Beating the Blerch

Last week, before I headed down to Moab for my latest race, I was chatting with one of my lab mates about geese and things when he said "It's always about poop with you, isn't it."  I'd been talking about geese for like 5 minutes without realizing that everything comes back to poop.  But geese are horrible and probably spend 80% of their lives pooping in places where I could slip on their doody.  Running is also all about poop.

The Oatmeal recently put together a comic on running long distances and introduced the idea of the Blerch.  It's the thing that follows you around encouraging you to quit, the thing you  need to beat running.  My Blerch tells me slow down for fear of pooping.  When I first started running a few years I read a terrible Facebook post where people chimed in to finish the sentence "You know you're a runner if...".  More than one person mentioned you're a runner if you've soiled yourself to get a person best.  This horrified me.  I think I've finally convinced myself that I'm a runner and that I can be a runner without sacrificing my continence.  But I think about pooping almost the entire time (for a reminder that this has always been the case, you can read through this blog post about running).

The Other Half in Moab is my favorite half marathon ever.  I was really excited to run it for a second time this year, but also nervous because I didn't have the time and health to get a long run in before we left town, then there was the two days of climbing before hand.  It felt kind of like the world was out to make me run this race poorly, then tragedy struck - I forgot my iPod.  I spent a few minutes trying to communicate telepathically with Brent, because I also left my cell phone in the car, then I decided that running without the music wouldn't be terrible.  This race buses you to the start line an hour before the race starts, so I had an hour to find ways to stay warm.  There was coffee and plenty of time to poop.  There was also an opportunity to do yoga underneath what remains of the original Dewey Bridge (which was the 2nd longest suspension bridge in the country at the time it was constructed) while the sun came up over the Colorado River.  Really, doing sun salutations while the sun came up was amazing.

This view and the sunshine are why this race is my favorite!

Then I started running.  My strategy in these races is to start at the very end so I don't have to waste my energy trot-walking across the starting line and then I can pass people for the entire first half of the race.  Despite all that prep time, I still had to poop when I started running.  I had a goal this race, to finish in 2 hours.  It would be hard because I hadn't prepared very well, so I definitely didn't have time to wait at the first port-a-potty, which is always the busiest.  However, I didn't want to think about pooping the entire 13.1 miles, so I waited in the line for the Mile 2 port-a-potty (and it took 3 minutes, 3 minutes!).  My plan back fired though - I was proud that I pooped early so I didn't have to think about needing to poop the whole time, but then I thought about how grateful I was that I pooped early for 11 more miles.

Aside from all the thoughts of pooping, the half-marathon was also interesting because I could hear everything other runners were saying and doing.  My favorite was when I could hear people gasp "water" as they got within site of the water stations.  I saw people almost get hit by an ambulance because they couldn't hear it.  I heard a lot of pep-talks, which reminded me of why I don't run with others.  And I heard people fart while they ran, which reminded me that, in the end, runners are disgusting people (myself included).  The advantage of passing everyone is that I don't get stuck for very long behind the farters.  I decided to embrace my new found awareness of the environment around me by "Whoop"-ing at every one of the last 5 miles.  In the end, my fastest mile was my last mile.  I finished a few minutes over my goal, but I finished feeling great so it was definitely worthwhile.

Finishing happy.  

So there it is, everything I think while I run, especially the Blerch.  I don't have any long runs planned until the Spring, so you might not hear any more about my Blerch until then.

With all this talk of how everything comes down to poo, you should really watch the cast of Scrubs sing about it:



Update - I found some images of my delightful pre-race riverside yoga going through the Lost and Found.  It was 36 degrees there by the river, and plenty of puncture vines, but really it was a wonderful spot to do a little yoga. 

The Desert Is Best in October

I just got back from an excellent trip to Moab with my most excellent friends.  Turns out October is a most-excellent time to be in Moab, the nights are cool (or cold) and the days are warm, the crowds aren't terrible and the rock feels great.  I've been to Moab enough times it's almost routine, but there were a few new things this time through.  For one, I laid out a plan ahead of time.  When Brent and I go we usually have a few options and spend a lot of time trying to decide where to go.  Not this time!  I laid out two places we'd all go and the climbs that I would like to do.  It might be the best way to go on vacation, but it was also kind of stressful, so I'm on the fence.  The second new thing was actually a person - Emma's husband Ryan came along and proved to be an awesome addition to the whole trip. 

