Alaska Bucket List Adventure

 Most people know what a difficult time I had adjusting to Alaska when I arrived last summer.  It didn't help that I was coming off a quarter of virtual teaching/directing and a summer of working five days a week in 90 degree heat under Covid restrictions while planning my move.  The 5 day marathon drive from Colorado with my cat and an overstuffed car also awesome. I had expected National Geographic--I needed National Geographic after half a year of 2020--and I got Seattle. :P

In January, I decided to book a trip to do all the things I expected from Alaska.  I remembered when we had been in Seward in 2019 it was supposed to have views of everything I wanted.  When we were there, it was foggy and raining, so I thought it was worth revisiting. 

The original National Geographic Alaska centerfold I'd seen many years ago was a kayaker paddling at the bottom of a tall, calving glacier. I googled "kayaking" and "glaciers" and found Sunny Cove Kayaking.  They had a full day tour featuring a half day of kayaking in to the Holgate Glacier (a tall, actively calving glacier) and a half day wildlife cruise promising every kind of Alaskan animal possible.  Neat.

I did some research and found out June might be the best time to go because there are less tourists.  It's also when the humpbacks and puffins return and when halibut season opens. 

Orca Beach Cabin

Originally ,we planned to stay at Seward Military Resort, but they were having problems with their reservation system.  I had seen a picture of this tiny little beach cabin right on the bay on Instagram, so I googled where it was and reserved us the Orca Beach cabin at Miller's Landing.  As luck would have it, Miller's Landing also had halibut fishing tours.  Blake's family are huge fisher people (what is a gender neutral term for fisherman?) and I knew he would enjoy that tour despite his lack of visible joy :P. All of a sudden we had a packed weekend--a full day cruise and kayak starting at 7 on Saturday, and a full day halibut tour starting at 7:30 on Sunday.  

Views from inside.

When we checked in to Miller's Landing, the cabin looked exactly like I'd hoped, except that it was really close to the other sites and cabins.  It also had two large windows and a patio door with no curtains.  Aside from the neverending daylight, we also had neighbors on both sides and people walking all over in front of the patio door.  We rigged some makeshift curtains for the side windows with towels and bungee cords and used one of the extra blankets and a chair to block most of the patio door. We aren't sure if Friday was a lot of people's first night in Alaska or what, but it was complete chaos.  Loud music, screaming babies and children running all over our patio at 11 p.m. when we had to get up at 6 for our tour.  I was disappointed and crabby that my beautiful Instagram vision was a disaster (as they
usually are).

The ladies next to us loudly got up at 5, so I did too, making an excessive amount of noise myself.  I was super crabby going into town for the cruise/kayak and worried about being on a boat.  I don't do great on choppy water, but it didn't seem windy so I took my Dramamine and hoped for calm. 

We had just gotten out into the middle of the bay when there were shouts of "whales!" For the next ten minutes, we followed 2-4 humpbacks chomping fish out of the water, slapping their tails, and rolling in the water.  It was a fabulous way to start the day, though everything happened much too fast to take photos.  I started to feel a little bit better. 

We stopped along the way to view Bear glacier, some sea lions, and harbor seals.  Little puffins floated independently in the bigger waves. Eventually, we arrived at the beach at the mouth of the bay and suited up in kayaks.  It's early season, and it was pretty evident our guides were still feeling each other and the routine out. I got yelled at when I went to go pee behind a bush because they thought I was

Crazy headwind paddling towards the glacier.

going to get eaten by a bear.  I wrote our guides a good review, except that to be respectful that not all their clients are idiots from some land locked state who want to pet dangerous wildlife.  I do wonder if they had someone get attacked by a bear, as they were obsessed about not letting us get more than ten feet from them.  It required a lot of deep breathing.

We had some easy kayaking to start, observing some super adorable harbor seals who looked at us with the biggest eyes and cutest little spots and watching the numerous spring waterfalls down the sides of the cliffs. When we turned to paddle in to the glacier we got an incredible headwind that had both Blake and I working.  It was like white water rafting as the waves we were paddling into were so big, I was completely soaked after just one.  I didn't have my rain jacket on as it had been hot before then.  They stopped us to give us directions to land at a different beach, and we all got blown back into an iceberg and stuck.  We did get to see the glacier calve (lose big chunks into the water) twice and heard a lot of loud grumbling and rumbling as it settled. 

We had a wonderful healthy lunch they provided us (they even made mine soy free and veggie), which was one of my favorite parts of the tour.  They also had lots of snacks and drinks on the boat, so it was a lot less for us to worry about. 

We got back on the boat after lunch.  We'd seen most of the wildlife already, but then our captain said

Beautiful lunch spot with three different faces of the glacier. 

he had a tip about some orcas.  I've seen orcas in captivity, but  never in the wild.  We spent about 20 minutes chasing down leads, and eventually we found them in a tiny little cove with emerald green water.  They were a family of about 4, and they got very close to the boat.  The first mate had a device she put in the water so we could hear the clicks and squeaks they use to talk to each other.  It was amazing.  When they moved off out of the cove, we turned around and there was a plethora of boats behind us.  Two giant touring ships, and about ten different fishing boats of all sizes.  They had all come to watch the orcas too, which meant it must be a very special treat to see them.

