Riding Bikes Is Hard - Singing Makes It Better

I enjoy music, like just about everyone else.  Unfortunately, I’ve reached that point in life when the music that brings me the most joy is now relegated to its own station.  Not old enough for that to be the ‘oldies’ station, just the ‘throwback’ station.  I hate the term throwback. 

Anyways, many of my favorite songs are favorites because of the memories they evoke.  Below are a few of the songs and associated memories I love:  

Separate Ways – Journey – I see my dad drumming on the steering wheel of our Dodge Caravan every time I hear it. 

Walking on Broken Glass – Annie Lenox – I remember coming home to my mom rocking out to this song.  I didn’t catch her mincing across the kitchen floor like there was glass on it, but that’s what I imagine. 

She’s Got Skillz – All-4-One – Reminds me of being 13 and doing silly dances with my friends, mostly just shaking our butts. 

Magic - Pilot – Teaching my 3-year old sister to sing that song and repeat lines from “Happy Gilmore.”  

Stronger – Kelly Clarkson – A particularly triumphant bike ride with Karina that I’d like to detail here. 

In 2010 Karina suggested it might be fun to borrow road bikes and ride around Bear Lake.  It was an oddly great idea then, and it of spun out of control to the point that we both owned road bikes and padded shorts.  The 2012 Cache Valley Century was Karina’s first 100-mile ride, which is a big deal.  The day of the ride I was grumpy and in poor shape and made the whole thing terrible.  The first hours were pleasant enough, but I was slow and fell behind the other riders, and since Karina was riding with me she fell behind too.  By the halfway point I was riding into a phantom searing hot headwind and was visibly cranky (I think I actually had an angry aura around me), but Karina was doing her best to encourage me.    

Our first road bike effort - scared, tired, and happy

 Around Mile 85 we were creeping past cornfields and heard an explosion like someone was shooting at us (seriously).  Karina’s tire had been blown out by a goathead thorn.   No patch or replacement tube is a match for a two-inch sidewall gash.  So there we were, 85% of the way through Karina’s first 100-mile ride, facing defeat.  She had the motivation to finish, but no bike.  I had the motivation to keep sitting right there, but a bike with perfectly good tires.  It just made sense to trade bikes and let Karina finish.  I worried as I waited at the finish line for Karina to come in.   I knew those last miles could be awful and I felt guilty for being so unpleasant to bike with, which had delayed Karina’s finish.  Plus it was so smoky that day, the finish line had been dismantled, and the course finished with an uphill segment.

All my fears faded when I saw Karina riding across the finish line.  She looked great, strong, and happy.  My heart nearly burst when she told me how she finished.  After 6 hours of suffering with me, I think she was alright riding the final miles by herself, but also had no support, and was wearing shoes that were too big and riding a bike that rattled.  Instead of stopping frequently to eat and cry (like I would), Karina kept peddling and started singing “Stronger.”  It was the best song for that ride and inspires me to this day:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stronger
Just me, myself and I
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger
Stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone

So strong!

Every time that song comes on I see Karina biking up that last hill.  Happy and strong.  It makes me smile.  

After this experience we developed the No Guilt Rule: either one of us can ride on ahead at any point without feeling guilty.  We meet up at aid stations and finish together, but don’t suffer together when we could be enjoying the time on our bikes.  When we do ride together we always sing. 

You should watch this, Kelly Clarkson is the only American Idol that matters: 

Biking Turtle

I’ve been trying to figure out a compelling way to declare my love for mountain biking came up empty.  Instead, here’s a silly story about a time I fell mountain biking. 

I LOVE MOUNTAIN BIKING!  It makes me feel alive.  It’s so easy to scrutinize my skinny legs, prominent ribs, presentations and writing…  But I celebrate everything I am when I’m biking because my muscles, lungs, heart, and brain are working together to power up the mountain.  My skinny, clumsy body was designed for pedaling a bike uphill. 

