tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40661080168963831942024-03-18T13:28:40.317-06:00Cloth MotherMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-73923532150687764602017-08-29T17:36:00.001-06:002017-08-30T10:07:51.426-06:00Lean Horse 100: Life is hard, Running is easyI clicked off my headlamp and looked at the swirling stars above. Then I leaned over the side of the trail and threw up. This had been going on for too many hours to count. And it didn't matter anyway. I was alive. Vomiting, but alive, and somehow I was managing to hang on.<br />
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Still heaving, I started moving again. It was cold enough that I could see my breath in the air, and I knew I couldn't stop for long. Movement was the thing that would keep me warm. All I had to think about was this step, and then the next one. I didn't even think about how far away the next aid station was, or the finish line. There was a simplicity to boiling everything down to practically...nothing. And in spite of all that had gone wrong, there were still so many things that were going right. I could honestly say that at this moment, I was <i>happy</i>. There was nowhere else I wanted to be and nothing else I wanted to be doing. Just this: right here, right now.<br />
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*****<br />
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Going into <a href="http://leanhorse100.com/" target="_blank">Lean Horse 100</a>, I knew it was my best bet, or perhaps only bet, for finishing a race that was a hundred miler in its own right. I'd covered the distance once before, during 24 hours at <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/01/across-years-part-2.html" target="_blank">Across the Years</a>. But at my subsequent attempt-- <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/11/part-2-how-i-got-off-boat-at-javelina.html" target="_blank">Javelina Jundred</a> last fall-- I found myself face down in the desert just 66 miles into the race, and I'd taken my first ever DNF.<br />
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One thing that gave me some confidence was that training had been much more consistent for Lean Horse. Which is to say, I had managed to stay injury free. I began increasing my mileage in January, slowly and steadily, and by March I staying strong with solid 50-60 mile weeks and no need to drop down. I did some higher intensity weeks--including pacing Rob overnight for the last 38 miles of <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2017/06/kettle-moraine-100-pacer-report.html" target="_blank">Kettle Moraine 100</a>, and a 44 mile solo trek (for my <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/charity-run-for-dyslexic-children" target="_blank">dyslexia charity run</a>, maybe someday I'll write about that) in the thin air of the rugged Colorado Trail. During peak training week, I hit 90 miles for the first time in my life-- celebrating at the top of Hope Pass (also my first time running at over 12,000 feet of elevation) with Rob and Team Steph.<br />
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I was uninjured and reasonably well trained. Nothing in my work schedule prevented me from doing this. It was now or never. The problem was...did I really even <i>want</i> to attempt a hundred miles?<br />
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I kept thinking about all the reasons why I had quit Javelina, and I knew that nothing had changed. The emotional baggage that had caused me to panic in the desert-- still there. The unrelenting nausea and vomiting that takes hold of me sometime between 8 and 12 hours into a race-- I'm nowhere near to figuring that out. Even more than these factors, I also knew that I'd have to be prepared to run this race alone, with no pacer. We didn't have anyone to go with us, and we would have needed at least one other person to drive Rob to the check point (Lean Horse is an out and back course) and then take care of Will for the rest of the night so that Rob could pace me. I had absolutely no assurance I would be able to finish, and in fact, almost every reason to believe that the same thing that had happened at Javelina would happen at Lean Horse. I didn't know if I would ever be able to recover from a second DNF.<br />
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I think I reacted to this stress by turning off everything, and just remaining in this almost Zen, emotionless state during the weeks leading up to the race. I still felt an uncharacteristic lack of emotion as I methodically chewed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at 4:30 on race morning, as I stood shivering on the start line watching the sun rise.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start line (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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Then all of a sudden, we were off. Wasn't there somebody once who said <i><a href="http://100milesisnotthatfar.com/" target="_blank">100 miles is not that far</a></i>? I figured I would disagree with him by the time this thing was done.<br />
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The race was on a rails-to-trails gravel path, which is basically my kind of turf. Not technical, no rocks or roots. There were supposedly "hills," but none of them were more than 4% grade. It's just that they might last for 10 miles at a time. Still, how hard could it be? Aid stations were like clockwork-- 5 to 6 miles apart, and Rob and Will were at every one.