, but never tried to run it and never after already climbing a zillion feet. It is a very rocky, VERY steep trail. As in, you gain 1,300 feet in about 1.5 miles. It hurt a lot and felt never ending. Plus, it was once again crowded. We reached the summit and were rewarded with a gorgeous view of the Boulder Valley and more crowds. Snapped some photos and headed on down to the car.<br />
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Finished product:<br />
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18 miles<br />
~5,900 vertical gain<br />
~6 hours (total time with stops)<br />
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I can't recommend this run enough if you come to Boulder. But plan for it to take most of the day. You see a vast variety of terrain from the views are awesome - not just of Boulder but you also get views of the Continental Divide to the west. However, hit me up if you want to do this route because it is very easy to get lost. There are some pretty good directions <a href="https://thetrek.co/skyline-traverse-full-day-hiking-5-highest-peaks-around-boulder-co/" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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<b><i>Where'd you run/race this weekend?</i></b><br />
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<i><b>Favorite run fuel?</b> </i>I do lots of Roctane GUs mixed with real food like a sandwich. I also really like my Nuun and Saltstick<br />
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<i><b>Would you do this run with me?</b></i><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b><br />
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<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-78326677242373362172019-05-10T17:19:00.000-07:002019-05-10T17:19:22.919-07:00Hey Future Self! Are You Listening?In eighth grade the teachers told her to write some letters to her <b>future self</b>. That was four years ago, and this week, as a high school senior, my daughter got those letters back. I'm not crying. You're crying, as they say.<br />
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<i><b>Her: One of the biggest thing I learned is you need friends who make you happy.</b></i><br />
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Me: Have you ever had a friend that sucked the life out of you? Or a friend that was selfish and self centered? Or the kind who stabbed you in the back or was all about the drama? These people can make us miserable, yet we hold onto them sometimes for fear of letting go of the past or because we don't want to be lonely or because we think we don't deserve better. Well, we all do. Deserve better.<br />
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There is no shame in letting a friendship die or in walking away from someone in order to take care of yourself. I've done this a few times. It's hard but it's worth it. My life would not be what it is without my core group of friends who always have my back and who would move a dead body for me and dig the grave if I asked them to. You know who you are!<br />
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<i><b>Her: I have always felt so pressured to be the most athletic person that I could be because people were always asking me, "Do you run with your mom?" I realized that I have no shame in not being interested in sports because that is just the type of person that I am.</b></i><br />
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Me: I felt a bit bad reading this wondering if she felt pressure from me. I never meant to pressure her, but I know the value of moving your body and in finding a team of support. I know just by my running all the time she probably thought I expected that of her and that she disappointed me if she didn't do it. That was not at all the case, but I can see where the 8th grade brain thinks so. I'm glad she learned self acceptance along the way (and I bet she starts running one day, just wait and see).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFhl_EFXHFM9F5nUYwK8qaKH4kuPnLh0x4wEYvmISAvHjpftb9WcxIF9FJZpGiANVsgW9QM38-5WRdSbCnH9MVc2am_TReWDDvVfbJWTfw67_WEGBVOh9YgYkTPf5P06F6Zo0GpkHDFM/s1600/bbemma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="466" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYFhl_EFXHFM9F5nUYwK8qaKH4kuPnLh0x4wEYvmISAvHjpftb9WcxIF9FJZpGiANVsgW9QM38-5WRdSbCnH9MVc2am_TReWDDvVfbJWTfw67_WEGBVOh9YgYkTPf5P06F6Zo0GpkHDFM/s640/bbemma.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, it doesn't look like I forced her to do this 10k</td></tr>
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<i><b>Her: I think happiness is a mixture of the best thing in life. Great friends, doing what you love and without a doubt loving yourself.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
Me: Okay, yeah, she nailed it here. I can't say it any better at 52 then she did at 13.<br />
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<i><b>Her: I am truly hoping that in high school you have a sense of self love because 18-year-old-Emma, you are an amazing person.</b></i><br />
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Me: And, yes, she is.<br />
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Just reading her words really made me think of what I would tell my future self in four or five years.<br />
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I would tell that I hope she was brave and kept on even when the odds were not in her favor or when people were critical and judgy. I would tell her she better have reached for those things she wanted even though she was afraid of rejection. I would tell her I hoped that she had remained fearless and continued to do things that took her breath away and scared the shit out of her. There's really no other way to live in this 52 year old's opinion. And, I'm sure I'll feel the same way at 62, 72 and until I croak (<or die very peacefully with a glass of chardonnay in my hand).<br />
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<b><i>What would you tell your future self?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Have you ever written these kinds of letters?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Do you think your kids feel pressured to run or be athletic because of you?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-29979231865027299322019-03-27T14:52:00.000-07:002019-03-27T14:56:45.679-07:00If You're Injured, You MUST Read This (or even if you're not...you will be one day so read it anyway)Almost 11 months ago I was literally crying in my chardonnay.<br />
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The dirtiest word in the running dictionary had become my reality. I was<b> injured.</b> Not just "Oh-I-feel-a-niggle-I-better-take-a-day-off" injured, but the <b>real deal</b>.<br />
