Time, Space, and the Continuum

I've always wondered why is it that as I approach an arbitrary date, such as a holiday, or in this case, my birthday, I reflect on my past and try to frantically predict or at least plan out my future. As I approach my 35th birthday, I find myself in this odd space, just head turning- forward, future. Backward, past. Forward, future. Backward, past.  

However, there is a notable difference between this year and years past. On one hand, I can't stop feeling like I must be doing all the things- adventures, big runs, big rides, big trips- hell, any sized trip. I have so many things I want to accomplish and I cannot help hearing the tick, tick, tick of my mortal clock, that finite clock that will eventually stop ticking at some unknown point in time. To add to that, not only does everything feel urgent because I have no idea when it will stop, but on top of that, there is a secondary clock running on my athletic fitness. How much longer can I run or ride this far? This fast? When will the things I love be impossible to complete in the manner that I currently like to experience them? I find myself wanting to know these answers because being immersed in and moving through beautiful landscapes brings me an immeasurable amount of joy. So I keep finding myself wondering when will age or injury, or both cause me to, gasp, slow down? What can I accomplish between now and then? 

So on the one hand, I have that mindset and on the other, I have this nagging feeling like I'm scrambling. I'm checking boxes. Doing things, but not the capital "I" Important things. The things that matter. I'm consuming proverbial snack food and never feeling truly satisfied. I'm thinking up obscure challenges that are, at their core, not very inspiring. I haven't stopped to consider each of them. 

And this is a problem because time is finite. And the sooner we accept that, the better. If we were infinite, nothing would have meaning because there would always be the opportunity to do everything over, as many times as we wanted.  The point is, there is no amount of scheduling, task management systems, or apps that will actually truly buy anyone more quality time. The "Point" of time isn't to make it incredibly productive or overly busy, it's to make it meaningful. Which begs the question, what do I want to do and how do I choose? Every time I choose to do something, I am inevitably choosing to not do an infinite number of others things. Some might call this mindset FOMO, but I disagree. We, myself included, will always be missing out on something. Failing to realize that is part of the problem and why someone might feel a sense of constant urgency, the overwhelming need to plan and be busy. Instead of calling it FOMO, I prefer to think of it as failing to consider the importance of choosing how to spend the short amount of time we have on this Earth. Instead of stopping to consider the briefness of our life and the importance of our choices, we choose the simplest path that distracts us from that. Be productive. Be Busy. Organize. In the words of the author and quasi philosopher, Oliver Burkeman, "we recoil from the notion that this is it--that this life, with all its flaw and inescapable vulnerabilities, its extreme brevity, and our limited influence over how it unfolds, is the only one we'll get a shot at. Instead, we mentally fight against the way things are-- so that... 'we don't have to consciously participate in what it's like to feel claustrophobic, imprisoned, powerless, and constrained by reality."

The while clocks are always ticking, my athletic ability and life clocks, just humming in the background- there is this odd pressure from out there that everything we do must be relevant to our community, it must be bigger and better. We should be at the races where everyone is at. We need to be doing this thing or that because it's The Place to Be. Yet, when I overlay that odd pressure with the idea that I might have roughly 2,200 weeks left in my life- do I want to spend it doing what I think I ought to do? What others want me to do? 

The mindset above, the one where I've realized that choice matters so much, doesn't just stop at what fun and pleasurable activities to do, or what race to attend. This pertains to everything from choosing what relationships to invest in to what job you stay in. Obviously, there are some limitations, not everyone can have their dream job and there is privilege in being able to choose, but the thing I'm wrapping my head around now, and perhaps have been for the past several years, is that we cannot waste time. To quote my favorite movie, What About Bob? "We’re all going to die and it doesn’t matter if it’s tomorrow or 80 years from now. Do you know how fast time goes? I was six, like, yesterday."

In 2020 I decided to leave the marriage (if one can call it that) I was in because it was wearisome and colorless. I took an inventory of my life and the choices I had made (or lack thereof) and realized that every meaningful experience I had during the time we were together occurred outside of the relationship. And if I stayed one more minute in that relationship I was further squandering the precious time I had on this Earth. I chose to live and feel fulfilled. And so I left. And I chose to spend my days, my energy and attention, on meaningful fulfilling relationships, romantic or otherwise. 

Fast forward to today and I find myself on what feels like the precipice of the 2,200 weeks I have left. Thinking as if every moment could be my last because, in all actuality, it very well could be. So I sit here, thinking about how I'm going to spend them. Though perhaps saying "spend them" is wrong, because that implies that I could possibly save these days and months for later use. So how am I going to live out these remaining weeks in a way that is meaningful? 

I'm not sure and that scares me, and makes me feel out of control. I'm making myself consider the importance of each moment, knowing there will always be the mundane, monotonous tedium of life. But in the moments where I do have a choice. How and what will I decide?  Now more than ever, I understand that nothing is guaranteed (obviously) and I want to make as much of my time here as meaningful as possible. I need to take a hard look at the things I want to accomplish, the relationships I want to devote more time to, and the things that make the ticking noise of the clocks get quiet. Because even though they may keep ticking, it's peaceful when you can't hear them. 

The Desert

 There is something about the desert, perhaps its absolute vastness, or harshness, that has seemed to always capture the hearts and minds of thinkers, writers, and explorers. These are the same people who’ve told us that by going there to lose yourself, you end up finding yourself.  Those seeking solitude hear it’s call beckon from afar. The red dirt carpet that covers the ground serves as a welcome mat that ushers you to its deep canyons which become wishing wells to some or vast reflection pools for deep introspection to others. 