Last year was rough and I was looking to start 2016 off right.  I’m most happy where I can feel the sunshine on my shoulders and warm sand between my toes and St George is the closest I can get to that in January.  So I bought a ticket to the late night showing of “Star Wars” on New Year’s Eve, borrowed my mom’s car (thanks!) and headed to Latitude 37, Elevation 2800 ft.  Not truly warm, but warmer and full of sandstone.  “Star Wars” was great and I got out of the theatre just after midnight, in time to enjoy a fireworks display.  The next morning I rose feeling certain that I make great decisions and headed for the Bearclaw Poppy trailhead. 

I chose the Bearclaw Poppy/Stucki Springs trail in order to have the most options (4 miles, 7 miles, or 27 miles) and because the trailhead was a familiar place (the Green Valley Gap).  Starting early meant I had the trail to myself most of the time, and gosh did I need it.  The whole trail system is rated as mostly intermediate with some beginner sections (rated just like ski runs), but there is also a section called the Acid Drops.  Many Mountain Bike Project commenters rate the Acid Drops as fun, but I’m a timid downhill rider and I rate them as Super Scary.  As I descended drop after tiny drop (natural jumps) I got increasingly scared and my least helpful mantra began running through my head: Stay on your bike, dummy.  I kept getting off my bike to scout the drop, remounting and getting my butt back as far as I could, and descending with my brakes on.  (According to this wikihow page I just found that is partly right.)  Or I just walked my bike down. 

Elevation profile, speed, and feelings

Then the tears came.  This wasn’t fun.  I wanted my friends there so Karina and Emma could laugh at/with me and Brent could show me what to do.  What should have looked bad ass, riding down the steepest section and conquering my fears, looked less so with tears streaming down my face.  At least I was alone.  Atop one of the last and longest drops I ran into others going up the trail so I paused to see what they would do and stop crying, but downhill riders have the right of way on that trail so they waved me down.  I had little pride left over by this point (1 mile/20 minutes in) so I admitted to the others that I was scared and would be happy to wait.  Then the great thing that almost always happens when I run into people in the wilderness happened again: they helped me.  The oldest of them pointed out the line I should take, told me I was awesome and could do it, and guided me down the line and it worked!  (Thanks riders, that was awesome!)  Then I watched the three of them pedal all the way up that section, including one in snow boots.  Good thing badassery isn’t a zero-sum game. 

Acid Drops below, they were scarier than this picture captures

After that everything was awesome and also mildly ridiculous.  The rest of the Bearclaw Poppy trail just flows. Up and down but mostly down.  I actually “whooped” with joy.  It was the happiest I’d been in a long time, so when the trail ended I opted to continue on the Stucki Springs loop.  This trail climbed and climbed and climbed for four miles, and I love climbing!  I saw cacti and great views and few people.  At the highest point the most wonderful thing happened, the trail ahead was straight and clear: rolling, hard packed trails.  I felt lucky to be there. 

This is what true happiness looks lie

It felt rewarded for my work.  I was fast and strong and truly happy in a way that only happens in the mountains.  Turning around and heading back down I hit my fastest speeds and accidentally let my blood sugar drop, but I was deliriously happy.  I’d spent the last few months feeling incompetent and questioning every decision, but here on my bike I felt capable and wise!  At peak happiness I ran into the steepest hill of the whole thing with a group of four at the top.  I tried to wave them down, right of way and all, but they adamantly waved me on up.  The trail had a 15% grade (steep) for a few hundred feet, strong legs could have pedaled up it but it would be difficult and the rock was loose.

After a good effort that got me half way up the hill I opted to walk up the finish, because that was not the time for pride. I un-clipped my right pedal and leaned toward the… left. 

People were watching, this is so uncool.  I was going to crash because I un-clipped the wrong pedal. 

So I went with it, tipped on my side and then rolled over on my back like a turtle, still stuck to one of my pedals.   

Rolling onto my back, while undignified, allowed me to free my left foot instead of trying to crank my ankle with my bike on top of it (basically the definition of panic).  Then I walked my bike up the hill to meet my new friends. 

They were totally cool, saying things like, “Glad to see someone else does that, too.”  And it’s true, everyone who uses clip-less pedals has crashed at least once because they forgot their shoes were clipped into their pedals.  Such low-speed crashes it’s just tipping over.  I do it at least once a year.  Humbled again, I got back on my bike laughing and pedaled away.  I heard one of the group saying, “Oh, look at that hard-tail, we’ve got a professional.”  It was so confusing, a hard-tail is an older form of suspension and I had just crashed in front of them very un-professionally, but he sounded so sincere.  Turns out some hardcore bikers opt for hard-tails, probably because they’re great bikes; I didn’t learn this until later but he might have been sincere. 