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Not to bore you if you know the story, but I was in the final three weeks of training for a 50k and fell on a very simple short run about 1/4 mile from my house. The result was a full tear of my left hamstring. The result was also that not only was I out of my 50k, I was likely out for the entire summer. And, it all happened in the blink of an eye.<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/AVvXsEjhGGHPDNgHcsqbHZRXzZJsDA5rqSoVnEJKtMamNVihxj2xw8mOAoHUnhAyPp0-Px73g-hrn0Y2dGqjirI3lNbSA4BZHoyP8WXZfb0lRuWmzkienjgLQjHRot5_QHjj5lj_JBWEWCSwJQA/s1600/32687042_10216631079675555_2867955001630654464_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGGHPDNgHcsqbHZRXzZJsDA5rqSoVnEJKtMamNVihxj2xw8mOAoHUnhAyPp0-Px73g-hrn0Y2dGqjirI3lNbSA4BZHoyP8WXZfb0lRuWmzkienjgLQjHRot5_QHjj5lj_JBWEWCSwJQA/s640/32687042_10216631079675555_2867955001630654464_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That hurt<br />
Even when I'm injured I'm reading about running</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmoCvTLXYtUf43HujST5TS1oGi-uEYjLgbc6KEG5-Pynr_90GtV5oqQVwwB0NKumlWCG6il62OKsEqAT5XAfkdYNqsNNrHtzQtY1pmD4ZydPCoitVNXrEUhWCsE9yGbLR_fXtpODIS5c/s1600/IMG_2399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmoCvTLXYtUf43HujST5TS1oGi-uEYjLgbc6KEG5-Pynr_90GtV5oqQVwwB0NKumlWCG6il62OKsEqAT5XAfkdYNqsNNrHtzQtY1pmD4ZydPCoitVNXrEUhWCsE9yGbLR_fXtpODIS5c/s640/IMG_2399.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was comfortable sitting on the toilet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBeE8LtuEuZxZl_eOIVi8SRSOmSQNqJ_aGPZas3EUiDBjqw30Dyly1vrPaCBfvSGgXbo-XrQHYLhK7js0pAMUSWjy7L27_edPT9WscbS0L2ImbPDLCEHNYUd1EoGa5qGqpNg3gu4Oc70/s1600/IMG_2433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHBeE8LtuEuZxZl_eOIVi8SRSOmSQNqJ_aGPZas3EUiDBjqw30Dyly1vrPaCBfvSGgXbo-XrQHYLhK7js0pAMUSWjy7L27_edPT9WscbS0L2ImbPDLCEHNYUd1EoGa5qGqpNg3gu4Oc70/s640/IMG_2433.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Therapy dog to the rescue</td></tr>
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If you've been running long enough you've been there too. To a non-runner this scenario seems disappointing, but not devastating. But, for a runner, being injured is complex and heartbreaking (to be slightly dramatic) - it's not nearly as much about the physical pain as the mental/emotional anguish. Why is this the case?<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>We identify as runners and if we can't run, well, who the hell are we? </li>
<li>We think we will never recover, or if we do we will have lost all of our fitness.</li>
<li>We have tremendous and unrelenting FOMO.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Being injured is time consuming and expensive. Physical therapists, sports med doctors, massages, dry needling, MRIs, blah, blah, blah.<br />
<br />
Then.. we need to find <i>something else</i> to do outside of running to stay in shape. Don't make me throw up and tell me to run in the pool or get on the elliptical. I will punch you in the face then puke on your running shoes.<br />
<br />
But, I'm not here to be a PITA and tell you what you already know. <b>I'm here to give you hope</b>.<br />
<br />
Yes, after my injury I missed several races and countless gorgeous trail runs. Yes, I spent time in the pool and on the bike. No, the recovery process was not linear. I would feel better than worse again. When I started re-started running I felt like I had never run a mile in my life. I cried. A lot.<br />
<br />
<b>But, I kept showing up and never gave up.</b><br />
<br />
About four months post injury, things started to feel just a bit better. I did my first race post-hamstring tear (10k). Probably my slowest 10k of my life, but I was out there and I was ecstatic as hell.. Little by little I clawed my way back<br />
<br />
And NOW...NOW...<br />
<br />
I am fully healed. I feel fit and strong. Those months of no running don't really matter now and are just a blip on my memory screen. I am up to 40+ miles per week, and did my longest run since May last Saturday (15 miles of trails with 1,200 feet of vertical). I am signed up to the do the 50k I had to DNS last year.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgqP7vPgMm3gTCIMU5fu-sPi6kpJfdh3143QKnSRtOnAFSemwVftk8EahroWE6XRCtUpsQu4kSfH5SgAmkKtDLpszR6amnzK0Oi1a2SCnWA1M1D6iVdHwfuHBSPcoCiA0qzz3lWSqj0Q/s1600/IMG_5070.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="636" data-original-width="640" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgqP7vPgMm3gTCIMU5fu-sPi6kpJfdh3143QKnSRtOnAFSemwVftk8EahroWE6XRCtUpsQu4kSfH5SgAmkKtDLpszR6amnzK0Oi1a2SCnWA1M1D6iVdHwfuHBSPcoCiA0qzz3lWSqj0Q/s640/IMG_5070.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I don't say this to brag, but I do say it <b>to give you hope</b>. When I am injured I NEED faith that I will be back out there, that I will regain my strength. I plead with anyone and everyone to give it to me.<br />
<br />
Well, I am giving it to you right now. You are a runner, injured or not, and you will heal. You will be back to your frequent training runs and races. You will feel strong and pain free again. It's going to happen. Trust me. I have been here enough times to be able to say that with full confidence.<br />
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But...you have to do the work. Take care of yourself. Eat well, do your fucking PT exercises, get in the pool or on the bike. Get your rest. Then...when you get cleared to run again, be kind to yourself and be patient. It will not happen overnight and you will be pissed and frustrated. But, it will happen.<br />
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Trust me.<br />
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<b><i>Are you injured now?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>What has been the worst injury you've had?</i></b><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-27709522552572281192019-03-21T14:43:00.001-07:002019-03-21T14:43:52.266-07:00What I'm Doing to Stay Healthy and Fast Over 50 (and a cool video)I've been thinking a lot lately about the concept of aging. It gets a bad rap. It seems to most people getting older = losing your edge, not being as fun. When you hit 50 oftentimes the message is that the best part of your life is over and it's all downhill from there. And, you are just moments away from shitting your pants, chugging Ensure and spending your evening with Pat Sajack.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>NOT TRUE, obviously</b></div>
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I'm wondering if any of you have felt what I've felt. That you're looked at differently for being older. This becomes very interesting when you forget you are 50+ because you feel like 30, but then people treat you in a certain way. Like you won't understand them or you're fragile or you're not cool or you don't get what they're about because you're an old lady.</div>
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Getting older is humbling in some ways and so uplifting in others. I'm probably happier and more comfortable in my own skin than I've ever been and I would take 50 ANY DAY over the high school bullshit years. God, those were the worst. I definitely look happier here than I did my senior year of high school while I watched <i>General Hospital</i> and ate a gallon of cookies and cream ice cream from Giant (anyone remember that east cost grocery store)?</div>