George and I went to the desert not seeking anything other than an adventure. We wished to explore lands we’d never visited but had only seen on a map. We chose a route that was challenging and remote, taking us through 74 miles of sand, gravel roads, canyons, and washes. We researched the route, namely the conditions of the roads, mostly trying to unearth how much sand we would likely encounter, but no amount of research can compare to one minute, or in our case, six hours of experience, of truly living it. 

Researching and preparing for the ride is half the fun. Or maybe a quarter of the fun. The other part comes from knowing your expectations and plans can and will be shattered in an instant, like a rock to the windshield. One of the greatest feelings of any adventure is simply the anticipation for it to begin. That feeling you get just before the ride starts, of knowing, but not fully knowing what’s in store. Knowing that with each passing mile your expectations will in fact splinter. The glass will crack a little more, in a completely new direction. 

The ride itself, while challenging, wasn’t undoable. Had we done this ride a few months ago, when each of us had more bike fitness, we would have been far less destroyed after the ride, but we each concluded that the pros of adventure outweighed the cons of potential physical collapse. 

For the first hour of the ride, we were mainly on the road. My big oversized and over lugged tires felt and sounded like a dump truck trying to keep up with traffic on a race track. George’s bike was a bit better suited for road conditions than mine and pulled us to our right turn on to the sandy dirt road of Snow Flats. The departure from the road meant the entrance into the remote and expansive unknown. We would soon reach our high point and begin our long descent into Comb Wash. 

Before we could get to Comb Wash, however, we would need to deal with or rather navigate through, in a painstakingly slow fashion, long stretches of deep sand. As it turns out, these sand pits were like a bad habit, easy to get into, hard to get out of. Like most troublesome things, hitting it with too much speed only makes them worse, so they force  you to slow down a little and focus. The sand also makes you confront unavoidable realities. At first one tries to criss cross the road in search of stable ground. Your mind also tells you, for just a short while, that you can avoid the deep plunges of sand, which you come to find out is impossible. You eventually realize that there are things we must all accept in life and sand in the desert is one of them. So for 16 miles, George and I plowed through the sand.

The key to riding through the sand is this: accept that it will be there. It will be there  shortly after that short stretch of road where you’ve managed to pick up speed. You are not through the sand yet, there is in fact, much, much, more. And it is waiting for you in the shaded spot of the road, just on the apex of the next corner.  Also, keep in mind that just as you don’t look at a lake and assume it’s merely a shallow, but unusually large, puddle, the same holds true for sand. Just as you’ve assumed the lake is deep, you should assume the sand, too, is deep.  Although you might only be able to see small ripples from old tire tracks on its surface, it is safe to suspect hard ground does not lay just one inch below. The biggest thing to remember about sand is that you will get through it. It won’t be pretty. Your front tire will be going sideways, your back the opposite direction, you’ll have a foot out, yet you’ll be, remarkably, moving forward, or at the very least sideways and forward, but nevertheless, forward. There’s a solid chance you’ll fall, but remember, you’re going slow and as I’ve already discussed it’s safe to assume the sand is deep, so the fall won’t be as bad as you’re imagining in your head. Your fear of falling is worse than your reality of falling.

Aside from the rare flash flood, nothing in the desert happens quickly. And this held true for our pace that day in November. The miles ticked away slowly, but as travelers with no set plans and an entire day spread out before us, the pace mattered little. We turned off Comb Wash road and on to our next several miles of pavement. While we didn’t have anything else to do and were set on taking our time to enjoy the ride, there comes a point when you want a section to be over, to speed up time to get to the next portion of the trip or ride. George rode next to me, but we both knew on his own he would have been far ahead of me. But my bike, not exactly being set up for speed on the road, was slowing us down. I accepted this fact and tried to keep a respectable pace up while also not totally digging myself into a hole. Eventually, George offered to pull us to the next section of dirt. As an overly independent individual, I’m usually not one to accept the help of others. Suffering alone is how I deal with discomfort. But this was one of those instances where I did not have to make the situation harder than it needed to be. With George leading the way, we cruised down the seemingly endless blacktop until we saw the sign for our next turn, arriving much sooner than if we had separately tried to ride on our own. 

We took a short snack break when we turned on to the Valley of the Gods Road, a 16-mile dirt road that winds through sandstone rock formations that one can only assume ended up there not because they were carved by the wind, but rather they are in fact gigantic chess pieces left on the board by some giants in the sky eons ago. 

Reader, before I talk about the inevitable low point of the ride, it’s important to make a note about choosing your riding partner. This is not a trivial matter. In fact this selection process is likely harder than any route you’ll likely encounter. Finding the right person is like finding water in the desert. They’re out there, but you’ll have to work hard to find them. When you travel, ride for hours on end in harsh or trying conditions, push yourself to your limits, it’s important to have someone with you who can not only see, hear, and deal with you at your best and worst moments, but also knows how to react to you or with you during these times. It’s one thing to experience joy or pain alone, but quite another to experience them while looking at someone who simply cannot share the same feeling or help you in the way you need help. No one needs to feel alone, together, especially if you find yourself in the desert. There is far too much aloneness there to begin with. Your partner needs to know, or rather feel, what you need at various times in the ride and you must do the same. Nature has a way of stripping your personality and character down to its truest form. The trials and tribulations that you go through allow you to emote unadulterated forms of euphoria and torment that are hard to come by in day to day life where you can easily mute or hide parts of yourself. Simply put you are your purest self out there and your partner needs to not only understand this side of you, but love this side, for in loving it, they can look after it.

When George and I turned onto Valley of the Gods Road, we were four hours and thirty minutes into our ride. We took a short break for a snack and to assess how we were. I was feeling a bit beaten down, but still able to turn the pedals over. We didn’t want to dwell too long on my waning energy, so side by side we rolled through the large red chess pieces that towered over us for the next thirty minutes. At the high point of the road, we do what we always do before a descent, look at one another and knowingly speed up. We each tried to go as fast as our bikes and the terrain would  allow. George, being so much stronger than I, always pulls away from me in these sections, but remains somewhat in eye sight. We’ve gotten to a point with each other that riding separately isn’t a slight to the other. George is simply faster than I am and that’s life. I know he’ll always be waiting for me at the next turn, the top of the climb, or viewpoint. 