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrduMiQUSkuaHIsfxtjVLejEm1_7ghE7UI_IQhQyPRDRcOy6XDuOnT5O5oj-5ONHDrnTcgUzuCurHyJ2Jd3aIHoHNoFd5Mwl5XzrVC0VDS9aL_BGwis8tadQlIWGNEVk5Crz1xHAzDHEM/s1600/FullSizeRender-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="639" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrduMiQUSkuaHIsfxtjVLejEm1_7ghE7UI_IQhQyPRDRcOy6XDuOnT5O5oj-5ONHDrnTcgUzuCurHyJ2Jd3aIHoHNoFd5Mwl5XzrVC0VDS9aL_BGwis8tadQlIWGNEVk5Crz1xHAzDHEM/s320/FullSizeRender-12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">5 miles down, 95 miles to go (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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I think during the early part of the race, I mostly tried to avoid getting caught up with the 30-milers (it was also a 30, 50, and 100-mile relay event). I ate a watermelon shot-block about every mile, and I walked a little bit every two. I caught up with a 30-mile runner named Katie around mile 10 and stayed with her until we hit her turn around point at Hill City-- mile 15. She was great. She was just like me, and I wished we lived in the same town and could be running friends. We talked about our kids, and what a struggle it could be, but I stopped myself before I mentioned anything about what we'd been through during the past year. I think this had been my downfall at Javelina, when I was in the thick of it and started talking with another runner about how much it was killing me to pull my kid through dyslexia. I didn't go there this time-- I knew from Javelina that a hundred mile trail race is not a good place to fall into a panic attack and be unable to get yourself out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1RwmT9Jt_XGYfnlVk9BY2XA1CRoP5xq0MTLt36IM-kkfI_8cFpEYHQqyKHecU4I49NAuwojkg8fBmn5ySIU3xx6ti6DQs3iohkpYQ-lmSo7rO6XUBR9aWBeBVIQjcRRlDYYbBLQ5ix8/s1600/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="640" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE1RwmT9Jt_XGYfnlVk9BY2XA1CRoP5xq0MTLt36IM-kkfI_8cFpEYHQqyKHecU4I49NAuwojkg8fBmn5ySIU3xx6ti6DQs3iohkpYQ-lmSo7rO6XUBR9aWBeBVIQjcRRlDYYbBLQ5ix8/s320/FullSizeRender-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not my new BFF Katie, but from approximately the same place. (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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When I arrived at Hill City, I was ahead of schedule, behind on nutrition, and it was hot. Rob filled the tube sock of ice for me to put around my neck while I ate some bites of a vegan grilled cheese from my drop bag. I walked out of the aid station, on the only section of pavement the course had, as we took a bit of a jog through town to get back to the Mickelson Trail. I tried to memorize the details of the streets, and I wondered what it would look like when I came back through here in the dark at mile 85.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7m-dL2eO_HOYzjLDGaScMzsmGvVXfbChJT3EU4O0TfEsCFmOZL0hDuCqLhkYymlGHhH_Qcfy-2L4j91VZO3aUAn2KaYdqTnlPv8jACGqr6u49_yYPkLbzEZETSUZ66A0ObkfzATQxY/s1600/FullSizeRender-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ7m-dL2eO_HOYzjLDGaScMzsmGvVXfbChJT3EU4O0TfEsCFmOZL0hDuCqLhkYymlGHhH_Qcfy-2L4j91VZO3aUAn2KaYdqTnlPv8jACGqr6u49_yYPkLbzEZETSUZ66A0ObkfzATQxY/s320/FullSizeRender-13.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pavement in Hill City, USA (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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The heat was becoming more of a factor, and I finally understood why people had said you needed to be careful of the "hills" in this race. Even a mild grade feels taxing on the legs when it lasts for 10 miles. It is different than running steeper, but shorter hills, where your body gets a clear signal that you need a walk break. My legs were definitely sore, in a way that was somewhat alarming, by mile 25. I was also not handling the shot blocks and homemade grilled cheese so well anymore (that was the entirety of my nutrition plan). Swallowing pills made me gag, so at aid stations I began emptying the contents of an Endurolyte and a ginger capsule into a cup of ginger ale and then swigging down the cocktail. Not bad. The sweetness was unappealing though, and I didn't feel like eating solid food. I drank some lukewarm vegetable broth at mile 25 and this seemed to bring me back to life. Heading out of the aid station with purposeful strides, I thought, this was how I was going to make it. Vegetable broth would see me to the end.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWvVqxc1mxK10thHO3ovGVsCKl5-rEn0H7Me1vA8Wd1PHxeG5hxjuuU7H1bZ5nOhi1g9GssTxjq2IwdwMSvKlTkqD0TKnOZwVh2mfAFcmuUcAITdFsu36lHgPPkoqS-My4ZN5m1ggFn0/s1600/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="560" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYWvVqxc1mxK10thHO3ovGVsCKl5-rEn0H7Me1vA8Wd1PHxeG5hxjuuU7H1bZ5nOhi1g9GssTxjq2IwdwMSvKlTkqD0TKnOZwVh2mfAFcmuUcAITdFsu36lHgPPkoqS-My4ZN5m1ggFn0/s320/FullSizeRender-5.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? This is me, hydrating, at mile 23 (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 25, restored by broth (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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The next 5 miles went by in a flash, which I don't think anyone was expecting. It was all downhill, at a very gentle grade, and I ran sub-10 minute miles the entire way without walk breaks or effort. The aid station at the end of that was the only time Rob and Will missed me during the entire race. I drank some more vegetable broth and got back on the trail.<br />
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The next 20 or so miles were roughly uphill, and while I don't remember suffering that much, I did slow considerably. I knew that if I was going to finish in under 24 hours, I'd need to make it to the 50 mile mark by at least 10 hours, to allow myself a good cushion. And by this point, I knew that wasn't going to happen. Eleven hours at the 50-mile turnaround seemed like a safer bet, and finishing the race at all was far more important than finishing it in sub-24.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5KNwklQJKW95sW9wxPnzP6QTaR98KrN0E3WpQjzlWgA6pOj5acpweKlxarpHvCRjC7Yy3LfLrBQftXkc9w6o6n1GZ81YkjbEMrDxc4z1pkPTLb3flIhYo1otW3OuUuThS6xxQJTSs6s/s1600/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk5KNwklQJKW95sW9wxPnzP6QTaR98KrN0E3WpQjzlWgA6pOj5acpweKlxarpHvCRjC7Yy3LfLrBQftXkc9w6o6n1GZ81YkjbEMrDxc4z1pkPTLb3flIhYo1otW3OuUuThS6xxQJTSs6s/s320/FullSizeRender-11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mile 43 (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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There seemed to be a lot of carnage in the final 5-10 miles before the turn around point. I wasn't moving so great myself but was passing people left and right. Uphill, no shade, brutal sun. I took it slow, but by the time I got to the aid station at mile 49-ish, I felt legitimately bad. Rob tried to get me to eat all kinds of food, but I shook my head. I didn't even want broth anymore. I didn't want anything.<br />