I've been struggling to think of a theme to link all of these pictures together.  We did some aid climbing in Arches, as well as some free trad climbing.  We also did some odd crack climbing at the Ice Cream Parlor.  I think the thing that links it all together is finding new ways to keep climbing difficult, which always reminds me of this quote

 “We do not deceive ourselves that we are engaging in an activity that is anything but debilitating, dangerous, euphoric, kinesthetic, expensive, frivolously essential, economically useless and totally without redeeming social significance. One should not probe for deeper meanings.”  Allen Stock (1967)

With that in mind, I'll start with the story of my only successful lead climb of the trip - The Pickle (5.7 C1).  It took me about 35 minutes to climb the 90-foot tower.  Put all together, it looked like this from the east -

And it looks like this from the north

What these pictures don't really show is just how tedious aide climbing can be.  To aid climb, a climber uses equipment in addition to their arms and legs to get to the top of a climb.  In this case, I used a serious of pitons and bolts drilled into the wall, carabiners, and slings tied together like a rope ladder to get to the top of The Pickle.  Modern climbing emphasizes "free" climbing things, getting to the top of routes as fast as possible with minimal impact to the rock.  So why would anyone aide climb?

Because there's nothing to hold onto.  

No hand holds

No foot holds

Nothings but a very smooth, unforgiving rock face

However, because that little tower is there, it must be climbed.  For me in particular, it was one of the few routes in all of Moab that I could climb (so long as there are bolts).  I took Brent's GoPro up the climb, which was programmed to take a picture every 30 seconds, thereby providing all of these pictures of The Pickle from the aid climbers point of view.  Observe -

Smooth rock face, save for that bolt, which I have adorned with a carabiner and will shortly run the rope through.  

Then you clip aid ladders (or slings, in this case) through your bolt or carabiner

Then you wiggle your foot into the "ladders", being careful not to snag it on the velcro from your shoes

And then you stand up, without any visible foot or hand holds.  It's kind of amazing it can be done.   

And then you start the whole thing again.  Occasionally making desperate moves like the one captured here.  

Often time resting is in order, which provides a good opportunity to look down at the belayer you're so fond of and at just how far you've come.  

Inevitably, tower climbs slab out - they go from vertical to less-than-vertical, at which point you are expected to free climb again.  

The wide angle lens of the GoPro has distorted the way the rock looks a bit, but make no mistake, the slab is the worst part of the climb.  It is scary and run out and awful.

But then you get to the top, take a breather, and bring your friends up.  

Karina was the next to make it up.  We got to have a nice chat about big life topics there atop The Pickle.  

Then Brent came up and called me a Teletubby.  

 I know, that was a long story but there's more.  Here's what it look like from the ground.

Aiding up The Pickle in the sun, the glorious sun.  

And there was a celebration dance at the top.  

Karina tackling The Pickle

Emma joined us just as we rappelled down.  It felt like it had been forever since we'd climbed together.  It was great to hang out again.  

With the sun like it was, and Emma like she is, she looked like an angel.  

Ryan proved to be good at adept at aid climbing, we were all seriously impressed.  

Down on the ground, Brent was stealing Karina's sunshine.  It was hilarious.  

But occasionally they were able to get along, soaking up their own sun.  

Brent looks especially good in the desert.  

The moon was so bright the weekend we were there.  The first night we camped below Tombstone Butte, which provided at excellent opportunity to take night pictures.

What a beautiful night under a beautiful butte. 

Watching the moon rise above the LaSal mountains while we were in Arches was also really spectacular.  I was hobbling down from the crag in my climbing shoes when the sun, moon, and mountains looked best, but this was nice too.  

All of these clear, moonlit nights did make for some cold mornings.  Our second morning we stopped by the Birthing Rock on our way to the crag.  This might be the clearest, most easily discernible petroglyph I've ever seen.

Perhaps it was the cold, but it took a few hours to really get started climbing.  But once the climbing started, it was pretty great.  Brent decided to tackle Die Another Day, a 5.9 crack climb with a killer run out at the top.

Epic climbing.  How could he not climb well with that stack of rocks to start on and those socks belaying him?  

The start of this climb kind of made me want to puke, as did the end.  Brent ascended it calmly though.  

