Agility: What was I thinking?

Zumi and I have been taking taking agility classes since last summer. Once a week, we go to class and learn a little bit more. Zumi is FAST. So fast that I have to be a couple of steps ahead and directing her from a distance. And that would be fine except I don't think fast. I am always a step behind her in my mind. Keeping track of where the next obstacle is challenges me to the breaking point.

Poor Zumi. She wants to do what I tell her. When she thinks she has made a mistake, she loses it. She zooms around the enclosure, jumping, going through tunnels, careening around obstacles at 30 mph. Then we start again.

Anyway, after 8 months of classes, I asked Susan, the instructor, when we could do an agility trial. This was back in December. I told her I had to have a goal or I would stop taking classes. She said, "March." OK! Now I have a goal. I made some jumps and some weave poles and promised I would work with Zumi outside of class. And I did. Once. Or maybe twice.

The first of February rolled around and it was time to pay for another series of classes. I again asked Susan about registering for a trial. She hemmed and hawed. I asked if she thought Zumi and I should just give up. She hemmed and hawed. Finally she said, "I was told that your first dog is a throw away. You learn on them and then take your next dog to competition." I looked over at Zumi and could read her mind, "My first handler is a throw away. My second handler will take me to competition."

I looked up agility trials in Albuquerque. I found one for March 16, 17, and 18. I told Susan I was going to register. She hemmed and hawed. She said we aren't ready. I registered anyway. I figured we could be ready in three weeks. I would practice with Zumi every day. I would take private lessons. I would watch videos and read articles on training and prepping for your first trial. After all, I rationalized, I am never really ready for a 100 mile race. We all go into a hundred miler knowing that only about 60% of us will finish it. And that includes the elite runners! We know that our chance of real success is pretty low. I would never enter a 100 miler if I had to run 100 miles before I could register. And anyway, I had three whole weeks to get ready for this trial!!

I started working with Zumi every day (almost, anyway). I signed up for drop-in classes. Our first drop-in was yesterday. I watched the other dogs and handlers. They were much better than I expected for novices. Zumi and I did our first run. I became totally flustered. Zumi read my energy and freaked out. She zoomed around the arena, through tunnels, over jumps, from one side to the other until she finally got herself together and came back to me. The other people in the class were tolerant. The instructor was supportive. We settled in and learned a few things.

Our last run of the day was three straight line jumps and then the teeter and a couple of more jumps. Very straight forward. I didn't tell anyone that Zumi had never been on a teeter except when it was only about 1 foot off the ground. This one was about waist high. She ran up one side and when it tottered, she launched herself from the top. For those of you unfamiliar with agility, the dog has to put at least one foot in the yellow part of the teeter. She not only missed the yellow, she missed all the grass between the end of the teeter and the next ten yards!! I heard all the gasps from behind me. I sheepishly admitted she had never done that level of teeter before. It took us another ten minutes to get her back on the teeter. I am sure she had nightmares about it.

I keep telling myself that my dog is so beautiful that no one will care that she totally messes up on the course and is DQ'ed.

Looking forward to 2018

I am nothing if not predictable. After DNF'ing at Run Rabbit Run I decided I just HAD to have a qualifier for Western States. I would do ANYTHING to get that qualifier. I would even run in the heat, multiple laps, in the desert at the end of October.

Yes, I signed up for Javelina Jundred. I really thought it would be a piece of cake. All I had to do was run for 100 miles in 30 hours while surviving the warm day and nice evening. I prepped for the heat: I ran in the afternoons wearing three layers of shirts and long pants, even though it was in the 60's or even 70's. I begged Heidi to pace me, and stupidly, she agreed. I drove the trailer to Phoenix and admired the saguaro and hoped I wouldn't see any rattle snakes.

I started off at a nice little clip, one I was sure I could maintain forever. And I did maintain it, but not quite for forever. More like 50 miles. Then I ran out of gas. Yes, it was warm but not horrible. I just quit eating around mile, maybe mile 2. By 60 miles, I was on fumes and by 70 miles I was reduced to begging a man dressed as a care bear to put me out of my misery. I packed it up and headed home.

I was quite happy making a decision to "never try another 100 miler." Why would I? I was happy thinking I could run 50 milers. I swore I would be content with 50 milers. Until I saw this new race in the La Sals. The Ute 100. Sure looks like fun to me. The race director swears that he has found a beautiful course. I have always wanted to explore those mountains outside of Moab. And the cut off time is definitely in my favor. In fact, there are six (count them....6) women over 60 signed up for this little sweet heart of a run. I will be in good company.