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Runners were supposed to go out to the 50 mile mark, turn around, and then come back. I thought if I just walked that entire way, until I got back to the aid station again, surely my stomach would get under control. I'd be kissing 24 goodbye, but I'd be saving the race overall.<br />
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Walking did not help my stomach, so I ran once I hit the turn around and it was downhill back to the aid station. I couldn't fathom putting anything into my mouth as I got back there, now mile 51 for me. "Do I have time to walk it into the finish from here?" I asked. Rob seemed completely bewildered. By all respects, I appeared to be doing well. I was in the top 25 overall, I was the 3rd woman (of what... a dozen women in the entire race?), and a sub 24-hour finish was still well within my grasp.<br />
<br />
I took some (vegan) chocolate chip cookies Rob had brought me from the van and drank a cup of coke. Rob raised his camera to take a picture of me, just as I vomited all over the side of the trail. There was a look of horror on his face that I could tell he was trying to mask with encouragement. I laughed and gave him two thumbs up. Throwing up was exactly what I had needed. I felt better than I had in at least 10 miles. I drank some water and nibbled on one of the cookies as I took off running. This wasn't the beginning of the end, I told myself. My stomach had just needed to be reset, and this had done the trick. Chocolate chip cookies would get me to the end. Everything was going to be fine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlZ9wYx0cCxQvyqymSJGcS_cj-NqOiDPbtvEtCZALsv2pecW7JgUzLdXFGSFGjfiwDLcWNkI350C8jY-Lf46I8rWtaHfWt5iQFEsA28IlhjgofkuHPuEFnG3P5LnHoP1BAm2ppqCQ2Dg/s1600/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="642" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlZ9wYx0cCxQvyqymSJGcS_cj-NqOiDPbtvEtCZALsv2pecW7JgUzLdXFGSFGjfiwDLcWNkI350C8jY-Lf46I8rWtaHfWt5iQFEsA28IlhjgofkuHPuEFnG3P5LnHoP1BAm2ppqCQ2Dg/s320/FullSizeRender-1.jpg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is not the beginning of the end, it's not. I refuse to let it be. (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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Most of the first half of the race had been a gradual uphill. Which meant most of the second half was a gradual down. The weird thing is how effortless it felt to be running it. I was suddenly moving at a pretty good clip again, and it felt like nothing at all. This was an asset. Although my legs had hurt early on, they were totally fine now. And my stomach had just gotten reset. Rob had fixed me a baggie of 3 chocolate chip cookies before I left, and I told myself to eat all 3 of them before I got to the next aid station some 5 miles away.<br />
<br />
I never ate the cookies.<br />
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In fact, I never ate anything else for the rest of the race.<br />
<br />
I threw up a couple more times before I got to the next aid station. There would be this brief minute or two after each puke when I felt pretty good. So I'd drink water and whatever I had in my bottles (coke at this point, I think), and then I'd throw that up a couple miles later.<br />
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The mile 56 aid station went by, and I ate no more food. I kept thinking that I needed to walk--slowing down was surely the key to calming my stomach. But the gentle downhill grade made running feel easier than walking, and I didn't want to waste anymore time. So I ran.<br />
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Just before the mile 62 aid station, it was dark enough that I clicked on my headlamp. Good. Now it was time for some magic. No more sun boiling down on me. Surely now I would be able to eat.<br />
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But I couldn't. I pulled into the mile 62 aid station, my stomach a wreck. I'd also been visiting the port-a-potties at every aid station at least since the turn around point, but luckily, I'd never had to use the emergency ziplock baggie of TP in my pack. Even so, I didn't know what was wrong with me. I've puked in just about every ultra I've ever run, but this level of digestive distress was unprecedented even for me. I felt like I was running with the stomach flu.<br />
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Now that it was dark out, I was uncomfortably cold. I stripped off my sweaty singlet for a dry t-shirt and tried to come up with something, anything I thought I could eat. No luck. I went to the aid station table and surveyed my options. There was a sign above the table that said "WE HAVE PBR."<br />
<br />
"Alright, can you hook me up?" I asked the volunteer.<br />
<br />
Everyone cheered as he popped open a beer for me. It was disgusting, but somehow delicious. It was liquid that wasn't salty or sweet, and it had precious calories that might buy me a few miles. I thanked the volunteers and Rob and Will (who was dressed in his Harry Potter costume), and headed out of the aid station.<br />
<br />
A mile later, I threw up PBR all over the side of trail.<br />
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It was probably around this time that I settled into a groove of run, walk, puke, run, walk, puke, and repeat and until I got to the next aid station. It wasn't that bad really. I began thinking back to when I had hyperemesis, and I had wished there was more than one word to describe "nausea." This wasn't the worst kind of nausea you could have. I'd mostly just feel this low grade queasiness, then puke, and then have a few minutes of relief before it started in again. It wasn't like the all consuming, overwhelming, blinding nausea I had felt during Javelina. This was something I could handle, and that was an asset.<br />
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I even started being able to time it so that I would puke shortly before reaching an aid station. This way, my brief window of consumption would occur while there was food available. I still couldn't eat, but by around mile 70, I told Rob, "Chocolate soy milk," and he ran to the van to get it while I went to the bathroom. He filled up my bottle, and I left the aid station thinking, chocolate soy milk will get me to the end. 30 miles to go.<br />