And as predicted, when the road leveled out, George had begun to pedal slowly so we could reunite. At this juncture, about five or so hours into the ride, my lack of cycling fitness and just general cumulative fatigue from the previous day’s running race was starting to show. The small crack that I felt at the beginning of the road began to splinter into several directions, so much so that I had to acknowledge it. Indeed, I had a problem. 

There are some problems that we encounter in life that we can, either during or afterward, derive meaning from. We can learn a greater lesson. However, some are just problems or perhaps stretches of time that are not meaningful.  Simply put, they are the pinnacle of sucks. And there’s nothing to learn from them except that you’ve been dealt a shit hand right now and you need to deal with it until you’ve got new cards. And that’s what the last five miles of the Valley of the Gods road was. It was rutted and composed of loose gravel. To the eye it’s 3-4% incline was undetectable, but absolutely detectable to my sore quads and to add insult to injury, there was a headwind. There was also nothing I could do about any of this. These things were just factual. These five miles were the proverbiale bridge that I needed to cross to get to my final destination and the troll needed to be paid.  On my GPS, I could see where the road ended and the final climb for home began, so I knew this part would suck for at least, but no less than five miles and I could only hope that after that, the pain and annoyance would be less, but I couldn’t say for sure. The vertical profile of what’s to come can only tell you part of the story about what you’re headed into, the rest, as everyone comes to find out, is determined by a wing and a prayer. 

George, a smart man, pedaled ahead, either knowing I’m someone who needs to suffer alone or because he needed to suffer alone himself at his own pace. Either way, I greatly appreciated this. For five miles I hated the whole damn thing. My legs, this route, the damn road, the wind. All of it. But sometimes, or rather, most of the time, it is a totally normal experience, to not just hate, but actively loathe, what hand you’ve been dealt, even if, or rather, especially if you’re the dealer. But it’s also normal to just accept your wretched fate, for the time being, put your bitter head down, move through it and hope that it ends sooner rather than later.

And, like most painful things, it did end. We began to climb Moki Dugway, a three-mile climb that took us from the valley floor to the top of Cedar Mesa, where it would drop us off at the four-mile dirt road that would lead us back to our campsite. The grade was far steeper than that of the previous five miles, but at least it felt like I was climbing. In the Valley of the Gods, it just felt like we were suffering for suffering’s sake, with what felt like minimal progress, and without the benefit of striking views unfolding with each new turn. On Moki, however, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I was on an actual climb to somewhere and I was in fact, making progress forward. Unlike in the valley below, each steep incline was rewarded with a new, higher view of the valley, it’s roads and the massive chess board below. 

I met George at the junction of Moki and the dirt road that led back to our camp. We quickly turned our bikes down the road that we started on several hours earlier. Those four miles felt longer than they did when we rode them the opposite way that morning. The sun was setting and was just low enough in the sky to be shining directly into our eyes. As we rolled directly towards it, the excitement for rest, food, and a change of clothes were palpable in the arid desert air.  

It’s an odd and curious thing that after being so excited for this ride, thinking about it for months, we were so unmistakably ready for it to be over. It seems that every adventure we’ve been on has this moment, where you’re simply ready to be done, ready to be comfortable. I wonder why that is? Perhaps it’s just the point of reaching one’s limit or maybe it’s just the human condition to desire comfort and familiarity, which is often lacking in the barren desert or the high mountains. As much as we love to find and push the limits of our mental and physical endurance, we also need to be able to go back to our security blanket that is home. 

We rolled up to the car, lazily got off our bikes and laid them on the ground, as if they too needed to lay down and rest for a while. We began the process of cleaning the desert and our sweat off of ourselves, while simultaneously shoveling chips into our mouths. After a long ride, there is nothing quite like a chip with a twinge of hand sanitizer on it. Soon we were in our pajamas, laying in the back of the car, away from the cold air that was quickly settling over the mesa. We proceeded to eat snacks, dinner, dessert, and second dinner off and on for the next four hours. We laughed at how tired we were, at how cracked I felt during parts of the ride, or how bad the sand was. When you’re finally in the throws of comfort, only then does discomfort become a source of entertainment. 

As the sun began to set and the sky turned from burnt orange and purple to the clearest black I’ve ever seen, we looked out over the valley we had just spent all day in, still baffled at its sheer size and realizing again how small we truly are. We crawled into the tent and soon drifted off to sleep, likely to dream about sand and giants playing chess before our time. 

The desert is a strange place. On its surface, to the observer quickly passing through, it’s desolate landscape hides nothing. But to those immersed in it, this is so far from the truth. If there is one thing to learn about the desert, it's that it’s deceitful, full of layers that unfold and disappear before your eyes with each step or mile forward. 

But calling the desert deceitful  isn’t exactly accurate, because it’s not lying outright. It is simply forcing anyone who finds themselves there to accept that not everything is as it seems and to trust that the desert, while deceptive, isn’t lying, it’s just making you work a little harder than normal to find the truth, the right perspective. It is forcing you to see everything all at once, from every angle. And each angle reveals something entirely new, not previously known.

By hiding it’s truth, the desert allows you to see that you have a choice. You can either accept that what you are seeing and feeling at this moment is what you will see and feel forever, regardless of who you’re with or where you are. Or you can choose to accept that, given enough time, everything will change. The fear you felt about falling in the sand will fade as you spend more time immersed in it. You can choose to believe that accepting help makes you weak or you can decide that the help of someone else can make you stronger. You can get carried away thinking that the road you’re on, the one you hate so much, will never end.  Or you can choose to accept that this relentless road that you’ve willingly chosen to be on will eventually begin to climb, taking you away from the valley you didn’t realize you were even in and it will be the very road that takes you home. 