There were base jumpers leaping off the cliffs just south of us!  It was alarming at first (it really does sound like a rock fall when their parachutes open), but then it was just great to watch.  

Someone took the time to etch these route names with map.  

And Karina created this pictograph.  

And of course we had to take a group photo at the end.  It's tradition

With vows of friendship renewed, Emma, Karina, and Ryan headed back to Provo and Brent and I spent another night in Moab preparing for my half marathon the next morning.  I sure stressed a lot about making a plan that could be fun for everyone, but in the end hanging out in the sun with my friends was really enough to make me happy.  Climbing was a great bonus.  These people pictured here are some of the best in the world.

I like my face.

I've been having lots of feelings about this picture and I've decided to write it out.  The blog has been short of posts about feelings lately, because there's been so much work to do and adventures to be had.  But as I move into the office-work part of the year, hopefully I'll get better at writing about more thoughtful things.

My friend Emma took this picture near the end of our most recent trip to Moab and I was really looking forward to seeing it because it's associated with positive memories.  We had spent that day climbing at the Ice Cream Parlor in Kane Springs Canyon, while the first half of the day was kind of stressful, the last half was pretty excellent.  There was some laughing and difficult climbing and the views were really great.  There were even base jumpers.  Emma pulled out her camera to practice taking pictures with a particular lens and took some really excellent pictures of Brent and Karina and their hands while they climbed.  Then she pointed the camera at me and said "Becka, tell me what you think about puppies."  Boom, genuine smiling picture.  Days later when Emma posted the pictures I was really happy to see all of them, including the picture of me.  The happy feelings  included the following -

• The prompt - puppies!  
• The feeling - the smile felt very genuine
• The memory - climbing in the sun with my friends
• The flannel - I love the flannel

Then I looked at it more and felt this compulsion to pick it apart, to downgrade the initial positive reaction to something more self-deprecating.  Something like, "Oh, excellent picture.  But me- yuck."  I started to notice some negative things, like -

• The eyes - they're uneven and have wrinkles (when did those come along?)
• The mouth - I have two crooked teeth and smile lines
• The hair - IT'S EVERYWHERE!

I could feel my brain having this tug-of-war between going with the positive associations and being compelled to notice flaws in my image.  I thought about this for a few hours, particularly how my need to be self-deprecating fed into some things I've been reading about misconstrued notion of modesty,  photo-shopped pictures and body image, and the ways body-shaming affects those around us (especially children).  The more I thought about it, the more I realized I'm generally happy with the face I have but I've never quite embraced it.  I've often focused on the acne, the tomato-face, or my one errant chin hair; aside from some tomato-faced based mocking, no one really tells me about these things.  I can't really take a picture without that big, toothy grin (there is plenty of evidence of that), but turns out, I like my face smiling.  Those eye wrinkles are from being out in the sun, a place I generally love to be.  The eyes are a little lopsided because I was really smiling, and my smile is a little lopsided.  Sure I've got two crooked teeth, but I've never had braces and that seems like an experience best skipped if possible.  The laugh lines are really from laughing.  And the hair has always been everywhere, because it's long and thick (which I hear are good things).  Altogether I think the picture captured what I like most about my life - being outside and laughing with my friends.  And wearing flannel.

Finally, I looked at the responses to the picture.  Karina re-posted it and called me beautiful, Brent's sister said it was a good picture of me, and a few of my friends gave it a thumbs up.  No one said "Gosh, why did you take a picture of that cock-eyed, crooked-toothed, red person?"  This has lead me to declare that I like my face.  It feels kind of bold to say.  Even a little shocking and cocky.  But the strongest feeling is peace, giving up the self-deprecating compulsion and the unproductive self-consciousness to just rest easy, knowing that Emma takes nice pictures and the good times from our vacation are well documented.

Deseret Peak - Sweet Views, Hot Fires, Awesome Plants

Day 3 of my Great Salt Lake Spectacular took me to Deseret Peak, and it was magnificent!  I took more than 200 pictures, but here I've narrowed it down to about 25 that help me illustrate the geology, history, and ecology of Deseret Peak.  

I woke up to this great view on Antelope Island, a fortuitous start.  

Deseret Peak is about 40 miles southwest of Salt Lake City.  I've been eyeing it all summer as it is visible from about half of my field work sites.  The Deseret Peak Wilderness, part of the Cache-Wasatch National Forest, was a late addition to the 1984 Utah Wilderness Act.   