<br />
There were glow sticks placed along the trail for about a mile preceding the next aid station, and it was very comforting to see them lighting the way and knowing that I wasn't completely alone in the woods. I think it was about 10:30pm when I got to the mile 75 aid station. Will was awake after a brief nap, and he was wearing his Harry Potter costume. "Follow the glow sticks, mom," he said helpfully, as Rob topped off my bottle with chocolate soy milk. I nodded and continued. It had been 25 miles since I'd eaten anything. I still had 25 miles to go. And for the most part, I was <i>still</i> running. How was this humanly possible? Would I be able to keep doing this until the finish?<br />
<br />
The glow sticks dwindled outside of the aid station, but I didn't give in to the odd pang of sadness that brought me. Instead, I thought of <i>Rogue One</i>, when the characters were up against the impossible, and Jyn Erso gave them a pep talk that went something like, "We're going to take this chance, and the next, and we'll keep on taking our chances either until we succeed, or until all our chances are spent." Star Wars wisdom. This is what I would do. Once chance at a time, one step at a time. I had no idea how I was going to finish this, but I would keep on moving until I had no more chances left to spend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J-DUyclSBW7QJJqywhvIWopb_oBWWrxtL3MRcTmJ8BIkO2l3_3RczzZExDG2KgQxKWpwG-EhZTU57d_rlZ_avcmoHt_O-zQPUYXf5aO9_Q1s073sec35WY6deW8AK3BlWWbstcrmgFY/s1600/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="638" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8J-DUyclSBW7QJJqywhvIWopb_oBWWrxtL3MRcTmJ8BIkO2l3_3RczzZExDG2KgQxKWpwG-EhZTU57d_rlZ_avcmoHt_O-zQPUYXf5aO9_Q1s073sec35WY6deW8AK3BlWWbstcrmgFY/s320/FullSizeRender-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Sleep monsters came out to get me as I forged ahead to mile 80. I listened to music and popped massive amounts of caffeinated Run Gum, but even that wasn't keeping me awake. Whenever I slowed to a walk, the Sleep Monsters whispered to me that I should close my eyes, that I should lie down on the side of the trail. They made my vision blur in front of me. Even bitterly cold and shaking, my breath white puffs of air in front of me, I couldn't stay awake. My legs weren't really sore, but my body was shutting down. I tried to keep running as much as I could, simply because that kept me more alert than walking.<br />
<br />
Aside from the nausea and exhaustion, the biggest problem I'd had for most of the race was the constant feeling that I had to pee. At first, it made sense. When I'd stopped eating, I shifted to broth, coke, and ginger ale. More recently to chocolate soy milk. It was a lot of liquid, but I could barely make it 2 miles down the trail without stepping off into the woods to pee. It was growing increasingly uncomfortable at this point because it was so cold. And I had no idea where all that pee was coming from. I'd been vomiting for more than 30 miles, and it had been hours since I'd drank anything more than a few sips at a time. How did I have any liquid left in me? Was my body sucking it out of my muscles and organs? Was I dehydrating from within?<br />
<br />
During the stretch from mile 80 to 85, things became truly difficult. My legs were still fine, but running made me so dizzy that I could barely do it. Walking helped anchor my feet to the ground, but it wasn't keeping me warm or awake. I welcomed the lights as I headed into Hill City and made my way to the aid station. Still 15 miles from the finish. It was so close but so far away. For the first time since this had begun, tears welled up in my eyes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneRbv25tS7hQD9sy5qNMPXA034HtanpIbhBJiitv-qyqtmck85TY6BccIkeSA7Saozpai63TBzohwCnM85T4V9wLJw-hcAxUlcSdHfLyedLtOgd7mB1jFgo12knDKexOa7yXir0lOi6M/s1600/IMG_3047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneRbv25tS7hQD9sy5qNMPXA034HtanpIbhBJiitv-qyqtmck85TY6BccIkeSA7Saozpai63TBzohwCnM85T4V9wLJw-hcAxUlcSdHfLyedLtOgd7mB1jFgo12knDKexOa7yXir0lOi6M/s320/IMG_3047.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea how I'm going to do this</td></tr>
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<br />
As Rob tried to fix a blister that had formed between my first and second toe, another runner and her pacer arrived at the aid station. I left before them, but I could see their headlamps behind me before too long. All I wanted, in the whole world, was to lie down on the side of the trail. There was nothing left in my body to burn, and I was so cold, and so desperately exhausted. Would I freeze to death if I just lay down? I stopped for a second to throw up bile. My stomach was empty because I hadn't even drunk anything in miles, but I still felt like I had to pee. I could not take one more step. I had to lie down, I absolutely had to lie down.<br />
<br />
Then Carla and Javier, her pacer, caught up with me. "How are you doing?" Carla asked. I couldn't talk. Tears streamed down my face. She put both of her arms around me in a hug. "Come on," she said. "Walk with us."<br />
<br />
And so I walked with them. They were both from Puerto Rico, and this was Carla's first 100 mile race. This was the first time she had ever been in a place so cold that her breath froze each time she exhaled. It felt better to be with Carla and to listen to her talk. I think things might have been easier for me if I'd had a pacer, but I also knew that the only thing that had gotten me this far was having Rob drive the van around to every aid station. When chocolate soymilk was the thing I wanted, he just went to the van fridge and got it for me. When I was too cold to function, he ran to the van and got an extra pair of his own pants for me to wear. Unbeknownst to me, he had also been driving around rural South Dakota looking for an all night grocery store that sold V8, because I had on several occasions asked for this at aid stations (and they didn't have any). Carla told me that I could stay with her after we got to the mile 89.9 aid station and we could keep walking together. But I shook my head. If Rob was there with the van (and I sincerely hoped he was), I was going to get inside, lie down, and go to sleep.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, Rob was there. I hugged Carla one more time before she left, and I told Rob that if I was going to finish this race, I would absolutely have to get myself together. I had not been able to eat anything in almost 11 hours. I only had 10 miles left to cover, but my body was at its absolute limit. It was 4:30 in the morning, an hour left until sunrise, 7 hours and 30 minutes left on the clock.<br />