When we were almost back to the bay, we ran into a pod of Dall's porpoises.  Porpoises are basically fat dolphins and Dall's porpoises look like miniature orcas.  They were super fast, zipping all around from side to side and in and out of the water.  

We got back to Seward very satisfied with our day. We grabbed food and beer from the grocery store, as well as tin foil and tape.  We fixed the windows properly with foil and built a campfire to eat dinner.  The cabin has one of the most amazing campfire spots I've ever seen, and the tide came right up to the rocks in the night.  We fell asleep to the whooshing of the waves, which is way better than my ocean sound machine.  Saturday night was a much calmer night than Friday, and we were grateful for the sleep. 

Broad daylight campfires at 10 p.m.

Sunday was fishing day.  We were the only two that weren't part of a large group, so we got the smaller fishing boat that only seats six.  It was very crowded in the cab, and as we got out of the bay, we went very fast and it was incredibly bumpy.  I started to worry I wasn't going to be able to make it to where we were going, as my whole body from my head to toes started to tingle.  We slowed down to go by Chiswell Islands, which was on my bucket list as a nesting ground for puffins.  We were literally surrounded by flocks of puffins floating everywhere and flying through the air.  I smiled big and was grateful for the break from the bumpy ride.  We also passed sea lions sunning themselves on the rocks, and a few porpoises jumped on their way to porpoise-y things. 

I'm traditionally not a great fisherwoman.  The last time I went fly fishing I hooked my own head with the hook.  To be fair, it was really windy, but still. I had missed the captain's explanation of what we were doing because I was trying not to be ill by focusing on mountains, and I missed part of his again while outside because we were facing away from land and all I could see were giant waves rolling towards us.  I started to think maybe this was a very bad life choice. 

We began by fishing for halibut around a depth of 300 feet.  There's a whole lot of line involved in getting to 300 feet, and even just reeling it in without a fish on it is tiring.  I caught the first fish of the day, an arrow something or other that isn't edible. After that, it went downhill for me. :P

Blake caught our only halibut, an orange rock fish and a pea cod.  He also caught his limit of rock fish.  Fishing for rock fish is a lot faster, and you have to take the rod out of the holder.  The rods themselves are really heavy, and I was tired from kayaking the day before. I thought I might just lose the whole business into the ocean. We got about 8 fish in about 15 minutes, it was super crazy.  I did catch my

Catching rock fish

limit of rock fish, but only because they are super easy to catch.  Everyone else ate when we were moving from place to place, but that doesn't work for me, so I declared my own lunch break after the rock fish craziness and felt a lot better after some chips and an iced coffee.

We moved on to another side of the gulf to continue to try for halibut.  A thick fog was rolling in and we couldn't see anything around us. We did get bites as soon as our lines hit bottom, so though we didn't catch anything, we had a lot to focus on.  We missed about 20 fish, and spent a lot of time reeling up our lines to change the bait.  Our captain was really frustrated none of us were getting any halibut, and he tried really hard to find us good places.  

However, my highlight of the trip had nothing to do with fishing.  The bites had slowed for a bit, the fog misted all around us, and a pod of Dall's porpoises swam in super fast circles around the boat for about 5 minutes.  They were really adorable, fast and so close we could see their whole bodies under water. 

Having been on the boat all day, my body had acclimated so the ride back was much smoother.  We pulled back into the bay and our captain and first mate filleted our catch for us.  We ate some of the rock fish yesterday, and they did a great job filleting in such a way there were exactly zero bones in the fish. Blake liked the tour so much, he said he would "do it again".  High praise.

We stocked the cooler with ice, caffeinated up and got in the car to drive back home.  We crossed everything remaining on our Alaska bucket list off with this trip and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for an amazing Alaskan experience.  

Link for Miller's Landing (camping, cabins, RV, tours, water taxis):https://www.millerslandingak.com/

    $120 a night for the Orca beach cabin which is a bit steep considering you have to pay for showers 

       and make your own curtains

     Including tax, it was $654 for two people for a full day combo fishing tour including halibut. 

      Bring own lunch/snacks and rain gear/boots.  You take home what you catch, they filet for you.

Link for Sunny Cove Kayaking (kayak and wildlife tours): https://www.sunnycove.com/

      $900 for two people for the Grand Day full day tour (half day kayaking, half day wildlife tour)

        Small boat seats only twelve guests so it can maneuver easily to find wildlife.  Lunch, snacks and

        and any gear needed included in the price

Link for Seward Brewery: https://www.sewardbrewery.com/  Go early, no reservations, does have         crowlers.

The Happy Runner

Recently, David and Megan Roche came to speak at Colorado Running Company here in Colorado Springs.  I've never been to a book talk before, and I wasn't sure I needed another running book to sit in my book basket and glare at me resentfully because I couldn't bring myself to read it in my current burned out state. However, the event description about not running for results and finding your running why kept popping up in my brain in the hours before the event. Slapping a hat on my wet hair and throwing on a flannel, I decided to make the drive up to hear what they had to say.

St. Louis Marathon 2010

At first, their packaged line about not running for results met with a lot of mental eye rolling.  Sure, you can say that, because you all are elite runners, I snarkily whispered to them. How can you say you don't care about results when winning literally pays your bills?