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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/AVvXsEgUVz1h6k7bHA19bVBQFMjDGRprGX913ZfLA_ro37oo3Rs1p2yPx5GoH_zE0dQWaDf8p9v_BeX9tKAylF8clToIWi5S5mVCUQeGz-fYVzkkoTiteUkeOfFZTDHKskf_rsgVXj6JALKO29g/s1600/suunto7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVz1h6k7bHA19bVBQFMjDGRprGX913ZfLA_ro37oo3Rs1p2yPx5GoH_zE0dQWaDf8p9v_BeX9tKAylF8clToIWi5S5mVCUQeGz-fYVzkkoTiteUkeOfFZTDHKskf_rsgVXj6JALKO29g/s640/suunto7.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken at Snow Canyon State Park in St. George, UT this past weekend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
But, I still struggle. I am sandwiched between my parents (who both turn 80 this month) and my kids who are both now technically adults (well, Emma turns 18 in 20 days. So on April 10 she can be found smoking a cigar while getting a tattoo followed by buying a lottery ticket and fireworks. Such milestones when you turn 18!) It's a rather unique place to be and one that all feels very out of control.</div>
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And, then there's running. Most people say you get slower as you get older. I am fighting that every step, literally. I know that pace and age group placings are not what is most important about the sport. But, these things keep me motivated in my training. They keep me committed and interested. Sure there are days when I couldn't give a shit about how far or fast I'm running. But, I like being competitive with my peers. This, of course, means focusing on how others in my age group are doing because that's apples to apples, right?</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
So, I did an experiment. After clawing myself back from major injury and finally being solidly healthy (I fell on May 11 at 9:07 a.m. and tore the mother eff'ing shit out of my hamstring), I can now work on fine tuning things. There are two secret weapons I'm using (these are not purely original, but they are tried and true).<br />
<br />
<b>1. </b> I decided to add in a <b>day of speed work</b> each week just to see how it might affect my overall performance. Typically I do "junk miles" where I just go out and do whatever. For the past 5 weeks I've been reluctantly jumping on the treadmill (trying not to do that when it's on like this time). As the weeks go by, I mind it less and less because I see the gains. Here's the workout I do (I made it up, it doesn't come from some fancy running website):<br />
<br />
1 mile w/u: 6.0 mph @ 1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 6.5 mph @ 1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 6.8 mph @1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 7.0 mph @ 1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 7.2 mph @.5% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 6.5 mph @ 1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 6.8 mph @1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 7.0 mph @ 1% incline<br />
1/2 mile: 7.2 mph @.5% incline<br />
1 mile c/d: 6.0 mph @1-2% incline<br />
<br />
Total: 6 miles<br />
<br />
I see results. Just in the past two weeks or so, I am consistently running faster with less effort. I have cut about 15-30 seconds off per mile.<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b> I'm <b>focusing on sleep.</b> From some research I've done lately on recovery, the findings seem to be that the absolute best thing you can do to recover (even better than ice baths, stretching, etc) is to get good sleep. I know I'm an over achiever so I get about nine hours of sleep per night. I can hear you gasping. It is the truth! That is unless the dog barfs or I wake up worried that the picture hanging above our bed is going to fall and behead me (<I love the shit we dream up to worry about in the middle of the night). One thing I'm enjoying is that <a href="https://www.suunto.com/en-us/suunto-collections/suunto-9/" target="_blank">my new Suunto watch</a> tells me how long I sleep and how many hours of deep sleep I get. It is highly satisfying.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDFjGIRcaykPBVPIFhWnslb7YeoyxlbnMX12GSB1XaGf-0dovgRUdl4KSGS1g6tPYxAUqWDMmr5uxlrmKsv6FTXrpkSZdiXeKbSH-m0iL4sf-rB6sRf8tAvY0Jkv5VtDVdYX7wBi80HQ/s1600/suuntowatch1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJDFjGIRcaykPBVPIFhWnslb7YeoyxlbnMX12GSB1XaGf-0dovgRUdl4KSGS1g6tPYxAUqWDMmr5uxlrmKsv6FTXrpkSZdiXeKbSH-m0iL4sf-rB6sRf8tAvY0Jkv5VtDVdYX7wBi80HQ/s320/suuntowatch1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last night's deep sleep</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxhn8o2ZO6kgjkZcm90hhjPBsEYmbzSs3zPwjcH6kAZ7kkTfH7zKTC4zVJpzX3CKg9wLkemOygRN8CkQeLEk8jw8Jh03yE8oo2RcTM4A3udm07pRJTzzmkQPwmb37Nq3urkTx_YUWzg8/s1600/suuntowatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPxhn8o2ZO6kgjkZcm90hhjPBsEYmbzSs3zPwjcH6kAZ7kkTfH7zKTC4zVJpzX3CKg9wLkemOygRN8CkQeLEk8jw8Jh03yE8oo2RcTM4A3udm07pRJTzzmkQPwmb37Nq3urkTx_YUWzg8/s320/suuntowatch.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Total sleep time average this week<br />
Hi Pussy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Sleep duration is measured by an accelerometer - a motion sensor which detects movements from your wrist. An added benefit of using a sleep tracker is that your heart rate while you sleep is a good indicator of how well you are truly recovering. If you are over-training and/or not recovering properly, your resting heart rate could be elevated.</div>
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<b>Pro-tip</b> (I'm not a pro at anything, but I like the jargon): I take two full rest days each week. Old ladies need it.<br />
<br />
So, there you have it. My secret sauce for the moment.<br />
<br />
Oh, and hey, meet my new team mates! Can you find me? I'm pretty sure my legs are spread wide eagle..not sure why I always do that.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTE_GU2uPfTiJctUV2q_S7L-B3FNY-gIZTUdckQfgjSgKmvcKyTTeAbMjrWrLVM558o9tpKewEx_ask1C8cnc1zMdaUYMEUUmUIKwv-_trEdXLUZWDibSOYccTVfiXNAwsnI-GgGuFHM/s1600/suunto8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="640" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTE_GU2uPfTiJctUV2q_S7L-B3FNY-gIZTUdckQfgjSgKmvcKyTTeAbMjrWrLVM558o9tpKewEx_ask1C8cnc1zMdaUYMEUUmUIKwv-_trEdXLUZWDibSOYccTVfiXNAwsnI-GgGuFHM/s640/suunto8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">How many hours of sleep do you get per night on average? </i>8-9<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Did you like high school? Why or why not? </i>No. Mostly because I went to my freshman and sophomore years overseas then moved back to the U.S. my junior year. It was tough breaking into the cliques.<br />
<br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">How old are you and what's been your favorite phase of life so far?</i> I'm 52. I actually like this phase of life right now.<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Treadmill, yes or no? </i>Being outside wins for me - but I do the treadmill if it serves a purpose - like for speed work or when it's icy outside.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></b>
PS: Check out the 2 minute video from this weekend. Don't blink or you will miss me.<br />
<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/RNATbQXgJvs" width="560"></iframe>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-69734227114066013922019-03-05T15:56:00.002-07:002019-03-05T15:59:28.547-07:00Rejection Isn't for PussiesI wish I blogged more often.<br />