<br />
We got in the van and he turned the heat on high. Will was sleeping in the back, and Rob and I both crawled into the bed in the front. My clothes were drenched in sweat, and I was so cold that I shook. I dry heaved twice into a basin, set my alarm for 40 minutes, and fell asleep.<br />
<br />
I woke up just after 5 in the morning. I still felt cold and sick. I was desperate to get warm. Rob helped me find some other clothes to put on. I kept saying to him, "How am I going to go another 10 miles with no food?" Maybe it sounded like I was hysterical, but I meant it in a practical sense. Like, what are the procedures I need to undertake in order to accomplish this task? Lying down had not calmed my stomach. I felt even worse than before, with both nausea and hunger rising to excruciating levels. I took a single Ritz cracker out of a package on the counter and put it in my mouth. It might as well have been chalk or cardboard. My mouth wouldn't work to chew, my throat wouldn't work to swallow. I licked the salt off another cracker and took a sip of water. Then I stepped out of the van into a periwinkle world. The last stars faded, and the sun was just beginning to glimmer in the east. 6 and a half hours left on the clock. 10 miles to go. This was going to be hard, but so far from the hardest thing I've ever done that a comparison wouldn't even be possible. Life is hard, running easy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Im27ANEAhbYOf16ZhXGwbs4ho_1QN_dzAtoZbH8erp9V7FbqtnCG23DN5Vq5CV12Hop8GejcINOluAzfBBMvEDTSrbuBYqwv1X08JQkS_AukSmCqfyFSrTmAwejBHonbky2LiPAx7hE/s1600/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="627" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Im27ANEAhbYOf16ZhXGwbs4ho_1QN_dzAtoZbH8erp9V7FbqtnCG23DN5Vq5CV12Hop8GejcINOluAzfBBMvEDTSrbuBYqwv1X08JQkS_AukSmCqfyFSrTmAwejBHonbky2LiPAx7hE/s320/FullSizeRender-8.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It never even occurred to me not to get out of the van and do this. (Photo by Rob)</td></tr>
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<br />
Step by step, each step closer to the finish. I never ran again, but I kept a decent clip, at under 20 minute miles. People occasionally caught up and passed me, giving me an encouraging word as they did. I was beyond speaking, beyond even moving my head. A thumbs up was the best I could manage. At last I reached the final aid station, and there were just 4 miles left. "It's all downhill from here," Rob said. I licked the salt off another Ritz cracker and resolutely shuffled ahead. Taking all my chances, until all my chances were spent.<br />
<br />
Two miles from the finish, I started crying. This was the first time I actually considered that there was an end in sight, that I might even pull this off. All I had to do was stay vertical, keep moving. I hoped my legs wouldn't give out on me before the end.<br />
<br />
Rob and Will were standing along the trail, just before the turn off to the high school track. "Is it still a half mile to go?" I whispered. "No," Rob replied. "You can see the finish from here." I covered my face and sobbed. Will took my other hand and led me to the track. All I had to do was make my way to the other side of it. Step by step, we did. 26 hours, 52 minutes, and 2 seconds after starting this thing, I finished.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc9Yt3VQOCKwWLSYpXKSW4YlV-4D1Sj5LIxIOw0j6FQOkcR3AaKO3LlSPMSMvi3jZeW6_CYJqIZvynwqy51RGFqYpLiJ2Jg1eHgvOKKsIPNWPPA0-6o2GBpoK8dsMDc2y-F3yRCIRGtY/s1600/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="640" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc9Yt3VQOCKwWLSYpXKSW4YlV-4D1Sj5LIxIOw0j6FQOkcR3AaKO3LlSPMSMvi3jZeW6_CYJqIZvynwqy51RGFqYpLiJ2Jg1eHgvOKKsIPNWPPA0-6o2GBpoK8dsMDc2y-F3yRCIRGtY/s320/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing I did in this race was anywhere near as hard as what he goes through EVERY SINGLE DAY as a dyslexic child in the US Education system.</td></tr>
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All my gratitude goes to Rob and Will. I absolutely could not have done this without them being there for me all day, all night, and into the next morning. If they're willing to go through this again, I'm ready to sign up for next year.</div>
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Thanks for reading.</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com576tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-34892341189522852112017-08-27T09:05:00.001-06:002017-08-27T09:05:54.575-06:00Remembering a dyslexic classmate, 30 years laterI remember this kid from my fourth grade class. Jack was his name, I think, or at least, that's what I'll call him here. He seemed bigger than the rest of us, maybe he had been held back already. It was widely known that he was a trouble maker. Didn't try. Didn't care. The teachers regarded him with unmasked frustration and hostility, and their assessment of him was not lost on the rest of us. I mean, how stupid <i>were</i> you, if you had made it all the way to the fourth grade (perhaps having even repeated a grade or two along the way) and you <i>still</i> couldn't read?<br />
<br />
I also remember that Jack was good at fixing things. Taking them apart and putting them back together again. Ballpoint pens in particular. Fourth grade was a seminal year for this, because the great privilege of being a fourth grader was that you sometimes got to write with a pen instead of a pencil. But with this privilege also came the frustration of pens that would every so often stop working, and you'd circle and circle on the page, waiting for the ink to come out, but it never did. Jack could fix your pen for you. He did this for me one time, as I had been seated next to him in art or music class. I'd regarded him somewhat suspiciously, and with a bit of fear. He was supposed to be a bad seed, the kind of kid you didn't talk to, a bully.<br />
