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.  

2015 Was Not OK But Some Good Things Happened

It’s been difficult figuring out how to summarize 2015.  I distinctly remember this time last year I had so much that made me happy I actually titled a blog post “Finding Joy in 2014” and couldn’t limit myself to just 14 moments of joy.  But I had a feeling that I might struggle in the future to come up with additional great things as the years increase (15 moments in 2015, 16 in 2016, etc).  Perhaps it was a sign that this year would be less than great, maybe it was my natural pessimism.  I’m torn between listing everything that was uncool this year or the people I’m grateful to for helping me through all the uncool-ness, both lists would be quite long.   My compromise is to list both. 

This year I’ve been too busy, cripplingly self conscious and forced to bail on some awesome plans.  My troubles with the whole year could be summed up in the following story. 

August 3 could have been an interesting day, but it was terrible.  The Tour of Utah came to Logan and the Women’s Race went through my neighborhood!  August 3^rd also fell right in the middle of my time-crunched field season so I chose to do work instead.  Choosing work over fun was a responsible decision, but I regretted it.  For years I’ve looked forward to my field season, but this year I was cranky.  Cranky about working alone, unpleasantly surprised I didn’t like working alone, grouchy that I could feel my body aging, angry at how long field work takes alone, and experiencing DEET-related rage at the excessive number of mosquitoes.  All the negativity I was carrying boiled over on August 3^rd.  It rained more than 6 cm in a few hours, sending water everywhere – through my clothes and into my brand new boots, under my “waterproof” tablet case, all over my camera and phone and into my raincoat pockets.  I thought I was so smart only bringing waterproof things with me into the field, but electronics that can survive being dropped in the marsh won’t work when wet.  Water makes it impossible to type on any touch screen so my tablet typed nonsense, I couldn’t even open the data-gathering app on my phone, and my camera was just taking pictures of the rainwater on the lens. 

Every time I tried to wipe off a screen, dry my nose, or get my hair out of the Velcro on my raincoat I got angrier.  As I was counting saltgrass flowers I completely lost it – I wasn’t going to remember how many flowers there were in each plot, I kept dropping my ruler, magic markers don’t work when wet, and it wasn’t even all saltgrass so I was wasting my time there!  I stood up in the middle of the meadow and cursed, “God!  Why am I even here?!?!”  I couldn’t even curse right!  While I meant that to be two separate exclamations, it sounded like one existential plea to Marsh Llama.   With that I gave up and stomped the half mile back to my rig with my boots full of water and another gallon of water quality samples in my backpack (which couldn’t come from my boots for some stupid reason), but without the ruler.  It was hard work stomping all the way but I did it because I regretted working in the rain when I could have been watching the bike race in the rain.  Even worse, I came back to those wetlands four days later to take pictures in the sunshine.  All regrettable and not the only time I threw a crying hissy fit all by myself in the marsh. 

In between visits a Marsh Master came through and mowed over my monitoring well (and maybe the ruler).

This scenario played out many times this year: suboptimal decisions, bailing, self-consciousness and regret.  I bailed on Mt. Elmer, Mt. Peale, and Abajo Peak – what if I’d started on-time and taken the right way up?  I bailed on the last pitch of Parriot Mesa – what if I’d held on tighter?  I bailed on Phyllis – what if I’d taken the stupider, deer-free way home?  I bailed on a really important relationship – what if I’d said some things earlier or waited it out a little longer?  (It’s more complicated than that, but I like the symmetry of the sentence style.)  I had time to write this today because I bailed on birthday shopping after a terrible accident closed Sardine Canyon. 

As close as I got to Mt. Elmer, Mt. Peale, and Abajo Peak

In OK years I’d have summed everything up like this:  I’m grateful this year that I wasn’t tumbled down a mountain, struck by lightning, eaten by a bear, slain by a deer, frozen, brain-damaged, or physically crushed.  I’m further grateful sadness hasn’t literally broken my heart and that none of those mosquitoes gave me an encephalitic fever.  While I am happy to be alive, I feel thoroughly beaten by this year.  If I don’t acknowledge that it wasn’t OK nothing will change and I’ll get bad juju pretending that everything is epic and awesome when I fail as frequently as everyone else.  It’s been difficult to get by without weekend warrior victories to boost my self esteem.  At the end of many weeks I’ve felt much older than I had seven days before.  In addition to bailing on so many dreams, I’ve been too busy trying to teach and take classes, and complete my own research to focus on the people and activities I love.  I’ve only put up a handful of blog posts this year because I’ve been too busy to write anything fun.  Instead I’ve been working on expressive writing and acknowledging what I feel without reacting to it, so I’m very clear on just how uncool this year was and how uncomfortable that made me. 