“A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.”

― Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

“I shivered in those

solitudes

when I heard

the voice

of

the salt

in the desert.”

― Pablo Neruda

The Mega-Fire of 2020

 “Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.” - Douglas Adams

When I look back at 2020, sure, I could say that “it sucked.” Because at face value, it did. I wasn’t able to go on the trips I had planned or see my friends and family as much as I wanted to. A lot of people had it, conservatively, about 100x worse than me. And while I’m a realist, I can’t help but see the silver lining of 2020. 

I compare this year to the fires that engulfed most of Colorado this summer. They were horrific, some of the largest fires in the history of the state. The fire closest to me lasted over two months, burned countless homes, and cloaked nearby towns in a cloud of thick smoke on a daily basis. 

But, we forget that fires are supposed to happen. They’re good. They’re not good when they’re mega-fires, because they burn too much land, for too long, at too hot of a temperature. For too many years we have prevented fires because they’re bad. Because Smokey the Bear says only you can prevent forest fires. Fire is always bad, right? However, if we just allow smaller fires to occur, ones that we can control, the massive ones that devastate most of the West every summer, would be much less likely to happen. Fires clear all the dead, useless, junk from the forest floors. They allow new nutrients to return to the soil, which gives a new beginning to plants and animals. 

For me, 2020 was my personal mega-fire. Everything happened all at once. It was the culmination of all the bad decisions I’ve made over the past several years. Looking back at my personal choices, I see that there were smaller fires I could have let happen. In allowing those to happen, I could have cultivated a healthier future, but I suppose hindsight is 2020, no pun intended. 

On the eve of the new year, which is an irrelevant denotation of time to planet Earth, but for some reason means something to humans, I reflect on all the things that happened in the wake of my mega-fire. A lot of good is beginning to grow in my life, even if the burn was fucking miserable. 

Things I’ve learned:

• I’m unconventional. I knew this, but I don’t think I was ok with it. I never accepted this, I always fought it. I always felt like I was curbing my own wants and needs to bend to the conventions of society. Sometimes it’s astounding at how little we listen to ourselves. We assume that the voice of “intuition” is wrong and that society is right. 2020 proves that society is generally not right. 

• I can live without the Whole Foods hot bar. I’m still struggling with this one and I hope it comes back. However, my bank account is happy about not paying $23 for a salad. 

• Sometimes doing nothing is productive. That not acting, but rather waiting, is an action. Which is likely saying that patience is a virtue. I am still working on accepting that change is not linear or fast. 

• There are people who will always think the worst of you. That’s ok. Stop trying to prove your worth. ::: repeats this 10x a day:::

• When anyone grows or changes, it’s ok to outgrow people, places, activities that were once important to you. Not everyone grows at the same rate or in the same direction. 

I’ve never been one to make a New Year’s resolution. I still won’t make one this year. But as I think about the past and what I’ve learned I think I hope that in the coming year I’ll do a better job at letting the small stuff burn down and carefully tend to the things that grow in its wake. 

Rapha Cycling Club Fashion Show

Welcome to the 2015 Rapha Cycling Club Fashion show! Just some quick announcements while everyone finds their seats. If you are having trouble locating your seat, they are arranged by how much you've paid to be here and how many Instragram followers you have. Those of you with less than 1000, we have a separate TV viewing area for your viewing pleasure featuring a 1997 Panasonic TV.  You'll notice that some of the seats, mainly the ones closest to the cat walk, have a mauve ribbon tied around the left side of the back rest. That's to denote to everyone else you've paid more to sit there. You will also notice that under each seat a member from our cycling club has placed a gift bag. Obviously each row's bags are filled differently. For instance, those closest to the runway received smooth calfskin wallets with an embossed Rapha logo, but let's say, for those of you located five rows deep, you will likely find a Rapha business card or garment tag in your gift bag. I'm going to ask that everyone get situated as quickly as possible so we can roll out our new line up of clothing.

While we are waiting, I'd like to mention that the food is all gluten free and we do have vegetarian options available for first row only. The coffee was donated by a local, small batch roaster from Portland. And the pastries came from a small artisanal baker you've likely never heard of. When you take a photo of your coffee art and food for Instgram, we would really appreciate it if you used the following tags: #rapha, #rcc #coffeeart #fashion @rapha_america. For those of you that didn't notice, we have several distressed butcher block tables situated in the lobby which would be perfect for some overhead shots of your cappuccino. Ok, I see from the dimming of the lights, that we are ready to go. As noted in your brochure, only photograph this event from an iPhone5C or better. And those of you in the lesser rows, if you use a GoPro on a stick, be considerate of the view of those in front of you.

First down the runway is Mitchell (@rccprorider). He is wearing our newest pro jacket in smoke grey with royal accents. The five royal stripes on his arm denote his social standing in RCC. We have options available with various levels all the way down to no stripes. The back pockets are large enough to hold an iPhone 6 and depending on the stripe level, the pockets will or will not be waterproof. On the bottom, Mitchell is sporting our pro bib shorts. These have extra, non functional padding in the front part of the chamois so there's no questions of who's boss when out riding.

Next, we have Daphne (@Daphnesbikes) . She is wearing a modest full zipper turtleneck jersey. We've taken the guess work out of this one, so no one needs to ask "What are you wearing" by placing a small decal of someone giving you the middle finger on the back right pocket, ideal for when passing other riders. There are different levels of this jersey as well. No features change on the jersey, but if you pay more, you can tell your 'friends' how much you paid and they will be that much more impressed. As an option for the top tier pricing, you can get the price embroidered onto the sleeve.