But after working through the book, I began to reflect on my own running why, and the races I actually enjoyed.  Not a single race I had a specific goal for stands out in my brain.  Going way back to when I still ran roads, the only road  marathon I actually enjoyed was the St. Louis marathon--after 6 months of twice a week physical therapy it was my first race back post broken foot/IT band trauma.  It is still to date the best marathon I have ever run.  I was just so happy to be back out on a race course, I ran exactly like the Roche's advise in their book--like a kid at recess.  I was shocked when I looked at the time and realized I'd run the race so fast.

Everyone gets finish tape in Japan, so you feel really awesome. :P

My first baby ultra, a 60K on the Noto Hanto peninsula of Japan, was the same way.  I signed up for the race because I was pissed off I'd been kicked out of the race I really wanted to run, the Madarao 50K.  I figured I was already trained up, and who didn't want a nice vacation on the beach?  The course ran all along the peninsula shore, with cool breezes and the sound of the ocean.  I was the only foreigner running the race, so people kept talking, cheering and encouraging me the entire way.  Aside from my 50K flip out at my ex-husband because he wanted to know why, as I was jogging up a large hill that was not on the elevation profile, I was not happier to see him--I smiled more during this race than any I've ever run.  Again, it's also my PR for races longer than a marathon. 

So of course I then circled back to the catalyst of my running crisis--my DNF at this past year's Run Rabbit Run 100. I've been going round and round in circles trying to figure out what went wrong and how to move forward.  Now, I realize I never should have started the race.

RRR 50 September 2016

My first 50 mile race was Run Rabbit Run in 2016.  I wasn't properly trained for it, and when I finished anyway, with three minutes to spare before the cut off time, I was so stoked about the potential of what the human body could do I immediately decided I wanted to do the 100.  I had a stable job, marriage, house and peer group.  It seemed like an ideal time to commit myself to the amount of mental and physical training such a race required.  I set my sights on 2018 and put training plans in motion.

When the race registration opened in late 2017, I was living in the guest bedroom of our house, looking for my own apartment and researching how to file divorce papers. I had had to change jobs after my school was threatened with closure to a school 25 minutes away in a position I vehemently disliked.  Nothing in my life was stable and I was going to lose everything I'd worked for up to that point. 

I felt like a failure, and there was no way I was going to give up on one more thing.  I defiantly signed up for the 100 anyway, determined to prove I could do it all--get divorced, work multiple jobs to pay off my divorce debt, move to a new community, and train for one of the biggest distances in ultra running.  I began recruiting pacers, making a plan to get a job I didn't hate, and then sidetracked everything by getting involved in a bad relationship with an acquaintance.

Discovering I took second place in my age group at the
Summer Round Up when the dialog in my head the entire race
was "this course sucks, my time is slow and I suck".

After digging myself out of the rebound rabbit hole, I ran to chase down my demons.  I joined every running group in town, pushing myself to go faster and harder, and posted race times faster than I had even in my twenties.  I lost fifteen pounds, and struggled with sleeping and anxiety.  Once I started placing at races, I started to care.  I looked at the race results posted before I left the race, and beautiful runs turned into bitter disappointments when the numbers didn't look how I wanted them to. Running became a weapon--I might suck at relationships, money management, my job and life--but I can take you out at a race even if it kills me.

Going in to the summer, I tackled mountains with surgical precision.  I refused to let anyone join me on  my mountain adventures because they would slow me down.  I clocked more miles and vert than I ever thought I could, and checked them off like everything else on my very full to-do list.  I never stopped to look at the views, I resented hikers and slower runners in my way, and I complained about "having" to go to the mountains for another couple days.  Looking back at the numerous mountains I summitted this past year, I don't remember a single one I enjoyed.  My focus even during these runs was still negative--I'm not fast enough, it's not far enough, this scree field is bull^&*(, @#$@ these @#%@^ boulders that are going to have me injured.

The pacing "manual".

Going in to the fall, dragging the stress from a new administrative school year position I had been working since July in addition to my full time summer job, I prepared for the race like a final exam, complete with organized study guides for my crew.  The day before the race, I don't think I cracked a smile, being all business with last minute logistics and confirmations.  Race morning, my crew danced around happy and snapping pics, while I rolled my eyes and judged the outfits of the other runners around me. 

The Roches' say it's the process of running that is important, not the finish line.  When I toed the line at Run Rabbit, I had done enough ultras to know that you need a mantra to get you through the dark moments (which in this race, would end up involving 20 miles of puking and dry heaving).  My mantra was still anger--I was running this race to prove to everyone that I was still badass, despite everything that had happened, and to "get back" at everyone that had hurt me over the last year.  I was still trying to run down my demons--but this time it was a much longer run.

I once had a student that was so angry, he would hurt himself, me, and his friends.  He would destroy the classroom, breaking anything that got near him, and this went on for months.  One day, he sat in my lap and I let him beat me up.  After about 20 minutes, he abruptly changed from enraged hysteria to deep, guttural sobs. I have never seen a human in so much pain.  All the anger had finally given way to what he was really feeling.

Anger almost always masks pain.  Pain is weak.  It is ok to show anger, but it is weak to show pain.  When I texted my crew to come get me at the aid station, after having been cut off for hours but unable to find a way off the course, I was confused and numb.  I didn't know what had gone wrong, and I felt like this was just another failure in a long line of recent failures.  Life sucks. Shrug.