Among the uncomfortable feelings I sat with - all the self loathing generated by editing my video lectures.  I'm too itchy and I hate the way I blink and start sentences now.  

But it hasn’t been all bad.  When I look back at the good things that happened this year, it’s clear that I succeeded when I had my people with me. 

Karina and I climbed Lost World Butte with an assist from Brent

Brent, Karina and I successfully located and explored a safe, abandoned mine

I finished my first ultra marathon with Mike and Austin (and it was a great time)

I led most of Longbow Chimney with Brent (lots of problem solving)

I went on the Maine to Maryland Hazelton Hospitality Tour with Chad (and lobster!)

Karina and I finished the Cache Gran Fondo (oh, the views; oh, the suffering)

Minor Solitary Success – I summitted Mt Ellen (in good time and good weather)

I climbed Lost Arrow Spire with Brent (scary yet satisfying; lots of cooperation)

Ran the Top of Utah Marathon and the Halloween Half Marathon (love my running sisters)

The three of us climbed Steinfell’s Dome (not even rain could dampen our spirits)

Ride Around the Wellsvilles v3 was a success (Spooky Edition)

Other good things that happened with my people this year: I went on two family vacations to Bear Lake, full of good views and great company.  My family grew this year with the addition of a 4^th nibling and a brother-in-law.  My people helped me with teaching by giving great guest lectures and helping with field trips.  After my accident with Phyllis, several people helped me get out of Bicknell, and have continued to give me rides or lend me their cars when needed.  My people even helped me through a traumatic break-up. 

I didn’t tell anyone about the end of my relationship for weeks because I was so upset about it and couldn’t bare the terrible responses I expected.  Instead of giving bad advice about forgetting and moving on, my people said the most helpful things.  They said they were surprised and sorry to hear about it; that they didn’t know what to say, but would be thinking about us.  They cried with me, shared their Netflix recommendations, and gently coaxed me out of the house with the promise of sandwiches.  I’ve got a great support system and have a lot of good karma to pay back.  Ultimately I’m faced with an introvert’s nightmare: I need my people in order to be happy.  I don’t know how to proceed with that knowledge, but it’s comforting to have so many moments that renewed my faith in humanity. 

I turned to my Word of the Day emails for some 2016 inspiration found four new, appropriate words:

Peripeteia – a sudden turn of events or an unexpected reversal

Landloper – a wanderer, vagrant, or adventurer

Indefatigable – incapable of being tired out, not yielding to fatigue; untiring

Pandiculation – the act of stretching oneself

I’m hoping for some fortuitous peripeteias in 2016 and to pandiculate as I become an indefatigable landloper.  Thanks for all the love and support this year.   

Another Deer Story

This weekend I fled to the desert to think and cry some place different than my apartment and office. Due to an unfortunate deer encounter, I've been given a bonus day of thinking. It's been thankfully free from crying and given my a lot of perspective into things I'm grateful for.

I always seem to visit Capitol Reef when I'm fleeing.  The first time I visited the park was in 2008 after a misguided winter camping trip to Bryce Canyon (too cold in December).  I fled again in 2010 following the deer encounter in the Henry Mountains and a failed summit bid for Mt. Hilliers.  Just this summer I found myself desperately racing for Capitol Reef after a successful bid at Mt. Ellens, hoping to beat a thunderstorm.  But this weekend's trip was just to enjoy Capitol Reef and I did.  I hiked new trails and spent all day in an entirely new-to-me part of the park: the Cathedral District.  When I rolled into my camp site Saturday afternoon I noticed the in the orchard next to my site did not care about me at all.  I took it as a sign that the deer knew they had a good source of food (apples) and no threats, as there is no hunting in the Park.  But I see now it was an inauspicious sign of bad things to come.
 

Vacation Success! 