Flow

The joy stayed with me well past the junction of the two trails, so I opted to do the fun part of the Bearclaw Poppy again, and it was fun but perhaps unwise.  Hours after my first ride through there were so many more people, I had to wait for some and allow others to pass me.  Nearing the eastern-most end of the trail, where things were really fun, I enthusiastically jumped the top of a short hill only to discover (mid-air) that there was a second short hill behind that, which I hit like a wall.  I went over the end of my handlebars (an end-o), which cannot be done gracefully.  I grunted, cursed and quickly got on my bike pretending nothing happened.  Except something had and I had bruises for weeks to remind me.  Even better, as I started riding again I looked to my right and there was a teenager with a terrier riding in a handlebar basket, just like Dorothy and Toto.    

I wasn’t prepared to climb back up the Acid Drops so I tried to find a path through the Green Valley Gap.  There is one, but you can’t ride through it, so I hiked my bike through the last ¾ mile and ended up back at my car as the sun was beginning to set.  Adventure and misadventure combined are really what makes for a memorable experience.  With every mountain bike ride I find both parts: the sections where I have to remind myself to stay on my bike when the going gets hard and the parts where I must sing because my heart is so happy.  

Racing Jitters

June 26, 2016

This was the year I finally did the Logan Peak Trail Run, which has intrigued me for years.  It covers a strenuous route (7,000 feet of elevation gain), over a respectable but sane distance (28 miles), all on trails in Cache Valley.  And it was good, but also really tough. 

The Route - sign up for it here

I enjoy running, it makes me feel light, strong, and fast.  But I LOVE trail running.  When I hit a section of single track trail something stirs inside my soul.  I start composing songs about my love of trail running and usually start singing whatever is on my iPod (classics include “If I Could Turn Back Time” by Cher and “Shake It Off” by Florence and the Machine).  It’s like a spiritual revelation every time: THIS IS WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING WITH MY LIFE!  You know how every time you have cheesecake you’re reminded that it is the best possible option for desert?  Trail running is just like cheesecake: rich, interesting, worth savoring, good for your mental health, and so much better than regular cake (or road running, in this metaphor).   

I’ve got a history with Logan Peak, mostly a history of striving and failing to reach it.  I tried twice in 2009 but always started too late to make very far past 8,500 feet.  The first time I tried it I saw a bobcat, which was really cool.  The second time up I ran into moose, which was just scary.  Both times I ended up in Dry Canyon after dark, scared of being cougar bait, running as fast as I could, in order to minimize my time in the canyon, while singing and clapping so I didn’t surprise potential cougars.  (Side note: the only songs I can remember when I’m are church hymns, and based on my experience cougars are scared away by “The Spirit of God.”)  I reached the peak on my third try, having started early with my cranky pants on because of dating drama the night before.  Reaching the top felt great, I could still complete difficult hikes, even if I made poor dating choices.  But the summit also felt silly because I interrupted the prayer at a family picnic, turns out you can drive to Logan Peak. 

Lesson from attempt Number 2: act bigger and braver than you feel

The same week I conquered Logan Peak I started training for my first half marathon and six years later I’ve gotten to be alright at running long distances in the mountains.  I do as much of my training as possible on trails; they’re more interesting than roads and have shady places to sit and regret the life choices that led me spending my weekends on un-fun training runs.    

The weekend before the Logan Peak Trail Run I ran Ragnar Wasatch Back; I don’t think there are two more different races I could experience back to back.  Eight-hundred teams registered for Ragnar, which means there were more than 9,000 runners and 2,400 volunteers gathered for that event in thousands of vans with a quarter-million cowbells.  After months of pre-race preparations, you’re literally herded through pens to view a slickly produced safety film, sign a second waiver, and prove you’ve got the appropriate nighttime gear before you can begin running.  I had a lot of fun running with my team, who happen to be 11 of the best people you could ever pay to suffer with, but I feel a bit out of place with all that structured running.  The Logan Peak Trail Run, on the other hand was preceded by a few emails noting how to avoid getting lost on the trail.  Saturday morning 140 runners gathered for a pre-run meeting at 5:55 a.m. and then we were off at 6:00 a.m. 