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In my "real" job I do a shit load of writing, so sometimes my brain and fingers are worn out from thinking and typing. But, here, in this space, I get to do the fun and crass writing, which I certainly cannot do as a social worker. Well, I could, but then I'd have a full time blogging job that pays nothing because I would have been fired from my social work job. Somehow saying the "f" word and talking about poop is frowned on by social services. Who knew?<br />
<br />
So, what is the solution? Probably to blog more, but to say less (i.e, shorter and dumber posts).<br />
<br />
Here's a shot at that.<br />
<br />
First, to be fully transparent, I did not get <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2019/02/that-time-i-was-on-bachelorette-kind-of.html" target="_blank">THE JOB</a> (if you aren't sure what "the job" is, you'll have to click and go find out). It was disappointing, but helped by the fact that I know who was hired is amazing. Also, I am hopeful there may be a job for me in the future as the business expands.<br />
<br />
Some other opportunities I've applied for have not worked out either.<br />
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<b>REJECTION is tough.</b><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/AVvXsEikbyiRqW57HUHgEA0GcczmjLvnozHGXmJA_laiym1j3T6ODFOcOZbicMtkA7SqpL5BAlm-tL1ySpyZuitBittLK952iO8gcJ1tLmpQ6oUsTNc0ZDApnoF5Jqcy5A7sKx3LHYIkiHkRHZQ/s1600/bethfrown.jpg.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbyiRqW57HUHgEA0GcczmjLvnozHGXmJA_laiym1j3T6ODFOcOZbicMtkA7SqpL5BAlm-tL1ySpyZuitBittLK952iO8gcJ1tLmpQ6oUsTNc0ZDApnoF5Jqcy5A7sKx3LHYIkiHkRHZQ/s640/bethfrown.jpg.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And then this funny guy has to give me the finger. Behind my back no less.<br />
How am I so pale? Do you get really pale when you are rejected?</td></tr>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>REJECTION and not getting what you want are a part of life.</b><br />
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We know this. We are told it all the time.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Dr. Seuss's <i>And I Think I Saw It On Mulberry Street</i>, was rejected by publishers 28 times (maybe he should stop rhyming. jeez)</li>
<li>Michael Jordan didn't make his high school varsity basketball team (maybe he had B.O. who knows)</li>
<li>In her twenties, Oprah was removed from anchoring a news show because she was deemed "unfit for television." (maybe she said "and you get a car, and you get a car" too many times)</li>
</ul>
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When rejected, we are told to <b>get back up and try again</b>. But what about our fragile egos? What about our fears of further rejection? What about our desire to just hide out in bed eating Cheetos washed down with chardonnay and watching the Bachelor?< or, maybe that's just me.<br />
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<b>Trying <u>again</u> takes guts. But in my mind it beats a life of boredom and complacency. </b><br />
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The good news is that with not getting what you want, sometimes you DO get what you want. Or some bullshit like the front door closes but the bay window opens up...then slams down on your finger, then the sliding glass door opens up and...<br />
<br />
I did have <b>a win</b> for the month as I was accepted onto this team of amazing athletes:<br />
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When they say "be the smartest person in the room so you are inspired" - this team will force me to be the least fit and oldest in the room so I will be inspired. So, next weekend I'm off to St. George, Utah for a training camp.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.suunto.com/en-us/" target="_blank">Suunto </a>also sent me <a href="https://www.suunto.com/en-us/Products/Sports-Watches/suunto-9-baro/suunto-9-baro-white/" target="_blank">this gem</a> to get my training rolling. I'll do a review on it once I've used it a few more times. But so far - this watch does everything including tell me when to poop.<br />
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Speaking of getting my training rolling - that little bitch 50k I had to drop out of last year due to ripping my hamstring is calling me back, so...<br />
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<b><a href="http://dirty30.org/golden-gate/" target="_blank">Dirty Thirty 50k </a>on June 1</b><br />
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Triathlon is calling me back too, so...<br />
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<b><a href="https://www.withoutlimits.co/harvet-moon-triathlon-duathlon" target="_blank">70.3 (Harvest Moon)</a> in Boulder on September 15.</b><br />
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And...because friends and alcohol are always a good mix...<br />
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<b><a href="https://bourbonchase.com/" target="_blank">Bourbon Chase Ragnar </a>on October 18-19</b><br />
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My race calendar is filling up with good stuff. And I'm going to keep being gutsy and being the best version of me because if not I will get really fat and lazy and make out with Heidi all day long. And then I'll get dog breath and kennel cough, which no one wants.<br />
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So for now...off I go into the distance as training once again ramps up!<br />
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Answer at least one or you're not cool<br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>If I did shorter but more frequent posts, would you read?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>T</b></i><b><i>ell me one race you're signed up for.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Last rejection you've gotten? How did you deal?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>Ever tried Suunto products?</i></b> I've always been a Garmin girl but I'm down for trying this new brand!<br />
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<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-35690007083063130942019-02-12T18:37:00.002-07:002019-02-12T18:47:26.202-07:00That Time I Was On The Bachelorette (kind of)In the <i><b>most</b></i> dramatic blog post ever from SUAR (Bachelorette reference):<br />
<br />
Imagine a group of women, all strangers, coming together at a lovely mountain home near Aspen, Colorado, where they were welcomed with wine, an assortment of fancy cheeses and small talk. These women are here for the same purpose - to be a candidate for something that they want. Only this time the prize is not a man or "finding love." The prize is a dream job.<br />