<br />
But as he sat next to me and dismantled my pen, he hummed a bit. And I realized, I couldn't think of one single instance when he had actually caused trouble or done something wrong. All I could think of was teachers yelling at him or punishing him for things that wouldn't have even caused so much as a raised eyebrow if some other student had done it. All I could think of was how, whenever he was called upon to read a passage out loud in class, he would stumble over the words, getting many of them wrong. And the rest of the class would snicker, at best, or laugh outright in his face.<br />
<br />
He wasn't the bully. He was bullied.<br />
<br />
He was dyslexic.<br />
<br />
With a smile, Jack handed me back my pen, and it worked just fine. I wondered why everyone thought he was such a bad kid. I wondered how you could be in the fourth grade and still not be able to read.<br />
<br />
That was almost thirty years ago. And the truth is, precious little has changed for dyslexic kids. My son would be Jack if I had listened to the piece-of-shit teachers who told me what a challenge he was, how he needs to try harder, how all we can do is wait and see. My son would be Jack if I had been gaslit by the piece-of-shit principal and school reading specialists and counselors who told me I was being unfair and unreasonable, who have cornered me and ripped me to shreds, who have done everything in their power to get me to shut the fuck up about dyslexia. My son would be Jack if I allowed myself to be intimidated by these overgrown middle school mean girls, by family members who deride me for being too "negative." My son would be Jack if I were anything other than stubborn as fuck. He would be Jack if I hadn't found Ms. V, if we hadn't had the means to pay thousands of dollars (with no end in sight) on dyslexia tutoring.<br />
<br />
I thought about Jack the other day, and I wondered what ever happened to him. I'm not sure if I remember him being part of my class beyond grade school. I hoped to god he didn't blow his brains out or overdose, having spent his whole life believing he wasn't worth a damn. I hoped instead he invented something amazing, became a CEO or a stop motion film maker, or a software engineer.<br />
<br />
I hope that my son makes it through, but unlike neurotypical children, who have every opportunity handed to them without question, Will has no such assurance. For dyslexic kids now, thirty years ago, sixty years ago, it's still the same: the very people whose job it is to help you succeed in life only sabotage you every step of the way.<br />
<br />
Thanks for reading.<br />
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com252tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-56871956133299702232017-06-10T18:37:00.003-06:002017-06-12T12:06:20.599-06:00Kettle Moraine 100 Pacer Report!I didn't think he would really want me to go with him.<br />
<br />
When he'd first mentioned running the <a href="http://kettle100.com/" target="_blank">Kettle Moraine 100</a>, barely more than a week earlier, he'd said his parents were planning on coming up. I'd told him that if his parents didn't mind watching Will all night, I could pace him. Runners would loop back through the start/finish area (where we'd be parked in the van) after around 62 miles, and they were allowed to pick up a pacer before heading out again for the last 38 mile out-and-back. I could leave with him at mile 62, or I could run down the road for about a mile and a half and pick him up at a trailhead he'd pass by at mile 70. Or when he passed that same trailhead again on his way back at mile 93.<br />
<br />
"Interesting," had been his reply. I saw his eyes considering these possibilities, but ultimately he'd said that he didn't think he'd need a pacer. He'd decided to run the race on the assumption that he'd be running it alone, but since I'd offered and it would seem to work out, he didn't completely discount the possibility. "Let's say it's not Plan A," he said. If everything was going according to plan, he didn't think he'd need me.<br />
<br />
How often does everything go according to plan when you're running a hundred miler?<br />
<br />
We took off for the midwest, and when we arrived in Illinois, we ran together a few times on trails near my parents' home. I'd forgotten what midwestern trails were like. Rooty and muddy with constant little 100 foot climbs and descents. The soft ground felt delicious under my feet, so unlike the rocks and slippery sand I've gotten used to in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Maybe if I'd never left the midwest, I'd have been a halfway decent trail runner. Even so, as I ran with him, I realized there was no way I'd ever be able to pace him in a hundred miler. I would never be able to keep up. He so much of a stronger runner than me that even at the tail end of a hundred miles, he would still undoubtedly be moving faster than me on the trail. If I were to go with him in the race, it would only be in the case of a dire emergency, such as, he'd have to be walking it in for the last 38 miles.<br />
<br />
The night before the race I think I slept all of three hours, and he didn't sleep much more than that. It wasn't too long after the start of the race that thunderstorms began. This was real, midwestern rain, the kind that dumps buckets of water on you for hours at a time. We don't get this in the foothills. I kept my eye on the lightning, wondering how close it would have to be before they called the race.<br />
<br />
My in-laws came to the park and we drove to the Scuppernog trailhead, where we saw Rob for the first time at mile 31, 5 hours into the race. The rain was slowing down. He looked strong and had me refill his bottles while he ate pickles. We got to see him there again about 6 miles later.<br />
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<br />