Team Kabooti - Van 2.  Such great humans!

Sunrise at the base of Mount Logan - so un-Ragnar they don't even use Honey Buckets

As quickly as everything got started, and as excited as I was, I’ve never felt more in-over-my-head than I did during the first 4.5 miles.  Sure, we were all hiking up the hill together, but I thought I might get to run a little.  Nope, I just settled into my dorky uphill speed-walk and remembered that Dry Canyon is very steep for miles.  At my most nervous I passed a couple as one asked the other, “Feeling better?  Got all your racing jitters out?”  It made me smile because Racing Jitters is the perfect name for the tummy troubles I had that morning.  Everythingcomes down to poo, especially in running.  It took an hour to stomp to the first aide station, I was cold and seriously doubted my ability to make good choices.  Why did I sign up to hike Logan Peak the long way at a stressed out pace?

South Syncline Trail views - living the good life

Life got infinitely better at the first aide station.  The sun came out, I got trail mix, the grade eased from 13% to 6%.  I tightened up my shoelaces and finally started running up the South Syncline Trail, a beautiful and new-to-me trail.  The route wound through the forest south of Logan Peak from Miles 4.5 to 12 and I was so happy by the time I reached the aide station below the peak there was no doubt I was going to put in the full 28 miles and go tag the tower.  I was making friends with the others who were trotting/hiking at my pace, the sunshine felt delightful, I believed my legs were strong enough to carry me back down the mountain, and I found the snow.  Life was great and reaching the tower did not feel silly this time, even though I did it the hard way (on foot as fast as I could). 

Thanks to the runner who took a picture for me

All my friend’s well wishes and good juju came in when I switched my phone out of airplane mode at the top and I headed down feeling accomplished.  I hadn’t just run 14 miles, I climbed a mountain!  I MAKE GREAT CHOICES!  Now I just had to run downhill for 14 miles. Downhill running isn’t my strength, but gravity was going to start helping me.  Miles 14-18 were nice times, Type I fun: good while it was happening, easy to forget.  The runners were all in a good mood, the aide station people were on top of getting us hydrated, my iPod was making alright choices. 

Around Mile 18 we moved onto the North Syncline Trail, real nice single track running after all the dirt roads.  My heart swelled as I rounded corners and hopped over roots, but my brain was tired of negotiating the terrain and slipping into paranoia.  Someone has to fall on a trail run, sometimes it’s me.  About half a mile in I tripped hard on a rock and caught myself in a way that really hurt my left ankle.  OHMYGOSH, it hurt so much and there was nothing I could do but keep moving.  I had 10 miles to go, so I proceeded to tiptoe-run through the forest like I imagine Princess Trailrunner would (if she were real), convinced I had sprained my ankle.  I tripped a few more times, but tried focusing on how pretty the trail was.  It was Type II fun for sure, and consistent with my marathon experience, where Mile 18 is Peak Suffering. 

Happy on my way down

Miles 18-23 were spectacularly beautiful and rolling and almost enough to take my mind off my ankle.  The route swings by Logan Canyon and then over Cache Valley.  It’s easy to see why they choose that trail for this race, it was meant to be run and I made a great choice by signing up for the run.  The pre-race instructions even pointed out the springs located along this section, the water tasted amazing and felt great on my face and neck.  I was going to come in an hour over what I’d hoped for, but I wasn’t sad about it because the running was so good.  The hardest part of that section was not stopping to smell and identify the flowers, they were totally popping.