Looking back now, if I would have crossed the finish at Run Rabbit, it wouldn't have eradicated my demons.  In fact, it may have created more.  I used running as a way to punish myself for my failure and mistakes.  I hid my insecurities and fear behind training plans and age group places.  I told myself: "You must run fast and hard because you must prove you are a runner.  You must run a 100 miler because you must prove you are strong.  You are nothing until you prove yourself worthy."  I am grateful to Run Rabbit, because I finally ran out all of my anger, and opened the door to pain--just like my student.

The Roches' also use the mantra "I am enough".  I never knew how hard this is to say to oneself until I tried it on for size.  Not only do I need to find joy in the process of running, but I need to find joy in myself. 

So I've been staying home, reading, doing yoga and breathing, and trying to rediscover who I am now.  What is my running "why"?  What are my goals?  I don't know.  But, it's a process.

Trying to be secure in myself while also a part of the larger whole
is my goal for 2019.  Also, how come I had to be speak no evil? :P 

Five Take Aways from a Long Race

People have been asking me for a race recap of the Across the Years 24 hour race in Phoenix, and I've been dragging my feet in writing it.  I've been through several different incarnations, but the bottom line is--I'm not really feeling it.  I do believe your attitude affects everything in life, and I've had a bad feeling about 2019 for months.  Trying hard not to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, I think I've gone too far the other direction in trying to make things positive that just aren't. 

For example--

1.  I am not longer interested in competitive, goal obsessed people.

The mountains don't judge.  That's why
I spend so much time there.

They always say it's the things in other people that are most like the things you dislike in yourself that drive you crazy.  This has always been true in my relationships.  I've worked for years to relax, enjoy myself, and not worry so much about stupid stuff like did I actually run 8 miles or did I run 7.8? (Yes, I used to be that person running an extra lap around the parking lot to get the .2.  So much eye rolling.)  Getting more involved in the running community here has made me feel pressured to change who I am and how I approach my training.  I feel like I am less than when I don't meet these expectations.  I've already lost running partners to other, faster, people--which tells me relationships I thought were friendships, weren't.  They were acquaintances of convenience--we run the same pace, and you'll keep me company--versus I actually like and appreciate your presence.

We all had state flags on our bibs,
teaching me I do not know any
state flags.

Meeting people at the 24 hour race, I found lots of people who were struggling with exactly the same mental shift I am.  People who used to be fast, or used to be somehow "better" than they are now, who are "settling" for doing a 24 hour race because it's "all they can do anymore".  So many people I talked with talked about the races they used to run, and the times they used to post--rather than appreciating the fact they had been out on a one mile flat loop for four days straight at age 70.  Nobody wanted to talk about the races or runs they'd done lately.  They all felt like they needed to make excuses for themselves hobbling around a track in 27 degree weather after 13 hours of rain like that was somehow an easy thing to be doing.  What is it about the running community that says there is only one way to be talented--and that is to be fast? 

2.  Don't underestimate the pain a perfectly flat course can inflict.

I don't train on flat surfaces because it's mind-numbingly boring.  I'm not sure how many beer-dulled brain cells I called on to come to the conclusion that because the course was flat, I could therefore run further and faster than a typical ultra.  Wrong.  In an ultra, we actually pretty much only run downhill and maybe a few rolling hills.  Even then, we are navigating rocks, roots, gullies, and water--using all different muscles and never really fatiguing any one part of the body in particular.  I've never actually run--continuously--probably longer than a marathon, despite my longer distance finishes. 

So much rain and mud.

I felt great most of my race, though I took a break at mile 27 for ten minutes to try and dry off and add more waterproof layers, and then I took a longer break when it started to pour around mile 40.  I'd jogged continuously the entire time.  After I came back from trying to dry off my sole pair of shoes (because who thought it would be pouring rain in Arizona?) both of my IT bands had locked up, and my left hip flexor refused to move.  I had to do one entire lap around the track physically lifting up my left leg with my hands because I couldn't get the muscles and tendons to work at all. 

*Side note, you know when people start saying things like "You got this" and "Keep it up" (things I hadn't heard at all before this lap)  you know you must really look like shit. :P 

I managed to walk another 13 miles with the company of some interesting folks, but after everyone left post new year's toast, I decided 53 miles was enough for me too.

3.  It's important to know your "why".

Why did I do a 24 hour race?  I don't know.  It seemed like a good idea at the time. 

Why did I try for a 100 miler?  I don't know.  It seemed like the next logical thing to do after 50.  Actually, that's not true.  I was feeling crappy about myself, and I wanted to do something amazing to impress other people.  It had nothing to do with impressing myself.

Sadly, one glass of sparkling wine
is not enough motivation.

Never having been much of sprinter, I can't speak to shorter distance running.  But distance running is so much mental.  As I was dragging myself around the track New Year's Day, dialing down my goals from 100 miles (bahahahahaha) to 70 miles to a 100K and eventually to more than 50--you have to know your why.  Berating myself for contemplating going back to my Grandma's nice warm house with a shower instead of walking around for another few hours to get 100K, I asked myself--what am I trying to prove?  Why does it matter if I get 50 miles or 2 miles or 8 billion miles?  Why am I out here?  Is this really how I want to start off 2019?  Not being able to answer any of those questions, I decided to opt for a warm bed and a shower.

My very first ultra in Japan,
and my best time to date.