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I was one of the strangers in that house last weekend.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://media1-production-mightynetworks.imgix.net/asset/4413158/IMG_0455.JPG?ixlib=rails-0.3.0&fm=jpg&q=75&auto=format&w=1400&h=1400&fit=max" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, we don't really look like strangers...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I first heard of <a href="https://runwildretreats.com/" target="_blank">Run Wild Retreats and Wellness</a> about a year ago. I'm not sure how it piqued my interest. Maybe it came across my Facebook feed as a sponsored ad. Maybe I heard it from a friend. All I know is that the minute I heard about this company I thought, "<i>I need to be part of this</i>." You see, RWR&W takes groups of women on running retreats around the world. Only, it's not just about running and it's not just about travel. Yes, those things are included, but it's actually more about helping women manage their stress. Through running mindfully.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Running + Travel + Mindfulness = my sweet spot</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Not to be mistaken for G spot*</span></div>
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I reached out to the founder, Elinor Fish, to learn more about her company. I DID want to learn more, but a part of me also wanted to put myself on her radar. Months later I heard she was hiring. After a phone interview I was invited to Aspen for the Bachelorette weekend (I like to call it the Runnerette).<br />
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This was an experience like none I'd had before. I love meeting new people, but it's a whole other level to spend a weekend with them, to expose myself (not like a flasher, that would be weird) and to essentially be on a 36 hour job interview. I felt it all - nerves, excitement, anticipation, gas build up (you can't just fart in front of a bunch of new people and you definitely wouldn't do it during a job interview).<br />
<br />
My competition? Well, no surprise they were all these kick ass, insightful, lovely women. Any of them would be amazing at the job. So would I. I just hope that came through. As luck would have it, I still don't have a front tooth, so I spent the weekend looking like a fit hill billy with a lisp. Oh, well.<br />
<br />
We ran in the snow covered hills. We did workshops on mindfulness. We ate and drank. As Elinor puts it <a href="https://healthy-runners-community.mn.co/posts/2605163?utm_source=manual" target="_blank">in her blog</a>:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #191f28;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"So, before and after runs on snow-covered trails, we cozied up under fluffy blankets at our rental modern farmhouse to engage in deep discussions and writing exercises about mindful running. Each woman contributed powerful stories and insights based on personal experience combined with extensive education and training in the areas of sports science, mindfulness, yogic traditions and physiology." </i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #191f28;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<img src="https://media1-production-mightynetworks.imgix.net/asset/4413152/IMG_0446.JPG?ixlib=rails-0.3.0&fm=jpg&q=75&auto=format&w=1400&h=1400&fit=max" /><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #191f28;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #191f28;"><span style="background-color: white;">If I'm really honest, I went into the weekend with a huge sense of trepidation. As someone who prides herself on moving out of her comfort zone, I was nervous. When I really dig deep down, what was that about? Duh. It's about <b>every human's fear of being rejected and not being enough</b>. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #191f28;">But, as Brene Brown says, at least I put myself "in the arena."</span><br />
<span style="color: #191f28;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #191f28;"><span style="background-color: white;">The verdict is not in yet. We do not know who got the rose. Of course I hope it's me, but if it's not at least I know my competition was amazing, strong and capable. She'll do a good job. If/when I don't get picked, I'll probably get into the back seat of my Ford Edge (my version of a limo) and shed some tears sobbing, "<i>When will I ever find the dream job? Why wasn't I enough? This always happens to me!</i>" Just kidding. I'll be sad and disappointed but I'll know that it's true that other roses become available when the one you want dies. Or, something like that. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #191f28;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<b><i>What's the most daring thing you've done lately?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<i style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever taken a running/adventure/wellness retreat? </i>No. Except this weekend :)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>SUAR</i></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></b>
PS: Find more about the retreats <a href="https://runwildretreats.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Iceland, Italy, Spain, Ireland, Moab, Telluride and more!<br />
<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-83449476033302967442019-01-09T17:55:00.001-07:002019-01-09T17:55:04.254-07:00If We Were Having Coffee...(aka Confession Time Minus the Priest)Who am I kidding? I'd prefer we were having a cocktail. But, for the sake of boring Dry January (which I tried and failed at), lets stick to coffee (just in case you guys have more will power than I do).<br />
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<b>If we were having coffee </b>I'd tell you I am an idiot. Today I went for a run at one of my favorite spots, but I decided to drive there because I wanted to run 3 miles and not the 7 miles it would be if I actually ran there (<-lazy <a href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=POS" target="_blank">POS</a>, I am).<br />
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Anyway, I got there kind of early and there was no one in the parking lot but a cop and a man living out of his truck. The man was making oatmeal out of the back of the truck. I kind of kept my eye on him because that's what the cop was doing so I got kind of distracted.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>Foreshadow</b></i></div>
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I put on my gloves, connected my wireless earbuds and set off, locking the car door. When I got back to my car three miles later I saw exhaust coming out of my car's tailpipe. What in tarnation? Was oatmeal man trying to steal my car? No. I had left the car running with the keys in the ignition. You see, my car has a code on the door so I don't have to carry keys, which is nice. What's not nice is that it means I can leave the car running and lock the door and go on a three mile run.<br />
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The upside? The car was VERY warm when I got inside since the heat had been blasting for almost 30 minutes.This was my contribution to the environment.<br />
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What stupid thing did you do today?<br />