Yep, I signed up. I am in. I can't say no.

Another racing season, almost over

Wow, so much has happened. So little has happened. I have sad tales and happy tales and my dogs have wagging tails.

Sadie was last listed as disinterested in running. She revived and is again by my side. I think her primary motivation is running into Richard, the ice cream man for dogs. Richard walks almost every day, with a pocketful of delicious dog treats. He spares no expense on these treats and he knows all the dogs on his route. He keeps index cards in his pocket: dog's name, where they live, their favorite treat, any special medical considerations.

Sadie, and Zumi, think he is WONDERFUL. They can smell him a half mile away, I swear. They stop, point their noses, take a big sniff and then sprint to him. All Richard wants is to give the dogs a treat and then pet them. All the dogs want is every treat in his pocket. They turn into vicious animals, jumping and pawing at him, snapping the delicacies out of his fingers, sometimes taking a bit of finger tip along with the treat. I have tried to calm them down but they become frenzied when they spot him.

My big race was Run Rabbit Run. It turned into a short race. Everything was going well until about mile 35. Then everything turned to, uh, well. I quit peeing. The funny thing was that I was in the bathroom, sitting on a bench, at the 41 mile aid station trying to decide if I just had a UTI or if I had an acute kidney injury. Some woman entered a stall and let loose with a stream of urine that lasted and lasted and lasted. I indelicately announced that, "I'd give anything to do that." "Do what?" she asked. "Pee," I moaned. "You can't pee?" she asked. "Nothing but blood," I responded.

She came out of the stall and introduced herself as an OB/GYN and sat down next to me. She concluded that I was not dehydrated, and I should therefore NOT push fluids, and I should probably drop out of the race before I did any real damage. I took her advice and that was the end of that. I went a total of 20 hours without producing more than a cup of urine. Kind of scary, but everything returned to normal within a couple of days.

What's next? Stay tuned.

Sadie is retiring

I've been running with Sadie for almost 9 years. She is the sweetest dog. Ever.

We got Sadie as a pup when we lived in Wyoming and she cut her running teeth in the Med Bow Mountains. She fell through the ice of a beaver pond at Happy Jack, outside of Laramie and had to be pulled out.

She has been to the top of Mt. Elbert in Colorado. She ran on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina. And most recently she has run in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque.

Sadie on her 2nd birthday doing a 50K outside of Asheville, NC.

 Most of our runs are not very exciting. We are just out there, paying our dues, staying in shape so that we can enjoy the big runs, the fun runs. Like Hope Pass!

Sadie at Hope Pass.

I can only estimate the number of miles we have run together. Let's say 30 miles a week, 50 weeks a year, for 8 years. That gives us about 12,000 miles. 

I always feel safer when Sade is with me. She has never had to protect me, but I think she offers protection just by being there.

Sadie has started hanging back on our runs. There have been days when she balks about certain routes. For instance, she hates the yucca loop, but generally loves running in the snow. Initially, she was just picky about our routes. Now she is more consistently indicating that she doesn't want to go more than a couple of miles, regardless of the route.

I have to accept that she is done. She just doesn't want to run anymore. I always thought that Sadie would quit running only if and when she was too stiff and old to really run. I didn't think she would just lose motivation. And yes, I have had her thoroughly checked by the vet. 

Not having Sadie with me has caused me to question whether I want to continue running. Maybe she's right. Maybe we are both ready to drop back to hiking instead of running. But Sadie has brought up her replacement. She has trained Zumi to chase rabbits, run on the trail, and greet hikers and runners we encounter. 

I love Sadie. I love her enough to let her stop running. And Zumi is ready to begin her 12,000 mile journey. 

Inspiration?

The kids were here but now they're gone. I really wanted them to stay forever. Sigh. They clogged the toilet, wet the bed, brought me (and Mary Ann) a case of gastrointestinal virus, a used diaper (by the dryer), and 4 (unmatched) socks.

Anyway, after throwing up spaghetti and my toenails on Tuesday, I ate a bowl of Cheerios on Wednesday, a half a bowl of oatmeal and half a baked potato on Thursday, and a noodle bowl and omelet on Friday.