There is nothing redeeming about the last 4.5 miles, but it’s nice there is an aide station beforehand with Nutella sandwiches and Sprite.  Most of my racing jitters were driven by the descent through Dry Canyon.  I was discouraged by how slowly I was running downhill, scared of falling, and hurt because I kept catching my right toe on rocks (seriously, Right Leg, you are terrible).  I felt like the pug that can’t run and imagined myself “…bouncin’, flouncin’, fallin’all around the show.  Rollin’, bowlin’, I just can’t get it right.” I got passed by more people on this section than in the entire previous 23 miles, and I was trying to be quick.  Around Mile 25 I felt a really sharp pain in my right big toe, like a biting insect was in my shoe, so I had to scrunch my toes while also tiptoeing and trying not to fall.  Then a different but equally sharp pain started in my left toes.  I was convinced my shoes would be filled with blood and renegade toenails when I took them off.  The trail offered no shade but lots of loose gravel; it was my punishment for making terrible life decisions. Type III fun - suffering.  

The only thing that kept me going through the last miles was the prospect of collapsing on Brent once I reached the finish line.  At the mouth of Dry Canyon I actually spotted Brent pulling up on his motorcycle (he looks good on his bike) so I stopped tripping for a few seconds, grabbed a hug and told him I was hurting. 

Many thanks to Brent for always being there to capture my finish line moments

A mile or so later I finished at 6:35:54.  I got my finisher’s mug, made a great sandwich and sat in the shade with a Sprite.  I really love Sprite right now.  I took my shoes off and my feet were dirty but there were no blood or blisters, so I think I was actually hallucinating those last few miles, which is weird and frightening.  Days later it appears my toenails are all committed to staying in place.

I can't overstate how important and motivating it is to have my person or my people waiting for me

The Logan Peak Trail Run is fantastic.  It’s so well organized, covers a beautiful route, and feels like a real accomplishment.  It’s not the longest run I’ve done, but is the hardest.  I highly recommend it!  But be prepared for the emotional rollercoaster that comes along with long, difficult routes.  

(Note: Strava stole >1 mile and 500 feet of elevation, but it tracked most of the route)

The Salad Bonk

Gosh.  It's been quite a week.  I finally got over the flu, skied the best powder of the entire season, then found myself firmly in the bottom of the academic Valley of S*** .  Does any of this PhD nonsense even matter?  Condition is a ridiculous word to describe a wetland and it always reminds me of "Big Lebowski" (watch the video if you'd like to understand my angst - how can I make wetland condition seem that cool?).  There have been some tears at unhelpful times, which has me flashing  back to another ridiculous time I cried due to nothing but low blood sugar. 

The Time I Cried About Salad

January 2012 was busy.  I was transitioning from intern to graduate student.  I submitted my first paper for peer review.  My brother got married in San Diego.  The holidays happened.  Amidst all the stuff going on, it was critical that I fit in a climbing trip with my friends to Red Rocks, a massive climbing area outside Las Vegas.  The climbing in Red Rocks is great, even though its right outside a city I don't like to visit, but there are over 1700 routes at Red Rocks (the guidebook is about 400 pages long) so even choosing a crag was difficult. 

Red Rocks is great.  I should give in another chance.  

 During Day 1 at the Sandstone Quarry crag our four person climbing group was having a hard time.  Brent had been really sick prior to coming, sick enough I wasn't sure he'd make it.  Karina's fingertips came off on her first route (literally peeled off), then she stepped on a bee and we knocked her out with a heaping dose of Benadryl.  Emma was climbing like a champ, but had fit this trip in between working a real job and visiting friends in Vegas.  I was a disaster, tired from driving and working and family time; definitely in need of an introvert day.  The first and only route I tried to lead climb was a 5.9 sport route, well within my climbing ability.  However, I had no idea what slab climbing was until I was stuck on a slab shaking and confused.  I bailed, cried, and entered a shame spiral that would consume me the next day.

Seriously, what do you even do here?

The next day, very humbled, we chose to climb in the Willow Springs Area, a fun but tragically shady crag.  Going back through my pictures, it's clear there was a lot of fun to be had. 

Calm before the storm - enjoying the hammock on Day 2

Smiling and climbing

One of my favorite pictures, taken shortly before the Salad Bonk.  