4.  I can "fake it" to about 50 miles.

50 miles is where it really starts to fall apart for me.  Hardcore.  Like pain, and hunger and vertigo and nausea and all the things unpleasant.  It's a wall I've yet to get past.  I don't have a strategy to do so either.  So I'm happy my A race for this year is a 100K.  That's nice so many other people are in a place they can do 100 miles.  But I"m not going to feel bad about myself because that's not something I'm capable of yet.  Someday.  But not anytime soon.  And that's ok.

5.  I'll be doing more miserable training in the short term to hopefully make my long term goals less miserable.

Not actually running for long distances hurt me (literally) in my 24 hour race.  I was used to mountain terrain, and my body objected vehemently to the repetitive pounding of running the same one mile loop over and over again for hours.  My goal this training block leading up to my summer races is instead of doing back to back mountain days, I will do one long mountain day followed by an 18-25 mile run on flat.  I'm hoping this will make my body more adaptable to all kinds of conditions and terrain, and make my race days less pain and suffering. 

Most of you know I'm in a weird place with running right now, and I have been since my September DNF.  Instead of clearing up some of the things I've been pondering for some time, my 24 hour experience just made me more confused.  But you've got to shake up the cereal box to get to the prize at the bottom, so I'm hoping reflection will bring me to a healthier place overall.

I raced up and down Observation Point, but I stopped
to enjoy the views as well.

Feisty February

February has started out with a bang.  I put the kabosh on my student's disrespectful behavior and bullying, pushed back against my supervisors, have stayed firm in my relationship standards and now I'm standing up for myself personally.

My mama is the best mama, and I would have been
 lost without her support.  She knows how to dance in
the rain--literally, as this picture proves. lol

Recently, it was brought to my attention that a lot of my acquaintances were taking "sides" between myself and my ex-husband.  One of the most frustrating things I've found in the whole divorce process is the lack of understanding from others.  People have this idea that people who are divorced loathe their former spouses and are now traipsing through the daisies happily celebrating their newfound freedom.  That, or their divorce and marital happiness is somehow "contagious" and that by merely being in your presence they might "catch it" and find themselves out on the streets.  The third camp thinks it's inappropriate to even be discussing relationships in public, and have probably quit reading this post already.

Giant eye-roll emoji to all three of those. My ex-husband and I do not hate each other, and as far as either of us are concerned, there aren't any "sides". Relationships change over time.  Sometimes those changes bring people closer and sometimes they bring people further apart.  It takes courage and self awareness to realize when it's time to end one version of a relationship because it is no longer the best way for two people to be interacting.

Other people's perceptions of divorce made me woefully under prepared for how to deal with mine.  I did not realize it meant a change in my very identity--I used to be a wife, now I'm not; I used to be married, now I'm single; I used to have financial security, now I don't; I used to have a guaranteed someone to call for help, now I'm on my own.

I was unaware of how badly I was coping with this identity change until I ended a bad rebound/friendship at the end of December.  I took a month to "detox" from men and didn't have any contact with anyone I'd had a relationship with for the entirety of January.  It forced me to see things I did not want to see, and admit the real reasons I was so upset at my former friend.

I know how to make fire.  Don't mess with me.

 I'd met this friend when I first came to Colorado three years ago; and he seemed trustworthy and likable.  We'd met a couple times after races, but really didn't know each other much beyond following each other on social media.  In the fall, he started talking to me more regularly and commenting on my social media posts.  We started running together and found out we were both ending/had ended relationships.  Things started escalating in the usual way, and our friendship evolved.

This isn't the forum to talk about the gritty details, but things went badly for several months as I tried to figure out what was going on with my former friend who didn't want to be in a relationship but still wanted all the benefits.  We fought about numerous things, finally culminating in finding out from a mutual friend that he had been with his girlfriend most of the time he'd been seeing me, and had kept me in the dark, on the side, on purpose.

 I suspected for months he was with his girlfriend. I was given so many warning signs about the kind of guy he was before we even got together. But I ignored everything, because I was lonely and sad. And he knew that too.

The nicest thing I can say is he's a bad guy.  He probably has some serious trauma in his life he hasn't dealt with that is preventing him from healthy relationships.  I feel bad for him, and I wish him healing.

But I also feel passionate dislike, because I hate who I became when I was with him.  Never in my life have I allowed anyone to treat me so disrespectfully.  I broke every standard I ever had for people, much less personal relationships, and I behaved like the weak-willed, spineless, cowardly women I've loathed my entire life.  Thinking of him makes me want to throw my phone across the room--not because of him, but because his existence is a reminder of my own humiliating behavior.

How I feel when I think of my former friend. :P

People talk about forgiveness in relationships.  I have no need to forgive my former friend, and I'm certain he does not need it. There are probably reasons he behaved like he did in which I am not interested.  I'm a firm believer in karma.  If he continues this behavior with others, his life will be a bummer.  I hope maybe he learned as much from this experience as I did and considers making changes of his own.

Who I need to forgive is myself.  I've always been proud of my independence and strong will, and my behavior the second half of 2017 makes me want to bury my head in the sand and never come out.  I'm embarrassed for how I behaved with my former friend, but I'm also embarrassed I wasn't strong enough to handle my divorce without falling apart into a million pieces.

Some people might see this post as entirely self serving.  And it most definitely is therapeutic for me to get all of this out in the open, whether people want to hear it or not.