A quick note here. Thank you all for your Instagram tags! All the photos look very vintage and nostalgic. Keep it up!  But, those of you who are using X-Pro filter, please stop.

Just an example. 

Continuing on. Matthew (@CoffeeNBikes) is wearing our tapered cycling jeans. Notice the pink embellishments on the upturned cuff. He is also wearing our premier level cycling cap. We can tell this by the number of stripes and the price tag dangling off the back. He is wearing a deep v-neck in sky blue. This outfit is the perfect choice for your commute to and from your local cafe or whenever you write your blogs. You'll notice he is also wearing our leather mitts. I really want to stress that these are mitts, not gloves. That distinction sets us as a company and you as a person above everyone else. He has thrown our leather jacket over his shoulder. A quick note here, do not turn up the collar while wearing this jacket unless weather actually calls for it. Doing so has become too mainstream and we'd like to shy away from that.

I'm being told by our A/V manager that the wifi is experiencing slowed upload times due to the high volume of posts being made from this room tonight, which is fantastic that you are all posting so much, but I'm afraid we are going to have to ask the people in the five furthest rows to please exit the show so that the others who paid more can have access to better wifi. You can still experience the show by following us on twitter and Instagram.

We are going to conclude our show a bit early tonight, as the golden hour is upon us and #lightbro will be on point within the hour. So we are going to wrap things up with a line of our high end leather  goods and accessories. You'll notice that all the wallets are very similar. The only real difference is the stripe placement, which of course corresponds to how expensive it is. The backpacks are equipped with extra padding along the spine and come complete with extra straps for stability for those times you have to get that Strava KOM on your way to work or class. And lastly, you'll see our newest addition to our apres ride line, the aero infinity scarf. For those cyclists who place a premium on fashion and aerodynamics. Which, let's be honest, is all of us.

Well, ladies and gentlemen! That's a wrap! The show was short and sweet, but hopefully you've had a wonderful time and have plenty of material to blog about. Just want to say thank you to our pro and premier guests tonight. Without your support and need to be better than most, this event wouldn't happen. Please help yourself to more coffee or craft beer in the lobby. Hope to see you all out on the roads or on instagram. Remember, it's better to be talked about than forgotten. Any press is better than none.

Astute Conversations With Myself.

Thirsty after a long run, I stopped into the store on my way home. At the checkout line, the clerk asked if I was a runner. Either he was psychic or my muddied calves, large GPS watch, and synthetic clothing gave me away. Whichever it was, I confirmed his assumption, hoping that he wouldn't ask about what I run. Standing in a busy checkout line at the store is a less than ideal place to explain the who/what/when/where and whys of ultra running. But my train of thought was cut off when he said, "You don't run those crazy races. You know. Like Leadville." Well yes, I do run ultras, but no I have not run the Leadville 100. "Man!! That's crazy. I just don't know how you people do it. I'd never be able to run that long!" In an effort to move the line along and get my drink faster, I quickly told him that anyone can run an ultra. It's fun! And with that we both laughed a little and I hurried back home. 

As I was driving home I realized that I should have put an asterisk next to the "It's fun!" claim I made. It's not always fun. Images and memories of my last race flashed between my ears, making me cringe and drive significantly faster. I thought I should go back and tell that guy the truth, but realized that the damage was done (and I'd rather be at home). So in an attempt to redeem myself, below are thoughts that ensued during my last race. Let these serve as my asterisk.  

The Damage

Warm up: It's not a good sign if carrying my water bottle on the warm up makes my bicep feel like a substance closely related to that of jello pudding.

4km-10km: Wee! These hills are fun! Just like home in Colorado!

Warner's Wall: This is a stupidly steep downhill. In fact, it's borderline dangerous. Look! I'm getting rocks in my shoes. I'm not enjoying this at all. This section is stupid. Maybe I'm just hungry. Eating makes everything seem better.

15.5km: Eating has not improved the situation. A rapid decline in physical and mental (st)ability is noted.

17km: Something bit my ankle. God damnit. I wasn't looking around for snakes, I don't think I saw one, but what else would bite me? Oh god. My leg is tingling. It's definitely, wait let me check, yes definitely swelling slightly. I don't know what the symptoms are for Tiger Snake bites. Shit. I should have researched that. I wonder what happens now? Surely I'll pass out soon. Those saps that just passed me or maybe the gentlemen with congested lungs behind me will carry my lifeless (perhaps convulsing?) body to the next aid station. Which sounds horrible...for them. I think it's quite a trek from here, but I won't have to deal with that. I'll be incapacitated and frothing at the mouth, trying to say something meaningful and courageous in my last few moments. Jesus, I think my leg is going numb. How much time has passed since the snake bit me? Why the hell is it taking so long for congested lungs man to pass me? I should ask him if he spotted a snake on the trail. Who am I kidding? Stop lying to yourself. You know a shitty little ant bit you. Are you really going to let an ant take you out of this race? Well..I mean, if my leg got bad enough... Oh come ON! You're the moron who didn't train. The one who, at the last minute, decided to switch from the marathon to the 75k. Why? Oh because everyone else is running the 75k and you didn't want to be a party pooper. New flash dummy, you won't be much of party animal after this little jaunt.

(Incoherent thoughts. Several lyrics of Miley Cyrus songs on a loop in brain. Obviously at a low functioning mental state. Just the essentials now.)

25km: I hate running. I honestly hate it. I'm never going to do this again. Ever. No, not even if someone offered me like $5,000. Maybe for a million. I don't know. It's a tough call. Fuck it. I'm walking this 10k hill. "Do you want to pass me?" ("No, I'm fine.") Humph. Just pass me, man. I'm not going to go any faster. In fact, I'm going to slow down. Maybe I'm just hungry. No. There is no amount of food that will make up for poor training.