The climbing was interesting and challenging, but I was cold and lost my Nutella somewhere in the bottom of my climbing pack.  By the end of the day I was barely hanging onto my sanity, I actually started crying watching Brent figure out a difficult route because I was convinced he would fall and die (I guess I had lost grip on my sanity by then).  I desperately wanted to feel the sunshine and eat something.  A new friend, Allison, joined us part way through the day and since she knew the area we let her lead us to dinner in the city.  The closest burger place was closed (the beginning of the tragedy), so one of us told Allison, "Follow your heart to a place for us to eat dinner."  And as she followed her heart through the twisty, turny Vegas roads I panicked.  Every time we passed an open restaurant that looked like it was serving something warm and meaty the weight of the tears in my eyes got heavier.  One thousand stop lights later we pulled into the parking lot of a Sweet Tomatoes and I died.  "This is where my heart led me," Allison said with humor I couldn't appreciate.  I was skeptical, because I don't think of tomatoes as a meal, but didn't completely reject the notion until I walked in and saw it was a salad place. 

Salad was the most devastating meal imaginable.  I was so cold and hungry, lettuce would just hasten my depth by actually making me colder and hungrier.  What is even in salad?  Just fiber, right?  After two days of showing no leadership in any of the decisions we made, I became the commander of dinner, declared my hatred of salad, and marched us over to the Appleby's for something like steak.  That move was sheer desperation, I know the food doesn't come quickly at places like that and I think those types of chain restaurants reek of awkward first dates.  The hostess told us it would be at least 30 minutes before we could sit down and I burst into tears.  As we wandered back to the Sweet Tomatoes I sobbed to my very confused friends, "I. Just. Hate. Salad."  Literal sobbing with copious crocodile tears, tomato face (the color my skin turns when I cry), and noises. 

The crying didn't stop inside the Sweet Tomatoes.  The salad bar attendants were confused at the adult woman sobbing like a toddler while I angrily threw spinach and croutons at my plate.  My friends were in a terrible bind: they were hungry too and had no way to console someone crying about salad (and they were caught in public with this baby-like adult person).  Every salad option made me cry more.  The UN brings hearty beans and grains to starving 3rd world countries, not radishes, blue cheese crumbles, and eight types of cold salad dressing.  Salad is stupid.  I was sure that moment was the saddest I had ever been in my life and that I would never be happy again because of the salad.  I cried all the way to my seat.  I ate that salad like any small, irrational child approaches a meal they don't like - begrudgingly and with tears of injustice falling down my face.  I just hate salad. 

I wish I could say this is all an exaggeration.  It is not.  I was miserable and crying about salad in public while my friends tried to enjoy their food.  I felt all alone in the world and desperately morose.  And hungry.

What a Salad Bonk looks and feels like.  

Then the glucose from my food made it into my blood stream and my whole life got infinitely better.  I was inside a restaurant with salad, soups and pasta.  There was even hot cocoa and the heating was on.  I was fine.  But also terrible because I had cried at a new friend about salad.  The relief brought by my rebounding blood sugar was accompanied by shame that I had been so upset about salad. 

The next day we went climbing at Calico Basin.  The sun was shining and there was abundant, challenging climbing.  It was a great way to end a stressful trip. 

Killing it at Calico Basin - clockwise from top left: Emma, me, Karina, Brent

There's an important lesson in this disaster: eat stuff when you are doing things outdoors.  Plummeting blood sugar sends the brain into survival mode - desperate for food, not willing to sacrifice any energy on maintaining rationality.  This phenomenon is known as bonking and  happens to climbers as well as endurance athletes.  Bonking is completely and easily preventable.  Eat food all day long, more on cold days when the body works harder to thermoregulate.   

   

So very grateful for my climbing friends, here at the end of our Red Rocks trip.

We still laugh about the Salad Bonk.  Well, I laugh.  My friends might still be uncomfortable about the whole thing, but they're willing to climb with me, so I'm OK with it.  I've met Allison a few times since then and she's been forgiving about the whole episode (I'd have never hung about with a salad crier again, but I'm working on being more forgiving).  In fact, I'm grateful we had her to ferry us through Vegas.  I still panic when there is a salad bar option with any meal and have flash backs to how angry the spinach made me (I love spinach, so the flashbacks are confusing), but I can usually recognize that salad is not the worst (unless there are water chestnuts).  

March 2016 - our lives have changed quite a bit since 2012, but we still climb a bit and I love it.