Deseret Peak is part of the Stansbury Mountains, which are named after Captain Howard Stansbury (as is Stansbury Island), an early surveyor of the Great Salt Lake region.  

The Stansbury Mountains are in Tooele County, which is not pronounced the way it looks.  In maps put together in 1850, Captain Stansbury spelled the area "Tuilla", which makes a  lot more sense to me.  

Deseret Peak itself is 11,031 feet (3,362 meters) tall, and the trail to the peak rises 3,900 feet over about 4 miles.  

Desert Peak is the 4th most prominent peak in Utah, with over 5,800 feet of prominence.  There are only 57 peaks in the US with more than 5,000 feet of prominence.  The two couloirs on the left side of the ridge are popular for skiing.   

The term Deseret was first used as the name of the territory the future state of Utah was a part of.  The term comes from the Book of Mormon, where it describes a type of honey bee, a symbol of industriousness.  The honeybee also embodies the qualities of perseverance, thrift, stability, and self-reliance - important values for hiking "strenuous" trails.  Well, maybe not thrift.   

From the peak you can see the Wasatch Front, Mt. Nebo, and a lot of the West Desert (pictured here).  I really enjoyed seeing the the pivot irrigation circles and stunningly straight roads, they contrasted so strikingly with the haphazard fire patterns and rock slides of the surrounding mountains. 

The alpine mountain environment is pretty harsh and the organisms that occupy it have developed adaptations to this cold, water-stressed world.  As elevation changes so does the plant community.  The road to the trailhead climbs through deciduous forests and grasslands.  The trail then climbs through conifers, grass and short shrubs, and finally short cushion plants.  

These changes in community with elevation are due to changes in temperature and snowpack - for every 1,000 feet of elevation the air cools about 5 degrees Fahrenheit (or 3 degrees Celsius every 1000 meters) and snow remains for a longer portion of the year.  

Animals in alpine environments, like this chipmunk, have to deal with little water, lots of cold, and lots more UV radiation.  

Coniferous trees are well adapted to alpine environments because their needles shed snow easily and stick around all year, thus they are able to photosynthesize as soon as temperatures rise above freezing. 

The colder conditions at higher elevations head to very slow decomposition rates and very poor soils.  Combined with high winds, conditions are dry for plants and anything surviving there must be able to reproduce quickly, often have thick, succulent leaves, and grow close to the ground. 

At the highest parts of mountains, conditions are too harsh for trees, and low ground cover plants and lichens are the dominant community.  Lichens are a symbiosis between a fungus and an algae (occasionally a cyanobacteria) capable of living in the most extreme environments in the world, like the tops of mountains, very dry deserts, and toxic slag heaps.

While not a natural part of the environment, I found myself awfully fond of the backpack I bought for this trip.  It looks good with all sorts of rocks.  

As if plants aren't dealing with enough stress due to dry, cold conditions, fires are also a regular part of this environment.  On August 10, two weeks before I went out to Deseret Peak, the Patch Springs Fire was started by lightning.  The fire burned 30,000 acres before it was put out, including right up the western side of Deseret Peak.

Fires are a critical part of both grassland and forest ecological processes, but decades of fire suppression have lead to build up of fuels in many regions that make for more intense than natural fires.  Plants in these ecosystems have developed many adaptations to regular fire including requiring fires to break seed dormancy.  

Other species, especially shrubs and trees, are fire-tolerant (can regenerate quickly after a fire) or fire-resistant (suffering little damage during a fire).  

Historically, the Great Basin region had mixed-severity fires in 34 year cycles and stand replacement fires in 100 year cycles (according to Wikipedia).  

The remains of the Patch Springs were particularly intriguing to me.  I thought these clouds of ash were smoke from new fires for more than half of my hike.  I'm glad I didn't call anyone about it.

After three days of hiking and camping my legs were really sore, but the scenery and strain of the hike made me feel like celebrating fact that all four of my limbs and more than 300 pairs of muscles worked together to carry me up and down the mountain.  I could howl at the tops of cliffs and touch the remains of fire and it was all great!  

 I highly recommend everyone visit the Deseret Peak Wilderness.  The views are stunning and you can have them all to yourself, I only ran into one other person all day.  

Plus there is a lot of history and ecology to view.  So go, take advantage of wild, road-less places of the world!