If I keep eating things are bound to improve.

29ish km: Oh look its Dakota. Ass hole. Running. Pfh. Who does he think he is. "Good job!! I love you!!" No I don't. I don't love you at all right now. You jerk. This is somehow, someway, your fault... and I've got the next several hours to find a way to blame this situation I'm in on you. muhahahahaa

34.5km: Aid station. Lots of people. Pretend you are enjoying yourself.

37ish km: What is this crap? I have to finagle my way through that chimney of rock? Maybe I'll get stuck and I won't have to run anymore. Also, I hate stairs. I'm not looking forward to going up or down any of those again.

42km: I'm simply smiling and cheering on everyone else because I'm elated that a) I'm seeing people in just as much pain as myself b) I'm further along than these folks c) which means I'm that much closer to being done and d) it's downhill for the next 10km.

Ugh. 

44km: Truly regretting my excitement for downhill. Fairly certain that my quads are legitimately tearing away from the bone.

 46km: What if I lied and said that I was peeing blood. Kidney failure is a totally justifiable reason for dropping. If it were true.  But no one would know I lied about it. What sicko would lie about it? True. And then I'd have to lie about the whole kidney failure thing for like.. the rest of my life. Would I have to lie about it on new patient forms at doctors offices? Maybe. Definitely if I'm with someone from the race. I think I have a migraine. I could probably quit because of a migraine. It's pain that no one can see or question. I'll let that excuse marinate a little longer.

60.5km: I've taken up buddhism. Obviously in Samsara, a cyclical state where I'm grasping and fixating on myself and my experiences. I've come to this point from ignorance (avidaya) and am now going through dukkha: suffering, anxiety and dissatisfaction. It won't be long now. Actually. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

63km: If I convert kilometers to miles, do I lose or gain distance?  "Warner's Wall." Goddamnit. I hate Marcus Warner for this. I'm giving him the silent treatment for here on out. This stupid wall and it's stupid uphill-ness. I'd sit here and pout if there were someone near me to ask why I'm upset.

65km: I hate downhills more. I can literally feel the blisters under my toenails smashing into the front of my shoes.


67.6km: I think "Mick's Track" was removed from the course. Maybe the race director realized that going back up that hellacious hill was an unsound idea. Oh thank god. There is no way I could deal with that right now.

68km: "Mick's Track." I never liked that Mick character anyway. Yea, I thought I did, but nope. Add him to the silent treatment list.

(L-R: Myself, Dakota and Mick. Him and his stupid hill.)

71km: ohmygod.I'mgoingtorunallofthis. I don't care if my quads literally and/or figuratively snap away from the bone and land on the ground.

75.5km: Finishline.JesusHChrist. Put me in that river. I need to cleanse away all that has just happened. I don't care about anything other than sitting down. What? No, I don't want to party. I want a hot shower and a do over.

Carnage. My foot and Clarke's.

It has been twenty days since I "ran" the Buffalo Stampede. Memory, with time as it's cunning accomplice, has tricked my mind. Now that some time has lapsed, when people ask me about the race, about whether or not I had a good time, I can't quite figure out the answer. I stumble over my thoughts, words, landing on something like, "Yea.. I think I had a good time. Well I mean, I got through the race." I say things like that as if I only slightly struggled. In a very Freudian way, time is slowly changing my view on the whole ordeal, perhaps in an effort protect myself. With ultras (Let's not extrapolate to other life situations, please.)  it is sometimes best to repress painful experiences because if we accurately remembered these races like the one described above, no one would run such long distances.

So why write down the painful experience, this pseudo guilt prompted asterisk? I didn't write the above as a race report that tells a story of someone who struggled, over came many obstacles and finished with a better sense of self in hopes of inspiring someone. No, I wrote this to serve as a 'gentle' reminder to myself and perhaps a slight warning to others, to not believe everything you hear. Especially when you hear someone say, "Of course you can run an ultra! Anyone can!! It's fun!" It's not that they are lying, its just that they don't remember the truth.

Pre Race Meeting

This Sunday Dakota is racing in 4 Refugios, an ultra race in Argentina. Things seem to be run a little differently down there, so below I've written how I imagine the race to be organized..

Welcome to the 4 Ref 2014 pre race conference. This entire conference will be given in Spanish, so for those of you not fluent in the language, I hope you have previously secured a translator as it is vital that you understand all that we go over tonight. Ok, let's get started.

First some general rules about the meeting: Since you are here, you know that the meeting starts, or rather started at 10:00pm. A light pre race dinner will be served around midnight. An after dinner expresso will be available shortly after, but supply is limited, so please only have one cup. Around 1am, we will have a brief intermission. This will last somewhere between thirty minutes to an hour and a half. We have no way of notifying you of when the meeting resumes. The meeting is scheduled to conclude around 4:15, as the race begins at 4:30. In the event that the meeting runs over, one by one each of you will need to check in with the event timer. Look for a man holding the 1930s styled pocket watch. He will assign each of you a unique starting time. When you finish, we will hand you a paper and pencil so that you my calculate your finishing time. Basic arithmetic skills are necessary, but we will provide you with some simple formulas at the top of the page. Please, do not forget to write your name, your mothers maiden name, and your thirteen digit race number in the spaces provided. You must use the No. 2 pencil we give you. 