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<b>If we were having coffee</b> I'd tell you I'd been thinking a lot about my cousin Sherry. She was murdered while running almost exactly 7 years ago. Can you believe it's been 7 years? I know many of you read my blog way back then and participated in my virtual run for Sherry and donated to an account for her kids. I love you for that. You can read more about all of it <a href="https://www.runnersworld.com/runners-stories/a20822633/a-virtual-run-in-memory-of-sherry-arnold-2-11-12/" target="_blank">HERE</a> in my piece for Runner's World.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sherry's sister, Rhonda, holding up a picture of Sherry, her husband and her two kids. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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A lot has happened since then. Her kids have grown - her son is married with a baby. Her daughter graduated from college. Life goes on, but never in the same way. I wish we could have grown older together as runners and friends. She liked farts as much as I do.<br />
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<b>If we were having coffee</b> (tinted with Bailey's. You may be dry, but I'm not) I'd tell you running has felt amazing lately. Don't get me wrong. It's not like I go out singing hallelujah with every step. It's still hard and I'm still slower than I used to be - but nothing hurts and it's rather joyful just being out in the crisp air. I still have to fight to <b>not crap myself sometimes</b>, but that's all of us right? RIGHT?!<br />
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<b>If we were having coffee</b> I'd let you know that sending your 21 year old to the grocery store is funny.<br />
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<br />
<b>If we were having coffee</b> I'd disclose that January is bland-uary. I'm spicing it up with the shows Dirty John, Homecoming and the Bachelor (raise your hand if you are over the costumes and the virgin jokes). I'm reading good books - Just finished <i>Providence</i> and am on to <i>The Mars Room</i>. I'm cooking new recipes and watching more porn (<-joke).<br />
<br />
<i><b>Are you doing Dry January?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Favorite TV show right now?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Best book you've read lately?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>Stupidest thing you've done lately?</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>What would you tell me if we were drunk? Or, sipping on coffee?</b></i><br />
<br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b><br />
<br />
<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-34320108954524313642018-12-27T13:13:00.002-07:002018-12-27T13:23:01.331-07:00The Time I Got KidnappedOkay, duh, I didn't really get kidnapped (who does that?), but I needed an excuse for not blogging since November 10. And, let's be honest, I need the click bait at this point.<br />
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Wow. Longest stretch of no blogging for me EVER. Why? Lots of reasons. Gone to Thailand for 2 weeks followed by jet lag with a side if diarrhea followed/combined with excessive work load topped off by a nasty respiratory virus that has me sounding like I have smoked all of the legal pot in the state of Colorado. It's sexy. Then the holidays, yeah those sneaky days of over-cooking, drinking and socializing. I am alive, but barely.<br />
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Also, do you find that when you haven't written for awhile, shit piles up and it is all the harder to start writing again? There is so much to say - I don't know where to start so I don't say anything. And, at this point in time I can't say anything because my voice is non existent. Oh, and I still don't have a tooth (the implant I got in September failed, which happens to 2% of people. Just lucky I guess. Instead of getting a new tooth for Christmas, I'm hoping for one for Ash Wednesday - in March). When I say SEXY, I mean SEXY. 51 years old has never looked so good.<br />
<br />
Thailand. Oh Thailand. The land of the Thais (<I made that up). There is way to much to say so I'll just do a huge photo dump and let that do the talking. Suffice it to say, I've probably never been somewhere where the people were so kind and gracious. Or a place that as so vastly different in every way, shape and form. I've traveled a fair amount, but I've never spent time in Southeast Asia at all. Now I'm hungry to do so much more exploring! Bring on Vietnam (the place of PHO, pronounced FEH!) India! Indonesia! All of it.<br />
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But, could we skip the 30 hour travel thing? That's kind of a drag.<br />
<br />
Hey, guess what? You can avoid that 30 hour travel thing and just look at these pictures. Totally the same thing as being there.<br />
<br />
Just as a recap - We spent the whole time in Chiang Mai, which is the second largest city to Bangkok and the largest city in northern Thailand. My son, Sam, who goes to ASU, is spending a semester there. I'm not sure if there is a place kids party more than at ASU, but if there is it is Chiang Mai.<br />
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The first day we got there and under the influence of no sleep and bombers of Chiang Beer I took photos of stuff that caught my attention. Like this strange man with a large belly and small other things (next to a pussy).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6KPsgCbISjfxRqVyd_sxFM9ecWLHKCtdNpTpuCSR7uq8sgAVCcM9SYHiBwuSDtBZ387i6md8BbFwxkvO9o5GzSCX9FtkwarjntWAwHcmYOEMbGYtErxlpEddZ4tZNoqkihUwGV_-RxM/s1600/IMG_3742.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6KPsgCbISjfxRqVyd_sxFM9ecWLHKCtdNpTpuCSR7uq8sgAVCcM9SYHiBwuSDtBZ387i6md8BbFwxkvO9o5GzSCX9FtkwarjntWAwHcmYOEMbGYtErxlpEddZ4tZNoqkihUwGV_-RxM/s640/IMG_3742.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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In Thailand, 7-11 is everything. Need a tube of lube? Got you covered. Need a bag of lobster flavored potato chips? This is your place!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4JaGySO6phyd4wSP6rs8A2kYMnndbQ1fUiS8_41jl58_WXlkCt9mU8doD4uqCnZggKuyEyXEyyyVSsifXzTRLfqsKXw7LkrpUky5YrOcYoqEDuKfPiLSKfvyjiR86HjjEST_ikcyDfU/s1600/IMG_3737.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI4JaGySO6phyd4wSP6rs8A2kYMnndbQ1fUiS8_41jl58_WXlkCt9mU8doD4uqCnZggKuyEyXEyyyVSsifXzTRLfqsKXw7LkrpUky5YrOcYoqEDuKfPiLSKfvyjiR86HjjEST_ikcyDfU/s640/IMG_3737.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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The best way to get around is the "Red Truck" or Songthaew . You just hop in and hope they are going where you are going. Also, if you call an Uber (or a "Grab" in Thailand) this is often what shows up. It would be about $3 for us to go wherever we wanted.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaeMX4qjj0CxyTdlONnkeFxEtw7D_dQMdk4xXoZs77tZiKlvn5RkVx18xIcUGZ4pH7FSAHlTbKyjAod_V4FGHUKp-kqZdWuDC9RE8pAPQLLTdqpGq5l9jUaX1HgVu_-wXlda8w21Cbd64/s1600/IMG_3739.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaeMX4qjj0CxyTdlONnkeFxEtw7D_dQMdk4xXoZs77tZiKlvn5RkVx18xIcUGZ4pH7FSAHlTbKyjAod_V4FGHUKp-kqZdWuDC9RE8pAPQLLTdqpGq5l9jUaX1HgVu_-wXlda8w21Cbd64/s640/IMG_3739.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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Here is my friendly Grab driver. I call him Pong for short.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlX8efv79-S6GTJHv8few5BmOZI4XreNOhvR5B1s_W6nNsKQ0Anhug3SBcffd0_ymxjZJOnn68NUZ0LSRqGNJtVJhXowSmyZr4zhB1niS8Q6OTi3NEtegF4ok286XufLsvcWI9C0ztveQ/s1600/IMG_4071.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlX8efv79-S6GTJHv8few5BmOZI4XreNOhvR5B1s_W6nNsKQ0Anhug3SBcffd0_ymxjZJOnn68NUZ0LSRqGNJtVJhXowSmyZr4zhB1niS8Q6OTi3NEtegF4ok286XufLsvcWI9C0ztveQ/s640/IMG_4071.PNG" width="360" /></a></div>