By 4:00 pm Sunday I declared the trip a success - I did a lot of thinking and some crying and I was ready to go home.  Getting back to the freeway I was about half way between Hanksville and Torrey, thus halfway between taking the Fishlake route west to I-15 or the Highway 191-6 route east to the freeway.  I hate the drive between Green River and Spanish Fork, so I opted for the Fishlake Forest Route.  Things were going well for an hour -I got back into cell service and let my dad know I was safe, Florence and the Machine and Bright Eyes kept coming up on my iPod, I was alert, the 4 hour drive was going to be alright.  I love driving through the Wayne County towns outside Capitol Reef, they're small but seemingly vibrant.  I could really see myself happy in Bicknell or Torrey.

Happy at the Temple of the Moon 

The climb out of Loa into Fish Lake was alright until there were deer everywhere!  I hit the breaks and swerved around one...  Maybe clipped another... Why were they always in groups of three?  Why were they hanging out in the middle of the highway, people were driving 65 mph down that road?!?!  I slowed, wondering how fast I could safely go when a big deer came up and just stood there.  I honked and hit the breaks, but was still going upwards of 45 mph.  There were so many thunks and popping noises.  It was just awful. 

So much carnage. 

I pulled over to assess the damage, thinking maybe I could just call Highway Patrol and keep driving because it looked like just my headlight was out.  Then I noticed the hood was pretty bent.  And there was steam coming out of the bend in the hood.  And there was blood.  Oh, Phyllis!  Oh, deer!  I called my dad to make sure I was supposed to call 911 about such things (my life wasn't in danger....) - yes, call emergency services after you demolish a deer and your car.  I didn't know it, but the dispatcher put a call out to a tow truck and to the Highway Patrol.   I got all my cries out walking down Highway 24 in search of any big pieces of my car (there were mostly small pieces).  I called my dad, who found the number for my insurance company (because it seems I've used all of my insurance ID cards as kindling), I called the insurance company and got a claim started (a first for me, I've never had a collision I could cover with my insurance), then the tow truck showed up and started putting Phyllis up on the truck.  Things went astonishingly smooth given the number of times I said "I don't know, I've never done this before.  Am I calling the right person?" 

Do you know what was happening during the 30-45 minutes between impact and Phyllis getting on the truck?  Everyone driving down Highway 24 stopped to make sure I was alright.  It was a little frustrating in the middle of it all, when I was just trying to explain to the insurance company what had happened.  But mostly it was so nice.  The tow truck guy took me to a hotel near their shop, the hotel clerk was super nice, even though I was filing a report with UHP while trying to check in.

The Aquarius Motel - not bad at all. 

I had a nice warm place to get cleaned up and sleep.  Monday morning I called the insurance company and against all odds, found a rental car place in the next county over and there's an adjustor coming out to Bicknell to survey the damage. I put a call out on Facebook for help and ended up scheduling a ride out of town within an hour.   (Well, the ride was scheduled, but I had 5 hours to kill in the meantime.) I got an office set up at the library and a place to store all my stuff.

Maggie the Bike and my cooler of snacks have a whole auditorium. 

 It sucks that I hit a deer, but I've undoubtedly got more to be grateful for.  I know, Thanksgiving is just a few days away, do we really need one more gratitude post?  Yeah, I just demolished a deer in the one of the more remote parts of the state and everything turned out alright - I should be grateful.  So here is everything that fell into place today -

• I hit a deer within a mile or so of losing cell service.  I was close enough to Loa to be able to call my dad, 911 and my insurance company.  (It seems so many people pulled over because everyone in that part of Wayne County has hit a deer during the winter and knew it was possible I was freezing in my car with no cell service. 
• I spent all day today out of cell service on dirt roads or winding highways with no shoulder.  I hit a deer during the 8 miles of driving that were safe for me to pull off the road. 
• Hopefully I just damaged the radiator and the body.  My airbags didn't deploy (which could be a problem, but I'm happy about it), my tires and windshield are ok, and I'm just fine. 
• I got immediate offers from my family to come get me and tow my car home.  At 7:00 on a Sunday night. 
• I have adequate insurance on my car. 
• I always pack an extra pair of underwear when I go camping (I afraid I'll fall into a stream and get hypothermic due to wet underwear) and plenty of munchies.  So I've got clean clothes to change into and food to eat, despite the fact that Bicknell was shut down for the day (or season) when we rolled back in.
• There's a hotel open during the shoulder season in Bicknell and it's pretty nice.  Deep bathtub, doors that lock, a little coffee maker. 
• I have really, really great friends who helped me out in a pinch and did so quickly. 
• Strangers are also great. Everyone has been helpful. People are just good and it's nice to remember that. 