Now we can address the race itself. The race is capped at 1500 participants. Participants under the age of 18 do not count as actual participants, but we will provide them with a number. Due to this, we don't know the exact number of participants. That creates somewhat of a safety issue. We ask that everyone be aware of the people around them. If you notice that someone is suddenly not there, please notify someone of this persons disappearance. That being said, if you cannot describe the person, the location of where you saw them last or you cannot recall their thirteen digit bib number, do not tell anyone. Telling someone else, especially if you tell a race official and not just a spectator, might mean sending out a frivolous search party where we are looking for the proverbially needle in a hay stack. We would rather not waste time and valuable resources on looking for a runner who may or may not be lost. Which brings me to my next point. Carlos, please wave your hand. See the man with the bazooka gun? He will be coming around to each and every one of you. You all must sign the waiver he presents to you. This is a libality release form. Essentially saying that if you get hurt, lost, die, suffer from physical or mental pain during or in the four months following the race, we, 4 Ref, are not responsible for any of these damages. Feel free to read it, but keep in mind that it is already 11:00pm and dinner is served at midnight. Carlos looks like a man who doesn't want to be late to dinner. 

All of you should have noticed the "required gear" link located at the bottom left corner of our website, under the tab "additional information." And per the request on the page "schedule of events" under the "timeline" and then "pre race" page, where you should have seen the hot link labeled "Suggestions," all of you should have your bag of gear under your seats. This bag should also have the room for your bib number as well as a label containing the answers to the three security questions you answered on the "Gear FAQ" page. When you pick up your bib numbers after this meeting, but before you talk to the man with the pocket watch, assuming that we go over our scheduled time, please write your bib number on the bag. You'll have come back to this room, as this is where we have space to keep them. The drive between the restaurant where you pick up your bib is approximately sixteen minutes, but there might be some wiggle room there. Also, I'm assuming all of you have secured 4WD vehicles. If not, the drive time between this hotel conference room and the start line will be longer than the allotted twenty six minutes. Donkeys and sherpas might be available for hire, but the closest rental agency is a ten minute walk from here. But I digress. On to the gear. All participants should be wearing running shoes with a minimum of 6mm lugs and a maximum of 8mm. IF during the course of the race the lug height is decreased to 5mm due to wear, the runner will be asked to change into the additional pair of shoes they will have put into their pack. Runners will be required to carry two liters of water, at least 9 gels, two different pairs of sunglasses, each of varying darkness, a SPOT transmitter, a rain shell, arm sleeves, and tall compression socks. It is highly recommended that you wear two watches. Runners will also need to carry one rope for repelling and a climbing harness. You'll be wearing your aerodynamic bike helmet, so an additional helmet is not required, but also not frowned upon. Knowledge of climbing knots is also required, as you are NOT allowed to carry a repel device. There are two sections on the course where you will need to repel. Three if you follow the alternate course. There may be a bottleneck at these sections, which is why we have required you to choose a book to bring from these titles: War and Peace, The Canterberry Tales, One Hundred Years of Solitude, or Moby Dick. Hardback covers are not required, but highly recommended. You'll also be required to carry a first aid kit. In the waterproof container, you should have the following: anti venom, scissors, two meters of tape and gauze, six bandaids, 100proof alcohol, a strap of leather (to bite down on in case an amputation procedure occurs), a shot glass, one syringe of pure adrenaline, 10cc of Morphine, a portable AED, your primary AND secondary insurance cards, 3 gloves (Please make sure these are latex free) and saline. In a separate waterproof container you are required to carry a cell phone, a cell phone charger, a solar panel energy source device, and a portable hotspot. Before the race begins you should have opened up a twitter account as that is how race officials will be keeping track of participant progress as well as drops. If you have not done this, please see that you do this before you get your bib number. 

Moving on to the actual course. Like I said, the start is not here, but rather a decent distance. Once you get there you will be shuttled to the actual start. You will have a blind fold with you, you all should have known this was required, as it was written on the website under the "required pre race gear" tab. From the parking lot, you'll be blindfolded and driven to the actual start. You should also have seen under that same tab the required navigational gear- compass, complete knowledge of course topography, and you should have memorized the course description as well. Since it will be dark, and headlamps are absolutely forbidden, the first several hours of the course will be navigated by the stars, so working knowledge of astronomy will be vital. However, once the sun rises at 6:47, you must use your memory of the maps seen on the website. These were nestled under the "Additional Information" tab. You should NOT have a map on your person. And depending on which map you memorized you will be running either 48k or 76k course. Please know which you memorized, don't just follow the person in front of you as this will just add confusion to a race. 

Some suggestions if you do somehow get lost. Do not back track. Stay exactly where you are. Crews may or may not be out looking for you. To increase your odds of having a crew look for you, please try to socialize with the runners near you. Also, it is in your best interest to get lost on the first half of the 48k course or the last two thirds of the 76k course, as those are the easiest to get to. Since you have brought a novel in your gear bag, this will obviously come in handy here and should be read until you are discovered. If you were diligent in reading our website you will have also brought the gear seen on the downloadable excel spreadsheet title, "What to do if you get lost." A whistle, blanket, crossbow and fire making tools will come in handy if you happen to finish your book and realize that no one is looking for you. Thats obviously a worst case scenario though. Also, if you plan on hunting, you should have secured a hunting permit thirty days prior to the race. I believe small game is currently in season, but depending on how long you are lost, you may be able to hunt larger game. The wildlife officer will address this when we return from our intermission. 

Once you finish the race, which we expect most people to finish in about six to ten hours, again depending on the course you take, we will either have you calculate your finishing time, or if we start at the scheduled 4:30am start time, we will usher you to the after race debriefing. Either way, all participants will be required to attend the meeting. We will NOT start until everyone has finished. Since we do not know the exact number of participants, we have decided that once the room is comfortably warm from body heat, we will begin. The meeting will follow the same general schedule as the pre race meeting. Only instead of offering just expresso, we will also be adding a chocolate tasting table. There will be amply provisions, so feel free to indulge. Awards will be given during the second half of the meeting. We are currently aiming for a 3:30am start time for the ceremony. As most of you will need to return to work that same day, we have limited our presentation time to four hours. You should have already notified your work that you may be late. Also, you can read more about this on the waiver you've already signed. 