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The cable system is very advanced in Thailand. Even the graffiti below thinks it's funny.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOfLNxvgmv6pKgtzDbaGfWHDNWPjhgiJS4eK-iE7ZGNxHtf0Je0kRawAhnNDh268DbvnMJ6uT5wVPlTSvNmSp8AN2l3QVQCBU79Ec95xfxxKjJi60eZPQinAXlCm8VkrR8c_oziePzc0/s1600/IMG_3750.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOfLNxvgmv6pKgtzDbaGfWHDNWPjhgiJS4eK-iE7ZGNxHtf0Je0kRawAhnNDh268DbvnMJ6uT5wVPlTSvNmSp8AN2l3QVQCBU79Ec95xfxxKjJi60eZPQinAXlCm8VkrR8c_oziePzc0/s640/IMG_3750.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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If you're not taking a red truck, chances are you're taking a Tuk Tuk. Think motorcycle with a little open air car on the back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzgz5AWjsiHlLFbihswbCtsYmJX8bZimupM0vVELXvH9qD9Ak1iKBNwflwWRuPK0D1us4_OeMnV0DJiuQg4EnwPHAeeKe7wgbQ713inUW7CdsDpEkn8QVFPoxjs4nqk3eDGZg6MHJQIc/s1600/IMG_3774.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzgz5AWjsiHlLFbihswbCtsYmJX8bZimupM0vVELXvH9qD9Ak1iKBNwflwWRuPK0D1us4_OeMnV0DJiuQg4EnwPHAeeKe7wgbQ713inUW7CdsDpEkn8QVFPoxjs4nqk3eDGZg6MHJQIc/s640/IMG_3774.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is my favorite dish - Khao Soi - the specialty of Northern Thailand. You need this in your life if you love savory coconut milk infused with curry, chili and soft egg noodles and topped with crunchy noodles. J'adore this dish. Come over and I will make it for you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9y8d8gWBHZvO0QcsGvLRkrIhYA27yTF63W7gW8tlkeT23koD4X99wv0DH1mlXuBtcioKqN-odqM5Uy8BVh5oHcQPiiRUynJRXp7N5D2e9g1LHQXFU7fdQbGryNlXtvTN3ajZ5pP8fZo/s1600/IMG_3786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9y8d8gWBHZvO0QcsGvLRkrIhYA27yTF63W7gW8tlkeT23koD4X99wv0DH1mlXuBtcioKqN-odqM5Uy8BVh5oHcQPiiRUynJRXp7N5D2e9g1LHQXFU7fdQbGryNlXtvTN3ajZ5pP8fZo/s640/IMG_3786.JPG" width="360" /></a></div>
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In Thailand, which is almost completely Buddhist, it is expected that a man will be a monk at some point in his life, even if only for a week. Here are two of my monk friends. I prefer the lighter color robe. This was at Doi Suthep the most famous temple in Chiang Mai, high on a mountain above the city (which we did hike).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGqv9S7hS3nAjQrVptnT1SgAW0wizBgbljA1r6MisnsEUYPV0c-c1aQ0XwRLIwBBEAlovcAFUkr9sfC_cf2UhCJqHBrNh8aXcjzIeKHE_mhRJ2raQdrGdfi4j28dPoTr2G-h3xZaezaQ/s1600/IMG_3820.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyGqv9S7hS3nAjQrVptnT1SgAW0wizBgbljA1r6MisnsEUYPV0c-c1aQ0XwRLIwBBEAlovcAFUkr9sfC_cf2UhCJqHBrNh8aXcjzIeKHE_mhRJ2raQdrGdfi4j28dPoTr2G-h3xZaezaQ/s640/IMG_3820.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for doi suthep" height="360" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WZU1Llp9Qtk/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did not take this picture</td></tr>
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These are bugs for sale. I only ate one plate, the one on the right. You take weird shits after.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWiKQICGvd20Hu0IBf5TzPzrUbu9fgTJxkQX82RFvpmGatW7Atz6d-Vd5C8WMnQ310q-RNCotUfK-nNGYrLCilohPe8TgH7F6UdAfjsylmY4lExriNuJGn2mNnuYseJ-ZjRkfsubUceU/s1600/IMG_3817.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWiKQICGvd20Hu0IBf5TzPzrUbu9fgTJxkQX82RFvpmGatW7Atz6d-Vd5C8WMnQ310q-RNCotUfK-nNGYrLCilohPe8TgH7F6UdAfjsylmY4lExriNuJGn2mNnuYseJ-ZjRkfsubUceU/s640/IMG_3817.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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Let me introduce you to Savanna, Sam's girlfriend, who I have a crush on as well.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuNU6ckl2vAiEgyWI-dkRgQwpG8TnpxJp7FLUyJ9zDnPcN6-o8dVE46oaqenh1GPXrtfmr545mDl4jRBV9Ol0fjUPzxPPbv6Yj3BdiE4OAdCPvYOCCyxZrKValukECQ3cNU1oqxYrpWs/s1600/IMG_3877.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxuNU6ckl2vAiEgyWI-dkRgQwpG8TnpxJp7FLUyJ9zDnPcN6-o8dVE46oaqenh1GPXrtfmr545mDl4jRBV9Ol0fjUPzxPPbv6Yj3BdiE4OAdCPvYOCCyxZrKValukECQ3cNU1oqxYrpWs/s640/IMG_3877.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is me. Big Mama does not care that I do not have a tooth. We went outside of the city to an elephant sanctuary called Elephant Empire. It was magical. There were three elephants (mom was 26, one kid was 5 and one baby was 11 months). We fed them, took them into the jungle for a bamboo snack and washed them in the river. I now would like a pet elephant.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sFHpWCPhbdk1QEjx5oXnm7zBUrDUmJ6au-1hfC5yCECyJK65-bh8muo5oEl731r5t2TFoI14DaZa-4PSkHmTYPQi00mMkHsGa3clORxN4Sq6ee2sIgD8ykhRS36GVBgA0qgdTWyQR7c/s1600/IMG_4113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2sFHpWCPhbdk1QEjx5oXnm7zBUrDUmJ6au-1hfC5yCECyJK65-bh8muo5oEl731r5t2TFoI14DaZa-4PSkHmTYPQi00mMkHsGa3clORxN4Sq6ee2sIgD8ykhRS36GVBgA0qgdTWyQR7c/s640/IMG_4113.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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This was when the baby elephant "attacked" Ken. Baby elephants are strong and they like middle aged men with sexy dad bods.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dXIKCZe-H7g-vvumXta6N9kz5tbGu-vfPltJ0nK92N4fgE_JNXyPYUWdyCDIUGWq8B30XT1gB-CWft9LXcqf4yWPdCLaSYZUgGsBQegYDuAdQq9FWGNZJAdgIRbfpHIVBuW83M3gXag/s1600/IMG_4114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dXIKCZe-H7g-vvumXta6N9kz5tbGu-vfPltJ0nK92N4fgE_JNXyPYUWdyCDIUGWq8B30XT1gB-CWft9LXcqf4yWPdCLaSYZUgGsBQegYDuAdQq9FWGNZJAdgIRbfpHIVBuW83M3gXag/s640/IMG_4114.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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As I said, I need a pet elephant who will toss me around. Do I have something between my legs?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA29HJhFzll33lgfvE1zopsETD1jIeAIAxeOHeJ82-GmjAJx0_RoPMaJdloEchodZrFLzD02vRbvB0QaeiaIbw5CDvoJ5bfiWZfsmrbtQuAorKe1tVVga12Z-WmDqV2PoiZs9QkhcEmQw/s1600/IMG_4109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA29HJhFzll33lgfvE1zopsETD1jIeAIAxeOHeJ82-GmjAJx0_RoPMaJdloEchodZrFLzD02vRbvB0QaeiaIbw5CDvoJ5bfiWZfsmrbtQuAorKe1tVVga12Z-WmDqV2PoiZs9QkhcEmQw/s640/IMG_4109.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Best senior picture ever</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRg7bUXyaUa1mRI3_bE6cWgf7bExpBmAHfh4lfS6FIJdmwfAUlM4WVVpoAoLjzT4CTZKFt6Bi7wBgFhcUpPNqUxzgQBUIJF85jAxXSjWRa0ee-TwcrDmlLZ2Gj3ZLhEvA0rGDx9wfMTk/s1600/IMG_4051.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="640" height="626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHRg7bUXyaUa1mRI3_bE6cWgf7bExpBmAHfh4lfS6FIJdmwfAUlM4WVVpoAoLjzT4CTZKFt6Bi7wBgFhcUpPNqUxzgQBUIJF85jAxXSjWRa0ee-TwcrDmlLZ2Gj3ZLhEvA0rGDx9wfMTk/s640/IMG_4051.