But mostly, I wish I'd had someone to write this post a couple months ago so I didn't have to feel so alone.  If I would have known there were others who had struggled like I had, if I would have had some hope and inspiration--maybe I would have been strong enough to make some better choices.  I hope someone who needs to hear an experience like mine is able to find this post, and it helps them on their journey.

I am enough.  And so are you.  Hugs. :)

You get a hut and you get a hut and... nope, no hut for you

Colorado has an extensive hut system, and I've been trying to get a reservation since I moved to Colorado three years ago.  They've actually instituted a lottery system where members can put in reservations for hut trips and "winners" are randomly selected.  It's a far cry from the plentiful and welcoming huts in Japan!

Everyone else had helpfully packed down the trail for me, so snowshoes
were not necessary.

While I was in Minnesota, I decided I didn't want to spend the entire last week of winter break sitting at my apartment turning into a crazy cat lady, so I randomly checked for any open spot at huts for that week.  To my surprise, there were a TON of openings.  After researching avalanche danger and trailhead information (I don't have snow tires or chains), I took the last available spot at the Section House, just outside of Breckenridge.

I asked my friend to borrow his snowshoes for the 6.5 mile trek in to the hut, and loaded up my pack with way too much stuff.  I could have done without the snowshoes and I didn't need nearly as much water either, since we had ample snow and a pot to melt it at the hut.  Being used to super light packs as a trail runner, I felt like I was carrying a small person on my back, and was about ready to start dragging it behind me when I got about a mile from the hut.  The wind had gotten insane, and I felt like if I got blown over I might just stay and sleep there for the night instead.

So much space!  But don't get near my single son... oy lady.

Finally, I arrived at the hut and stumbled in to a full cabin of strangers staring at me.  They asked if I was alone, and I said yes.  A helpful lady took me upstairs and showed me where the available beds were.  She gave me a weird lecture about how she didn't want me sleeping in the same room as her single son, so I took the bed as far away as possible from everyone.

I settled in and contemplated taking a hike to one of the smaller peaks in the area.  Everyone but me had brought their skis and skins, and a couple brave souls ventured out to test the surrounding terrain.  After hearing their stories on the radio, I decided I would stay in and enjoy the fire instead. 

My cabin mates were two different families, both of whom came well stocked with a veritable grocery store of food.  Literally, one family had pulled a sled full of food behind them on their trek up.  While they were cooking their real food meals, I munched on my cheese and crackers because I don't drag sleds of food behind me.  Nope.  No way in hell.

Sunset

However, once they pulled out the whisky and wine, I thought perhaps a sled full of alcohol would be a different story. :P  They were kind enough to offer both their drink and food, and I did partake of the whiskey.  Several of us popped outside to catch the sunset, and then whiled away the time with Jenga.

The cabins are amazing, with a wood burning stove, sink, pot to boil water, an actual stove/oven for cooking and dishes, pots and pans.  It costs only $30 a night to stay, and with most campsites costing about that much these days, a great bargain!  The Section House is also the oldest mountain hut in Colorado; making the list of historic places.  On both sides of the pass it has easy access and ample parking, and the hikes up are not particularly strenuous with no avalanche danger.  Though ridiculously windy due to the exposure, that exposure provides lovely views and a sense of spaciousness.  Just looking out the window at the hut is beautiful, and there is a ton of space inside the hut as well--so even if you are staying with a bunch of strangers it's nowhere near the awkwardness of side by side futons or even the close quarters of Barr Camp on Pikes Peak.

The Section House and Boreas Pass

I left early the next day because I had a work training at 3 p.m.  I realized I'd lost my ID somewhere on the hike up, so I took it a little slower trying to peer around and see if I could find it.  I decided to wear my snowshoes, even though I didn't need them, as they were too heavy to carry, and I made much better time on the way down.  When I arrived at the parking lot, a nice guy from the next car over asked if I'd put my ID on my car as a guarantee because I wasn't supposed to park there.  I responded with a confused, what?  He pointed out my ID was tucked under my back windshield wiper.  I literally screamed, jumping up and down with joy.  The guy took it in stride, and asked if I had meant to do that.  I said no, I lost my ID somewhere on the trek up and had no idea how someone knew that was my car and my ID.  He asked about trail and hut conditions, and we had a nice chat until his group was ready to hike up.

Leaving Breckenridge, I was smiling from ear to ear.  My trip was everything I'd hoped it'd be... welcoming people, great views, and the camaraderie of people who enjoy doing the exact same thing I'm doing.  I took the scenic route home, enjoying the views of the surrounding 14ers and other mountains, arriving home in time to do laundry and repack for my trip to Barr Camp for the New Year.

Mountains are the shit. :P

Sarah's Southwest Sojourn

When my aunt kindly invited me to join them for Thanksgiving at my grandfather's funeral in September, I began to formulate the idea of a southwest road trip.  When I realized I still had a valid National Parks pass, I extended my trip and Sarah's Southwest Sojourn 2017 was born. 😊

Running at Cathedral Rock, Sedona, AZ

The itinerary looked like this:
Sunday night--stay in Pueblo, drop off cats
Monday--drive to Sedona
Tuesday--Sedona
Wednesday--drive to Phoenix
Thursday--Thanksgiving in Phoenix
Friday--drive to Grand Canyon, then spend night in Zion
Saturday--run Zion, drive to Moab
Sunday--home

I got off to an early start and arrived in Sedona by 1 p.m.  However, as someone who is allergic to crowds and tourists, pretty much all of Sedona is not the place to be.  I had no idea it was such an expensive, frou frou and crowded area...it's supposed to be known for it's spiritual healing energy and vortexes. 