The rain finally stopped for good, but the afternoon consisted of running through shin deep mud in oppressive heat and humidity. We saw him for the final time at mile 47. He had slowed a tiny bit. The wheels were still on, but I could tell that he was standing at the precipice of insanity. It was so unbearably hot. And humid. He had loved running in the rain. But these conditions--these were not Rob's time to shine.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crew chief Will hands Rob a tube sock of ice for his neck.</td></tr>
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<br />
He had initially predicted that if all was going well, he would make it back to the start/finish area (mile 62, where we were parked) around 6 or 6:30pm. Based on how he'd looked at mile 47, I didn't expect him until more like 7 or 8. I hoped he would just take it easy in the heat and wait for the cool of the evening to come.<br />
<br />
At first I made no plans to get ready. After all, my pacing him was not Plan A. If he did come through at 6pm, then that would mean things were going well and he didn't need me. Only if he was delayed by several hours would it become more likely that he'd want me to step in.<br />
<br />
But by about 5, I decided that the responsible thing to do was to be ready for anything. I loaded my pack with everything I could possibly need for a long night of running, and I ate a few bites of questionable vegan pizza that had been in the van fridge now for several days. Yuck, that was a bad idea. My in-laws watched Will while I lay down for about 20 or 30 minutes for a power nap. I knew there was no way I could run the whole night on only 3 hours of sleep.<br />
<br />
I had only just gotten up when I heard my father-in-law say, "Here he comes!"<br />
<br />
No way. It was nearly exactly 6pm.<br />
<br />
He looked wrecked. He got fresh clothes out of his drop bag and came into the van to change, spewing mud everywhere. I could tell he was in a great deal of pain. It didn't seem like he was firing on all cylinders.<br />
<br />
"Do you want me to come with you?" I asked, as we struggled with the gaiters on his mud soaked shoes.<br />
<br />
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"<br />
<br />
His indecision was uncharacteristic.<br />
<br />
"I don't care. I can do whatever. I'm ready to go with you now, or I can meet you at mile 70, or at mile 93."<br />
<br />
He winced in pain as he tried to lift his foot off the ground.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Come with me. If you want."<br />
<br />
I sprang into action. I had not expected this. I had thought the most likely scenario would be that he declined, no matter what state he was in. The second most likely scenario would be him saying I could maybe meet up with him at mile 70, if I wanted. I knew he was disoriented and in pain, but things must be worse than I thought.<br />
<br />
I ran out of the van to tell my in laws I was going with him and to make a final check that everything was in order to leave Will with them overnight. I hugged Will. I made sure I had my headlamp and spare batteries in my pack, along with plenty of water, electrolytes and food. Did I have enough caffeinated Run Gum to get me through the night? No time to get any more. Rob was ready to go.<br />
<br />
As we passed through the aid station on our way out, a group of volunteers and spectators cheered. "Hundred mile runner, heading out!" the race director called as more cheers ensued. "You're the pacer?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"I'm the pacer," I said, much like Bohdi repeated <i>I'm the pilot </i>in Rogue One.<br />
<br />
The RD gave me two thumbs up. "Go get 'em," he called, or something similar to that. I felt like a celebrity amidst the cheers as we left the aid station and headed back out onto the single track.<br />
<br />
The trail was smooth and seemed flat but maybe was slightly uphill. Rob walked. We moved quickly, but I could tell he was in a lot of pain by the way he put his hands on his hip flexors and limped every time there was a slight incline. His feet barely left the ground. The roots became doubly dangerous for him at a shuffle. I knew we were in for a long night.<br />
<br />
I also knew that we would not mention the pain. I would not ask him how he was doing, I would not speak of his hip flexors or raw, blistered feet. We would be like Gary Robbins and Jared Campbell during the <a href="http://garyrobbinsrun.com/blog/2016/4/barkley" target="_blank">2016 Barkley</a>. We had a job to do, and we would get it done. There was no room to give pain any power.<br />
<br />
Rob began running again, moving at a decent clip. The hip flexors begged to be acknowledged, but we ignored them.<br />
<br />
I thought, if the entire trail is like this--mostly smooth and flat--it will be a breeze.<br />
<br />
"This is the only part of the course where the trail is like this," Rob said to me, even though I hadn't asked.<br />
<br />
"Oh." I wondered what the rest was like, then.<br />
<br />
After the first tidbit, we got to a roller coaster section of constant short, steep up-and-downs. I could tell by his labored steps that Rob's hip flexor did not like this.<br />
<br />
We buzzed through a couple of aid stations, pausing only to get Rob what he needed (pickles, banana, water) and then moving on.<br />
<br />
"We're not even to the Ice Age trail yet," he mentioned at one point, which was the closest he ever came to a complaint.<br />
<br />
"We'll be there soon," I said, even though I had no idea where it was.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, we reached a point that runners called "Confusion Corner" and it was around there that we turned onto the Ice Age trail. Narrow, rocky, rooty, single track. Gone were the smooth roller coasters of the first section. This was legitimate gnarl. But it was Wisconsin gnarl, so if you fell, you weren't going to go tumbling off the mountain. And in spite of the ankle-busting roots that littered the trail, the soft-packed midwestern mud made the descents far easier for me than the slick, sandy trails I run at home.<br />
<br />