That brings us to Saturday morning and the Mt. Taylor Quad. Not running for a week and not eating for a couple of days created some doubts about finishing. But you never know how the day will go until you work it, right? The winter quad is a bit of a challenge. For those who don't know, it starts in Grants, NM, at 6500 feet. You bike up for about 13 miles gaining about 1800 feet. Then you run for 5 miles, gaining 1200 feet. Grab your skis, with skins attached if you have any brains, and ascend another 1200 feet and finally switch into your snowshoes and top out at 11,300 feet. Then you turn around and go back down, snowshoeing, skiing, running and biking.

Team Scrappy, AKA Team Scruffy, met up on Friday evening. That would be Ellen Hatch and Spencer Briggs, and a late add-on Crystal Anderson. After a high class night at the Motel 6, we made our way to the start line with our bikes and our rather funky fashion statements. We were all hoping to add a beautiful doubler's scarf at the end of the day. These scarves are for those who completed the Mt. Taylor 50K in the fall and solo the Quad.

We looked a bit scared before the event.

All of our gear was already on the mountain, so we sucked down a cup of coffee, grabbed our bikes and helmets and went to the starting line. The four of us were all pretty close together at the bike/run transition.

About half a mile into the run, a woman passed me. She looked over and, I swear to god, said, "Wow, you are doing well." What the hell did that mean? Not, "Nice job," or "you're looking good," or even "you can do this." No, what she didn't say was that I was doing well for someone my age. I turned to Crystal and she said she just didn't know that I was a beast. Thank you Crystal. I needed the beast label rather than amazement that I was still kicking.

Fast forward to the uphill ski section. I am plodding along when some woman catches up to me and says, "You are an inspiration." I saw this woman again on the downhill run. She was walking back down to the next transition. She was on a team and only did the ski/snowshoe sections so her race was over. She started running with me and again told me I was an inspiration. OK, I like inspiring people. Someone has to do it. I enjoy being a role model. I want women (men, girls and boys) to see what a person can do. But again, the unspoken was that I was an inspiration based on my age. In fact, she asked me my age and told me she thought it was wonderful. 

I guess it was a day when I was showing my age. That is what bothered me. I really thought that I was still passing. Passing as a 50 year old. I could draw the parallel with other parts of my life. I am not ashamed of being in my 60's. I am proud of what I can do at my age. I just don't want to look my age. That's all. I want to be in control of who knows my age and my sexual orientation. I don't want it to be obvious.

Team Scruffy with our Doubler's Scarves

Another Place, Another Adventure

Running the trails should be an adventure. It shouldn't be terrifying but it shouldn't be boring. I like to balance out my races. I like to go back to some that I have run numerous times. It is like meeting up with an old friend. Perhaps they have changed a little since I saw them a year ago. Or maybe they are just like I remember them. That would be like Mt. Taylor. This was my fourth year running the 50K race just outside of Grants. I know what to expect there. The weather may change a bit, but the race directors are my friends and I know that they will put on an excellent race. The mountain itself will always suck the breath out of me but only until I hit the peak.

But this past weekend I tried something different. I did a two person relay on the Naatsis’áán trail, just north of Navajo Mountain. A friend of mine agreed to go with me. I chose the first leg, figuring it was going to be easier. I was right.

We drove about 7 hours to the Navajo Mountain Chapter House where there was a health fair going on all day Friday. Tom, the race director, was briefing the volunteers. The Navajo Mountain High School students were selling Navajo tacos. Yes, I ate one. We were a very small band of runners, about half Anglos and half Native Americans. We really didn't know what to expect but we found out at the race briefing. During the briefing, we were chowing down on homemade lasagnas, spaghetti, fantastic fresh salads, topped off with three different types of infused water. Most of us either slept on the floor of the chapter house or set up tent just outside the building.

This was a totally fantastic experience (see the pictures below). The scenery was amazing. But even more importantly, the support we received from the community members was totally astounding. These folks camped out. They cooked. They donated time and local food and resources. They spent their entire weekend trying to make sure the runners were fed, happy, and safe. This was a community event!

I will go back. You should put it on your calendar for next year. Forget the big fancy races. This is an experience of a life time.

The race

We started early on Saturday morning, way before the sun came up. The runners doing the second leg thought they were going to get to sleep in. But their day began even earlier. They drove to the marina at the south end of Lake Powell and boarded boats that took them to the Rainbow Bridge National Monument. There they could lounge on a house boat or head on out to await their runner.