This very gross creek was my shower for three days (it was
also freaking freezing both outside and in the water).

Looking for a gas station Tuesday morning after a cold night sleeping in my car, I discovered Sedona is also the kind of place that disguises all their "normal" buildings in frou frou pretty building materials.  I almost drove past the station because it looked like some sort of fancy strip mall.  Rolling up in my dusty Subaru of which I can barely see out the back window, with a sleeping bag bed in the back and dirty clothes, water bottles, shoes and towels strewn everywhere, I'm surrounded by $60,000 Rubicons, Land Rovers, a Mercedes and one smart car kind of thing. 

I realize I'm wearing running tights covered in orange poofy ski pants, grey wool socks and Uggs clogs, a blue running hoodie with a nordic print ski sweater over it, a hand knit hat, and no makeup.  I haven't showered in two days.  When I walk in the gas station, literally every head in the place turns to stare at me.  I use the bathroom, buy two jugs of water, a toothbrush and coffee.  People are still staring. The girl at the register looks at me pityingly and gives me my coffee for free.  I suddenly realize these people probably think I'm homeless and living out of my car.  This is not a place for dirtbag trail runners like me. 

With not much better luck on the trails, I decide to throw in the towel after 18 miles instead of the 30 I'd planned.  I drive to the adjacent town of Cottonwood to buy firewood, strike out on decent beer so settle for a bottle of Prosecco, and grab 3 packets of M&Ms as an after thought.

Life, in this moment, was perfect. 

Having never before in my whole life ever made a campfire by myself, I'm a bit nervous. Years of *watching* campfires taught me you need to get a fire burning hot enough to light the logs on fire.  So I go on a tinder gathering mission, and rip up half of my maps and travel brochures.  I light a variety of things on fire in my tinder pile, and luckily have a light breeze to help me fan it.  All of a sudden it goes "whoopf", the logs light on fire, and I have a campfire.  In about three minutes.  I made fire!

I don't have a glass for my wine, so I pop the cork and drink it straight out of the bottle.  Chomping on M&Ms, watching the sun set, warming myself by my campfire and chugging Prosecco, my campground neighbors pop over bearing fresh Thai food and beer.  We sit together, chatting, eating, drinking, until the fire goes out. 

***********************

A rare moment of solitude on Camelback mountain.

Arriving in Phoenix Wednesday, I'm grateful for the hospitality extended to me by my father's family.  However, it was more difficult than I thought to have to repeatedly talk about 1. why I don't have a relationship with my father and 2. my recent divorce.  Feeling a little over socialized, I bailed on the turkey trot plans for Thursday morning, and found myself in a conga line of families and couples headed up Camelback mountain instead.  Seeing every other person with someone else on the trail made me realize this was the first holiday I'd been single in seven years.  Why did it bother me so much to be officially alone, when I always did so many things by myself anyway? 

************************

Past the tour groups, sprinting down into the canyon

I rolled out of Phoenix at 4:30 a.m. Friday morning en route to the Grand Canyon.  I wasn't overly thrilled about the prospect, but figured it was a logical stop on the way to Zion.  I'd seen magical pictures of Zion for the last year on Instagram and it was on my bucket list of places to go.  The Grand Canyon just seemed like a bunch of rock and a canyon... we have plenty of both in Colorado.

Google maps was insistent that the road to the North Rim was closed for winter (it wasn't), so I decided last minute to hit the South Rim and pray I was early enough to avoid the crowds.  Having absolutely no plan whatsoever, as I had planned to run the North not the South, I headed out on the paved Rim trail and hoped for the best.

Plateau Point

After running a little under 3 miles, I arrived at the Bright Angel trailhead.  It said it went down into the canyon, so I figured, what the heck, and headed down.  After blasting past about 20 hiking groups, I finally found myself alone, cruising silently in the dust.  I could see a trail in the middle of a puddle of sunshine way down below, and I decided I wanted to go there.  

Arriving at Indian Garden, about 4.5 miles down, I saw a trail for Plateau Point.  Mentally reviewing the image in my mind of where I wanted to go, I decided it looked like it was on a plateau.  I turned onto the narrow trail and crossed my fingers I was right.  Looking back up at the canyon walls, I wasn't eager to go much further, as I'd already descended about 3000 feet and still had the extra miles on the Rim trail up top to tack on after ascending.

I was right, and I arrived at the end of the trail in literal awe.  You could not see the canyon from the Bright Angel trail, and everywhere I turned was a picture out of National Geographic.  Grinning stupidly, I turned in circles, taking a video, pictures, selfies... 

************************

I made it to Zion that night, but due to a navigational misunderstanding and lack of efficient planning, was unable to see any of the Instagram worthy sights I'd hoped to find.  Not overly fussed, as I'll be back in April for a 50K, I decided to skip my trip to Moab and burn through the night to get back to Colorado. I couldn't face another night sleeping in my car and was feeling a little "road tripped" out.  I was 113 miles from home when I blew a tire outside the tunnel on I-70 and despite my best efforts (and cussing) could not manage to change it myself.