I didn't really want to have another night to think about things, but all in all, everything is fine.  I'm pretty upset I slayed (slew?) that deer.  And I'm really upset about the damage to poor Phyllis the Forester, but I've just got to be happy that I've got a warm bed to stay in a plan for tomorrow.

Gypsum Sinkhole is cool. But you and I are stronger than gypsum. When the pressure of life (or sandstone) bear down, we don't collapse! 

Should anyone of you wonder what to do when the local road conditions are "Deer Storms," here's what I learned tonight:

• Slow way down.  You can't stop on a dime and those deer aren't going to move.  Something about "Deer in the headlights." 
•     -Don't try catching up to that car 0.5 miles ahead and hope they will flush all the deer away, just slow down.
• After colliding, pull your car safely out of the roadway.  Maybe make sure the deer is also off the side of the road (or let the generous locals help you with that)
• Call 911.  They can dispatch a tow truck and get Highway Patrol involved, you'll need to file an incident report. 
• Keep your current insurance cards in your car.  They make handy kindling when car camping, but their more important function is proving you've got insurance and keeping important information, like your policy number and important phone numbers, at your finger tips. 
• Think about avoiding driving through the forest at night.  Deer seem to come out in the roadway more often then and it's harder to see them. 

Be Excellent to Each Other, Pt 2

It's been a rough week for those associated with the Mormon Church.  The Church's decision to exclude children of gay families from church ordinances caused a lot of deeply felt pain.  The policy itself hurt a lot of people and harsh reactions to it hurt even more.  

I haven't been an active Mormon for the better part of a decade, but I was sick to my stomach over that decision.  I left deliberately because I discovered during the repentance process I didn't believe in the atonement of Christ, without that nothing in the church matters.  That's a heavy sentence, and it took me months of crying in the bishop's office to diagnose.  I stayed for about two weeks after that because I had friends at church and thought maybe there was something to the studies about longevity and church.  But here's the thing, without faith in the parts of the gospel that matter, the 'cultural Mormon' stuff is insufferable.  

Before I figured out what exactly I didn't believe, church was stressful because of the nagging feeling that I didn't belong.  I was skeptical of orthodox views of sin, I hate the word obedience, and I felt pressured to sacrifice my life goals so my husband could do something more kick ass.  It's possible get past all of that if the atonement of Christ brings joy into your life, but I found it doesn't bring me any joy.  Despite having a very clear and nuanced understanding of the atonement (credentials: I read the Book of Mormon three times before I graduated high school, and I read Jesus the Christ, and I graduated seminary), I didn't feel it.  Church is all about the feels and I wanted to feel it so much.  I loved my bishop.  He took the time to talk about faith in a way that meant something to me and I knew that he truly cared about me.  One day he use his hand as a metaphor to explain repentance to me, with the atonement at the center (the palm), then asked me pointedly, "Do you believe that Christ atoned for your sins?"  No, I realized then that I don't.  I’m happy if the gospel makes you happy, but please don’t ask me to muscle through issues of faith.

Faith is a complex thing that requires consistent exercise.  If you neglect your faith it will atrophy, and in my case it died.  This fits in well with other metaphors about faith: it's a seed you need to water, a cup you need to fill, or a mountain you need to move (do I understand that story right?).   I can't identify the point in time I neglected my faith, I know my family would feel better if I could, but hindsight is a faulty scope.  There are plenty events that led me to be disillusioned, they’re easy to remember but not actually the issue.  However, at some point between 2002 and 2008 the balance shifted in favor of disillusionment, church was only stressful, and my life got much better after I left.  The Church’s new policy on gay families is a watershed event for many; an early frost that killed their seed, their faith glass shattering, or the mountain to move is actually K2.  