I started the first leg. Daylight was hours off but we had no problem seeing the road. The community members were there. They were excited. They wanted to escort us to the trailhead, 8 miles away. They drove cars, trucks and ATVs to light our way. 

I was alone very early on. By the time I hit the last section of dirt road, the sky was light and I could hear a Native American flute. The first aid station was fully stocked and several community members were there to fill my bladder and give me encouragement and food.

Then I hit the trail and the magic started. This was an amazing scene. The sun coming up illuminated the mesa, turning it bright pink and orange and red. My camera didn't do it justice.

We entered the first canyon, down and back up. We entered the second canyon, down and back up. We entered the third canyon, down and back up. You get the idea. 

The scenery was constantly changing. Some places we could run, some places we had to hike.

I never take pictures during a race. I am there to race, not to sight see. But I made an exception for this race.

I didn't care who passed me. I did want to finish in a reasonable time, so that my teammate Jean Herbert could get started before it got too warm.

Oh, well, sorry Jean. I had to get a few more shots.

Can you believe this place? Seriously? I had never even heard of it before.

Loving it!!

Still loving it!!

The scenery just kept coming. My jaw kept dropping.

The race director promised we would enjoy this trail. He was right.

We weren't promised much in the way of aid stations, but there was more than enough food and water out there for us. Community members had backpacked water, sandwiches and other food items in for us. They camped out and enjoyed the stars. They were happy to see us. I was ecstatic to see them!

At other sites, community members had brought supplies in on horseback. One of the horse riders wanted to make sure the horses were well cared for. He carried in a bale of hay!

Are you tired of the pictures yet?

As the sun and clouds changed, so did the vistas.

This was a huge slab of black and white rock. Really cool.

I finally entered a section known as the furnace. Although it has a reputation for being extremely hot, it was fine when I went through. The walls of the canyon were blocking the morning sun. After we left the furnace, we entered Bridge Canyon. From this point to the turnaround, the trail was hard to follow. The flagging was scarce and the cairns were small. All I really had to do, though, was follow the footprints of those who had gone before, and follow the stream. As long as I was moving the same direction as the water, I was going the right way. No more pictures though. I was too busy trying to minimize my extra-trail excursions. I admit I was also getting tired and worried that Jean would have to run during the night.

I did happen to see this little critter. It was teeny. I looked it up: a red spotted toad. It's a little blurry. 

And then, I heard what every trail runner listens for....the sound of cowbells! Oh what a glorious sound. I took it on it, told Jean good luck and stopped for the day. Who cares how long it took. 

There was a nice little aid station set up just inside the fence from the National Monument. I ate a few bananas, talked to the Rangers and started towards the boat dock. I completely forgot about the Rainbow Bridge.

At first, it didn't look like much.

But as I got closer, I realized just how mammoth it is.

We did not go under it, out of respect for the traditional beliefs.

As we neared the water of Lake Powell, there were hanging gardens, places where the water seeps out of the sandstone and supports flowers and other plants that are not seen in other places.

Jean ran it back in. She was accompanied by an ATV while on the dirt road and a car while on the pavement.

Background: NavajoYES (Youth Empowered Services) has started a race series within various Navajo Parks. The organization's mission is to promote wellness and fitness within for the Dine’ people and their community. Tom Riggenbach, the director of NavajoYes thought that a race series could raise money, raise awareness of the world of trail running, and bring in visitors to the Navajo parks and reservation. He started off fairly modestly last year, with a series of smaller and shorter races. 

This year, though, Tom wanted to host an epic adventure. His dream was to host a 50 mile solo or two-person relay through the canyons just north of Navajo Mountain, or Naatsis’áán, starting at the east end of the trail, at the Navajo Mountain Chapter House, and traveling through several canyons to the turn around or trade off point for the relay runners. Now this turn around point was no ordinary place. The turnaround was just shy of the boundary of the Rainbow Bridge National Monument, a totally cool arch. The logistics required that the folks running the second leg of the relay drive almost 100 miles to the marina on Lake Powell where they boarded a boat for a two hour ride, covering almost 60 miles. The runners finishing the first leg would then return by boat to the marina and back to the chapter house.

Time to go sit down?