If there are no questions at this point, I'm going to suggest that we take a short break for dinner. If you are not a fluent speaker of Spanish or if you have not understood much of this meeting, I'd like to direct you to the computers in the back of the room. There you will see the talk I just gave playing on a loop. You'll be able to pause the talk to allow you time to look up translations in the dictionary you should have with you, as seen on the "Non native speakers required gear" list. Let us resume the talk when we are done with our meal. If we happen to run long on dinner and it spills into our intermission time, please see the amended schedule pamphlet we have placed in the back of the room.

The ocean is an awful big place

I just spent ten days in Mexico. Amble beach action going on. And by that I mean, very little action, running or fitness occurring. Beach action consists of laying, reading, rotating in the sun and when you just can't recline any longer, walking. The last day in Mexico was spent on a beach nestled against the mighty Pacific ocean. After a few hours of rotisserie-ing my body in the sun, I decided to go on a stroll down the shore. I was just casually walking along, occasionally glancing over my right shoulder at the crashing waves, when I spotted a sad looking and deflated blow fish on the sand. I bent down and noticed the poor guy was still breathing. Being the rescuer that I am, I ran to the water, cupped my hands to form a bucket, scooped water up and ran back to the fish to give him a little relief. I have no idea what I hoped this would accomplish, but I quickly realized that this wasn't going to do a whole lot of good. Looking around for ideas, I spotted two smooth, palm sized rocks. New plan: scoop up the fish and set him back in the water. As I slowly carried him to the water, I projected emotions onto the fish. Surely I was scaring the crap out of him. He was frightened, but I knew he would thank me in a matter of moments- when his body was fully emerged in the cool salt water. But that didn't happen. I set him down and he did nothing. He rolled around and appeared to be apathetic about the whole encounter. Definitely not thankful for my effort. The surf wasn't doing either of us favors. As waves would crash, the fish would get washed ashore again, all but forcing me to scoop him up and place him back in the water, though each time further from shore, in hopes that he would be safe from the waves. After a few of this back and forth nonsense, I finally didn't see him come in with the tide. He had made it. Satisfied with my life saving efforts, I continued on with my walk.

As I left a trail of footprints in the sand, I started regretting the whole encounter. Perhaps I didn't save him. Maybe he knew that his time had come and beaching himself was how he wanted to go. And here I come, putting him right back to the place where he doesn't want to be- in an unforgiving ocean. I had taken my own feelings- the inescapable urge to help something suffering- and projected them onto this voiceless creature. With this in mind, I decided that if he was on the beach when I turned around, that I would keep walking, accept that not everything needs saving.

The fish had indeed returned to the shore. I bent down over him, saw his gills intermittently flaring out and then kept walking. I returned to my towel and remained there for another hour or so. As the sun was beginning to set, I decided to go for one more walk. I neared the spot where the blow fish had been earlier and noticed his absence. As luck would have it, something else took his place. A baby sea turtle. I couldn't believe it. I had to see if it was real. It couldn't be! It must be a toy. No other turtles were around. Surely if this an actual turtle people would have stopped and formed a little crowd. NatGeo would have suddenly materialized. I gently poked its side, like any seven year old would have done. Sure enough the little guy moved. Now, I don't know much about sea turtles, but what I do know makes me respect them. These creatures get a rough start to life. First, they have to break out of their egg and then clamor through thick sand- mind you they just hatched, so its not like they have a ton of strength.  Once they emerge from the nest, surely exhausted they then have to drag themselves across the beach, which relative to their size must be an incredibly daunting endeavor. If they survive the beach crawl without getting eaten by predators, their efforts are rewarded by getting slam with waves. Waves that will surely wash them back up the beach. They must swim through the surf to deeper "safer" waters, where they will most certainly encounter hungry animals looking for a small snack. Needless to say, turtles drew the short stick for life beginnings. All of this was running through my head as I stared at the very small and very tired little life. I wanted to help him to sea. I thought, "I'm bigger, I can get you to the ocean faster. You'll have a better chance if I help you." Then the blowfish came to mind. Would I be helping? Interfering with nature for my own desires, my own selfish need to avoid seeing suffering, might not be the best plan. I sat there, watching the little turtle fumble over his small paddle like limbs. The shadows of birds overhead occasionally circled around us. He neared the ocean, at a painfully slow pace. With me sitting there, he was essentially taunting the birds. The water occasionally touched him, surely motivating him. I looked out at the waves he was going to navigate in the near future. The sheer power of the waves was intimidating for me, not to mention the absolute vastness of the ocean that contains more threats that I care to imagine. Did this little turtle know his odds? If he did, they weren't stopping his efforts. A huge wave crashed on the beach, breaking my train of thoughts. The sandy water washed up over the turtle, sending his little body tumbling into the deeper, tumultuous surf. The next wave shot him right back on the beach.  The turtle would have to make the trek again, surely several times. I continued to stand near the turtle, watching him make this essential journey. Eventually the he met the waves again and was swept away. I waited to see him get washed ashore again, but he never reappeared. He moved on to another challenge. A very small turtle up against a very big ocean.

With the sun setting over the ocean, I did what any human would do, turn the days events into a much bigger thing. We all have our own beach to cross and ocean to navigate. As humans, it is our natural tendency to avoid pain and when we see others in discomfort, we want to quell it. Some struggles cannot be avoided though. We can succumb to the odds or go on, despite them.  And we must realize that we can only take others to the ocean so many times. Frequently we can't even do that. Each struggle is different. Sometimes help comes from standing beside someone, watching and just being there.