Why share this?  Feeling like I didn't belong and then knowing that I had to leave was really painful and it's just a fraction of what gay members and their families feel right now.  I finally left because I was exhausted by emotionally preparing myself for church; hearing members discuss homosexuality as "the evil in the world” destroyed me, and I'm a straight woman.  If the teachings of the church bring enough joy, it's possible to focus on the good parts (i.e., acknowledgement that homosexuality is not a choice, any talk by Elder Uchtdorf, and Elder Oaks’ recent talk).  This new policy on gay parents is bad.  I was sick to my stomach Thursday (Nov 5) night when I read about the decision, knowing how devastated my gay and progressive Mormon friends felt.  No matter where you are in your faith, being excluded by a group you considered yourself a part of hurts, it hurts more if you still want in.  They've been labeled apostate and their children's futures in the Church have been sanctioned.  It essentially erases all the good will any other members have worked to build.  

Reactions have been the worst, I cried all day Friday as they came rolling in.  I know not to look at Facebook to see the good in the world, but it's how I maintain contact with my Mormon friends and my gay friends.  There were a few bright spots, like my friends who simply said they were going to go pray because they were upset and confused.  But I cried until I was sobbing every time a loved one posted "Why are you shocked?  This is in line with the Church's policy."  "Why do you even care?"  "Just be nice and have faith in our leaders!"  I'm shocked because the decision came out of the blue, on the heels of some conciliatory words from those leaders.  I'm really shocked because it feels so cruel to sanction the children and hope that someday they will disavow their family.  I care because I know there are people struggling mightily to balance their love of someone gay (or actually being gay) with their love of the gospel and they just lost that balancing act.  While being in line with church policy and affecting a fraction of the church's membership, it is such a loud statement, unprecedented in its clarity, that those people are not wanted in the Church.  I empathize a lot with that fraction of the Church, having struggled with my own faith.  I have a Mormon heritage; growing up in that community shaped who I am and I don't regret any of it.  It's easy to see why gay members would want their families to grow up with the same things.  

It is incredibly dismissive to tell others to "just be nice" when they've been called apostate and had their most important relationship placed near murder in a list of sins.  (And they've seen just how many of their Mormon friends still don't like gay people.)  There was a collective howl of pain among my friends still clinging to the Church somehow, but the pain has been re-labeled as "meanness."   Calling the pain (or doubt) I feel illegitimate is perhaps the most hurtful because I've heard it so often; it's what I heard every time I had an issue with a doctrine and praying the doubt away doesn't work for me.  We (progressive Mormons, post-Mormons, ex-Mormons, gay Mormons) are crying because the decision to exclude gay families fits into a clear, continuing narrative: we are not welcome.  Please let us be sad about it.  I understand the paradox religious leader’s face in trying to remain steadfast in their faith while also being relevant to evolving societal needs. But this is cruel.  

Few of us know how to talk about the feels and it seriously impedes conversations about faith.  It took me hours to write this and I've been thinking about it for seven years now.  I've started to write it many times and gone on to write about events that were hurtful.  But I've come up with my own personal strategy for dialogue, developed from careful observations of my boyfriend’s family (who are seriously good listeners).  Ask real questions, LISTEN to the answer, wait, think, and then only say something if needs to be said.  It's easier to ask questions poorly, only listen to come up with a counter argument, and then say something [hurtful/useless] immediately.  Good conversations about complex issues don't happen online and they don't happen fast (maybe the biggest issue for me and my family of hot-heads).  There have been a lot of anecdotes* slung around that fit well into our confirmation biases, but very little that actually encourages understanding and empathy.  I'm sad for the future of the Church because so many empathetic members just left, leaving a lot of voices who will stand up today and say "Good riddance."  

I may never stop caring about the Church because my family is there and I will love them forever.  I cried until I couldn't anymore because I struggle with things that come between me and the place that holds my family.  I know that while they work to process this terrible decision, they also worry about my salvation.  But the pain and hostility I've felt when members discuss feminism and homosexuality make me feel like I should distance myself from the Church.  I'm so tired for being rejected.  

*I must mention my Internet pet peeve: "Well said."  I won’t read anything on the Internet with the tagline "Well said".  It's probably not well said, just bolder (read: more rude) than the re-poster dare be or a stupid meme.  I care more about what you think in your own words.