While Zion was a disappointment, the campground was
top notch with showers and wifi!

Reverse Culture Shock

As most of you know, like many people, I've been taking a facebook break in the aftermath of the election.  But this election has also been a huge bump in my personal road to reconciling the person I was in the U.S. with the person I was in Japan.

To be absolutely clear: this post is about me.  It's not about you.  It's not about your political views.  It's not an invitation for criticism or an argument.  I need to get a few things off my chest, and I would appreciate your respect in letting me do so.

See what I did there?  That's been the biggest adjustment to being back in the U.S.  All the opinions. All the time. About everything. And the arguing. And the fighting.  I can't seem to accomplish the simplest thing without fighting every second of every day for it. It's exhausting.

Before I left for Japan, I was overworked, stressed and judged myself on the quality of my work.  Work was always the first priority, and as a teacher, that's considered a positive.  However, when I moved to Japan, I discovered I had very little voice in anything.  Routines and procedures were well established, and no one was interested in change--even for the better.  I fought that mentality for over a year; spending quality time crying in the band room closet and even going to my vice principal to voice my complaints.

Eventually I decided I had three choices--keep fighting a culture that didn't want me to fight it, go back to the U.S., or give up on work and enjoy the other things Japan had to offer.  I opted for choice number three (give up on work and enjoy the other things Japan had to offer.)

To clarify, it's not like I quit showing up to work or half arsed my lessons or anything. I did the best job I could within the parameters I was given for my lessons.  I gave up speaking English to my students in order to develop a stronger relationship with them by speaking Japanese.  Instead of wandering around the school fruitlessly looking for things to do during my down time, I spent extra time at work planning trips to the mountains.

Two of my friends at Kitadake Katanokoya.

I fell in love first with hiking and then with trail running.  I started working on my Alpine Guide Certification courses.  For the first time in my life, work was not my priority and I made a lot of friends and acquaintances as the strange solo foreigner female hanging out at mountain huts.  Most of the time the conversations I had there were positive and enlightening.  Some of the time they were blatantly racist, and I became the target of veiled insults towards the entire Western world.

It felt good to give up and bury my head in the mountains.  I watched a lot of major events in my country from afar.  Though I was affected by those events, I was also conveniently distanced. But there was always the little niggling in the back of my mind that I should rejoin the "real world" instead of my little inaka microcosm. That hiding out in the forests of Nagano wasn't doing anything to help my country or my fellow Americans.  And eventually that niggle turned into a full blown itch and we decided to leave Japan.

Since my return, I didn't realize my learned non-involvement in all things was now a serious problem.  I managed to get through last year having other people fight my battles for me, but with the start of the new school year, those people were no longer there.  I've been forced to stand up for myself and my students, or accept things which I ethically cannot condone.  It's exhausting and frustrating and I hate every minute of it.  But it has to be done.

This election was the same.  I think while I was abroad, some serious unrest has been brewing in our country, and I did not realize it until now.  Even in my little community, I have people lecturing me about how they hate Muslims, Blacks, and stereotype those of low socio-economic status.  Did I stand up for these groups?  No, I didn't.  I listened and felt sad.  But I did nothing.

Because of these rumblings, I was not surprised when Trump won. But I was sad.  And disappointed.  Mostly, I was most sad and disappointed by people's reactions.  That is why I've been limiting my social media.


But I will not bury my head in the mountains this time.  I will not accept hate, and I will not sit down and think happy thoughts hoping for the best.  I have no respect for those who tell me to do so. Inaction condones the actions of the majority.  If President-Elect Trump moves forward on many of his campaign promises, I will stand up for the rights of myself and others and I will not be silent.

To those who say they are going to renounce their citizenship and move to wherever, good luck with that.  I have had the privilege of traveling and living in many countries, and I am grateful every single day to be a citizen of the United States of America.  I will not give up on my country, even if many of her people are acting like rebellious, hormonal teenagers.

To my non-American friends who judge an entire country based on one election (most of whom are ex-pats not even living in their own country)--just wait.  Your country's big stupid will come.  If it hasn't already.  Please don't judge all Americans based on one event.  It's hard to be an American abroad, and it just got a lot harder.  We could really use a friendly face and a little sympathy.

To those protesting the election--you have a constitutional right to protest, but there is nothing illegal about this election.  There are a lot of political blogs, many of which I agree with, stating the various things that both parties did wrong/right and elaborating on why the electoral college is stupid.  I hope that perhaps this election can stimulate some long term change, but President-Elect Trump will remain President-Elect whether people like it or not.  Personally, I think we should save our protests as unfortunately I do believe we will need them later down the road.

There is no way not to take sides in this debate.  You pick a side, or your side is chosen for you based on your inaction.  I am grateful to this election for finally shaking me out of my post-Japan lethargy and forcing me to realize hard truths about myself.  I haven't been doing my duty as a teacher and defending the rights of my students and families.  I've been condoning racism, sexism and xenophobia by not speaking up.

I agree we have no choice but to hope that President-Elect Trump's campaign promises really were just "campaign rhetoric" but I am prepared to fight if they are not.  I hope that if worst comes to worst in this country, people will stand up and do the right thing.

Akari stands up for Love. :)