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Just some amazing Pad Thai the elephants served up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt_xZSi3CQeXC9MUZ24A2ZGkBZrLiC0YPonq8LAPOIjbQELUSlCgjBZMMTF4iKpIZ-dIACVKwxaGUGT1xBHaeSAnXmS-J7KZJyWkT0D-KZXwVBwT6-okkb-Reu9DyYm2GEEeOIjsloc0/s1600/IMG_4028.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt_xZSi3CQeXC9MUZ24A2ZGkBZrLiC0YPonq8LAPOIjbQELUSlCgjBZMMTF4iKpIZ-dIACVKwxaGUGT1xBHaeSAnXmS-J7KZJyWkT0D-KZXwVBwT6-okkb-Reu9DyYm2GEEeOIjsloc0/s640/IMG_4028.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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Not sure what is going on here. Probably has something to do with that giant Singha beer in my hand. This was at Huay Tung Tao Lake outside of Chiang Mai. They have these bamboo huts you can rent on the lake where you sit and drink big beers and wear your hair over your face.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_T2IG5EWpGYrpejlzz-4g1iwAhYz7wtkfZr6r6VX1OrWrxZ66GE7qdNoSz1gPqDLmUxerkXcob2V7oSVvlglsWwN5Kf9Wk8XPhCwhZSjZrWS_clpgcUW4L5h891tCJrfy8jjHfHG8hAE/s1600/IMG_4050.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="972" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_T2IG5EWpGYrpejlzz-4g1iwAhYz7wtkfZr6r6VX1OrWrxZ66GE7qdNoSz1gPqDLmUxerkXcob2V7oSVvlglsWwN5Kf9Wk8XPhCwhZSjZrWS_clpgcUW4L5h891tCJrfy8jjHfHG8hAE/s640/IMG_4050.PNG" width="419" /></a></div>
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SINGHA magic with a lake view<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7YXDXUE3kxbWBffLeJJQmzcQsqlH3LGzBqVWyyVLUgw6n1VkoCxURQwKN5o08cIg8GGno1eKXnvQavzXXlFhUA4eYYfCPYXp0yGU3YAsw5k7fLbFdCVYSw5Sc2fj8Fl7Ng-k7J0N3L4/s1600/IMG_4047.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM7YXDXUE3kxbWBffLeJJQmzcQsqlH3LGzBqVWyyVLUgw6n1VkoCxURQwKN5o08cIg8GGno1eKXnvQavzXXlFhUA4eYYfCPYXp0yGU3YAsw5k7fLbFdCVYSw5Sc2fj8Fl7Ng-k7J0N3L4/s640/IMG_4047.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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Sam appears to be having a bad day<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwkHX8mrNZEsyF5abjcNnQJRoZWPmCMC903oiaIxEHyC9ZdAjtft7Tn_9YllkmUuEOO_-V8ba6euVXC01IvtYJPD2nTe8U4Qy2JMX9ENEc75Ud-tch32fKt1KDEYQoR9K1ocZ31SMMIw/s1600/IMG_4043.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAwkHX8mrNZEsyF5abjcNnQJRoZWPmCMC903oiaIxEHyC9ZdAjtft7Tn_9YllkmUuEOO_-V8ba6euVXC01IvtYJPD2nTe8U4Qy2JMX9ENEc75Ud-tch32fKt1KDEYQoR9K1ocZ31SMMIw/s640/IMG_4043.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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We rented motor bikes, which I found extremely stressful in the Chiang Mai traffic. One day I will tell you the story of how I made a wrong turn and got lost for over an hour. I had all of our phones, so no one could rescue me. And, I cried on the Thai streets alone and overwhelmed. But I lived to tell about it and it made me stronger as a person.<br />
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I found an ox made out of stone and had my way with it.<br />
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I found these in the night market. I still cannot decide which one I like best. Probably the Rasta one with hair (i.e., pubes). There is some fine shopping in Thailand!<br />
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This is my new friend Tae. He taught me to cook really good things - spring rolls, pad thai, khao soi.<br />
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Our hotel (U Nimman) lobby.<br />
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I was very excited to find this shop near our hotel. It gave me an idea for my next money making scheme. I think people would want to buy human poop as much as elephant poop, no?</div>
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We got Thai massages as a family. Here they are washing Sam and Ken's feet before entering the massage place. These massages were given by ex-prisoners who are learning a new trade. Massages are $7 per hour so if for no other reason, you need to go to Thailand.<br />
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I have a million more pictures. But that is too much already!!<br />
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Suffice it to say you need to visit this place. Do it for the food! The wonderful people! The elephant poop! The warm weather that makes your hair frizzy! The massages (happy endings are available, but we passed. Didn't seem like the family thing to do). Another reason to go?? It is SO cheap. The only expensive part is the 30 hours of flying to get there.<br />
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Since this is supposedly a running blog - I did not run outside in Thailand. Chiang Mai streets are really busy and although there are kind of sidewalks, they are clogged with lots of things (trees, people, trash cans, motor bikes). I never really saw any parks with running paths. I did run on the hotel treadmill twice. Yay me. Now I'm out of shape.<br />
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Leave me a comment! Let me know you still care!<br />
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<b><i>Which bottle opener would you choose? </i></b><br />
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<b><i>Would you eat a dead/fried bug?</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Ever been to Thailand?</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Favorite place you've traveled?</i></b><br />
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<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></i></b><br />
<br />ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4433152851906592254.post-2526758585211716332018-11-10T14:04:00.000-07:002018-11-10T14:10:21.624-07:00Tonight, I Sleep On A Plane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are off to Chiang Mai, Thailand tonight to visit Sam, elephants, temples, Pad Thai, Chang beer and humidity. I can't wait! If you want to follow along....follow my Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shutuprun/?hl=en" target="_blank">HERE</a>. My stories and I would love to have you.<br />
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My friend, Sylvie, is living in Chiang Mai right now and sent me this casual picture from her hike the other day.<br />
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Yes, it definitely is another world.<br />
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There's lots I'm excited about - I've traveled some, but never to southeast Asia and I welcome the vast difference in culture - food! language! customs! All of it. On Friday we will visit an elephant sanctuary that is part of the Karen Tribe. We will feed and bathe the elephants and I hear there is a new baby!<br />
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If you've ever been to Thailand (we are not going to Bangkok or the islands most likely - probably will stay in the northern region), let me know what you saw and did that you loved!<br />
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We're coming for you Sammy Boy.<br />
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Until next time...<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">SUAR</span></b></i>ShutUpandRunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06145904735605609951noreply@blogger.com5