I called it quits at work about 15 months ago. I had been in academics my entire life. I worked hard, trying to make the grades in undergrad and grad school. I worked hard as a post doc and as a research scientist. I worked hard as an assistant professor and as a department chair. I went to bed each night knowing that my work was not done. I could never, possibly, do enough. There was always another paper to write or another test to grade. Some nights it didn’t bother me, while other nights I tossed and turned, worrying about my lack of progress, inefficiency, and job security.

I wanted to exceed. I wanted to be a good researcher and a good teacher, even a good administrator. I seldom met my own expectations, let alone those of the academic establishment. I had some successes but was always left feeling unfinished.

This summer I completed the Bighorn 100. Training for the event had started to feel like being a grad student or an assistant professor: would I do enough? Could I succeed?

When race day came, I followed the plan. I made the cut offs. I finished the race. I was so extremely glad. I finished. I didn’t have to do it again. It was like getting tenure. But I had also committed to running another 100 miler, in Alaska, in August, with a very good friend. I didn’t train after Bighorn but I did run some miles. 

The week before the Alaska race, I went into body conservation mode: eat, sleep, take it easy to be fully recovered. On Sunday I ran La Luz, a 9 mile uphill local race. I ran hard and actually did well. Good effort and a feeling of ability prior to the Friday afternoon race start.

But Sunday night our search and rescue group was called out. I answered the call and actually got out of the parking lot. This was to be my first mission and I was pretty psyched. Should be easy. The family of hikers were located under the tram. We just needed to hike in and escort them out. Couple of hours, or so I thought. But the route was not what I thought. We bushwhacked all night, from 11:30 pm to 4:30 am. During that time I took several hard falls. I was in way over my head. I was tired. I was scared. I wanted to call it quits. I knew my boots were not any good for that terrain. I realized my head lamp was not sufficient. I struggled to carry my pack. My arms were scratched in a million places from crashing through the brush. I had cactus spines in my legs and my butt. My shins and knees were bleeding. I was tired.

We made it out and I was seriously questioning whether I would continue in search and rescue. I had been a liability to the team. Too old? My balance seems to suck these days. I don’t have the strength. Yeah, I have endurance but that may not be enough.

Onward to Alaska. This is a minimally supported race with only two exit points: mile 41 and mile 67. Seriously, no other places to quit. I was hoping my friend would decide to go for the 50 miler instead of the 100. I talked with one of her friends, who agreed to run with her if I gave out. Or even if I didn’t give out. At mile 41, we would pick up a third runner. I knew I could make it that far and was pretty sure I could make it to mile 67. Good enough. Didn’t need to do the whole thing.

We started out nice and slow, but making better time than I had expected. The air was cool and damp. We had plenty of food and there were many fast moving streams to refill our water. Our spirits were high. It stayed light for a long time and we had topped out at the pass and had mainly downhill from mile 30 to the trail head at mile 41. My light was weak, giving me just enough light to walk fast or trot. My friend’s light was no better. The trail was muddy and keeping my feet dry was a major consideration. 

We went along a long lake, barely able to see it in the dark. We heard some weird sounds and stopped to listen. Loons. Oh my god it was fantastic to listen to the loons in the dark. We continued our trek, still ahead of schedule but now talking about dropping at mile 41. She didn’t seem to be upset by the idea. I figured she could go ahead with her friend and I could just drop out but she didn’t have the drive necessary to continue. 

We might have both decided to keep going but, around mile 32, I fell. Hard. Trying to go around a puddle that spanned the trail. My thigh smashed into an elevated root, with my full weight landing on it. Well, maybe not my full weight since my face also plowed into the ground. My lip was smashed and my chin was bleeding but the big pain was my thigh. It hurt, especially on the downhills. I couldn’t run. I could barely walk. It was a very long 9 miles to the trail head, where we gave it up.

And now all I can think is that it is time to retire. I remember being at a conference and listening to some young faculty member telling an older administrator that it was time for her to “go sit down. Find something else to do. Get a life. But go sit down and let the younger folks take over.”

Now I am thinking if it is time to go sit down. What a relief it would be to not have to train. No more getting up in the middle of the night to drive to a race. No more being hot, or cold, for hours on end. No more eating trail bars that taste like cardboard. No more drinking hydration drinks. No more falling and having scabby knees and bruised shins. No more running until utter exhaustion. No more worrying if I have trained enough.

Don’t know what I will decide. I have a 50K coming up in about 5 weeks, and another marathon after that. But will I sign up for any others? I don’t know. I do know that I need a break.