Darkness was quickly approaching by this point, and we flicked on our headlamps. Things got significantly more difficult for me as we lost daylight. The trail was harder to see. I was glad that Rob was stopping to walk so much, because if he'd been on top of his game, there is no way I'd have been able to keep up with him. I had some moments of concern during this section. We were still fairly early into the night, but the run no longer felt easy for me. I mean, my legs were fine, it was just harder for me to move on the rugged terrain in the dark. I had this underlying paranoia that Rob was going so slowly just so I could keep up with him. I began to wonder who was pacing whom. I had to remember that it was me pacing Rob, and I was the one who had to be strong and alert, no matter what. I realized this might be the only time in my life I could do something like this. If he ever ran a rugged mountain hundred, he would be way too fast for me. And if he ever ran a more gentle hundred, like this one, chances were that he'd be having a better day and still moving too quickly for me to be of any help.<br />
<br />
We finally got to another aid station about 14 miles out. It was lively and the volunteers were enthusiastic. <br />
<br />
"Can I fill your pack for you?" A volunteer reached to help.<br />
<br />
"I'm the pacer," I said, Bohdi-like.<br />
<br />
"We help pacers too!" She smiled as she took my reservoir to fill it with water. I went to the food table and engulfed some chips and guacamole. I hadn't been taking care of myself very well on this run-- not even pausing to refill my soft-flasks with water and Nuun. I'd been focusing on Rob at each aid station, but I knew it wasn't sustainable if I let myself get into deficit.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Rob sat down for the first time since we'd set out. His face was gray. He looked completely wrecked. I didn't acknowledge it. I got him some chips, banana, and pickles. He picked up his better headlamp and some caffeinated Run Gum before we left. Just 4 more miles to the turn around point. Just 4 more miles and we'd be halfway through the last leg. Just 4 more miles... and we'd still have 18 more miles to go after that. It seemed daunting even to me, and I hadn't been running since 6am.<br />
<br />
I think few people on this earth can understand what it took for Rob to stand up from the chair and walk out of the aid station.<br />
<br />
"I'm cold," he said as we began hiking up a steep hill.<br />
<br />
This was bad, very bad. It was hot out.<br />
<br />
We extracted his jacket from his pack and he put it on as we continued to walk. Climb up the hill, step over roots.<br />
<br />
The race, in addition to being a hundred miler, was also a hundred mile relay, a 100K, a 50K and a 38 mile fun run. There were a lot of people out on the course. And a lot of them were significantly fresher than someone who had already been running all day. I started to get annoyed with the traffic at this point. But I was the pacer, and I had to stay strong. I didn't say anything.<br />
<br />
This was the moment of the the race-- probably about 76 miles in for Rob-- that I could tell there was a real, significant possibility that the wheels were going to fall off. He felt terrible. He was exhausted. Thunder and lightning threatened again in the distance.<br />
<br />
He wasn't even remotely close to the point at which I thought me might need to drop-- there was nothing severe going on with him, and he was still moving forward. But I was pretty sure that we'd be walking it in from here on out.<br />
<br />
"Are you chewing the Run Gum yet?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"No," he said, and fished for it in his pack. I took some of mine at the same time.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, we were running again.<br />
<br />
We hit the turn around point and made our way back, reversing the direction we had just come. It had taken us 5 and a half hours to go 18 miles. It would take us at least that same amount to head back, and probably significantly more. It must have been around midnight when we hit the turnaround point. Initially I had thought that if everything was going according to plan and there were no significant difficulties, Rob might finish the race around 2am. This was no longer Plan A. The good news was that we had plenty of time left on the clock-- 12 hours until the race officially closed. We could walk every step of the way, even stop for a nap, and still make that. But we had only 6 hours left for a sub-24 hour finish. I wouldn't let myself think about it that much, because if I did, I would be able to see it quickly slipping out of our grasp. I hoped that Rob wasn't doing the math, because knowing what the odds were at this point might be the straw that broke him.<br />
<br />
We walked. We got out of the way for the throngs of other runners we met. We didn't complain, we didn't talk. Relentless forward progress.<br />
<br />
I was starting to feel pretty bad, so I managed to get down a ginger pill and salt tab. I was just hoping to make it back to that aid station where I'd gotten guacamole on the way out. My water was low again, and I was feeling seriously depleted.<br />
<br />
Rob didn't sit down this time when we got there. He took some pickles and banana, while I threw down 2 cups of coke as quickly as I could and we headed out again. We weren't moving fast, but we didn't waste any time.<br />
<br />
I could tell he was trying to force himself to rally. We'd been walking for a long time, but whenever we hit something that wasn't a rocky uphill, he would run, even if it was just for a few steps. On one of the gentler downhills, he ran the whole thing.<br />
<br />
"You did so great on that!" I said, hoping it wasn't annoying. I reminded myself of Fezzik, from <i>The Princess Bride</i>, when he congratulated Westley for wriggling his finger after he'd been mostly dead.<br />
<br />
Rob was able to run more and more. In fact, on the rugged descents, I was no longer keeping up. He would go on ahead, but I would catch him as soon as we hit an uphill again. He was coming back to life. I began to wonder if he would drop me-- certainly a very real possibility if he got a genuine second wind. I looked at my watch-- 3am. If I could just manage to keep him in my sight until we got to Confusion Corner again and I got onto the right trail to make it to the finish line, I think I'd be fine on my own. Anyway, less than 2 hours until it would be light enough that I could turn off my headlamp.<br />
<br />
We got to the Bluff aid station and I didn't believe it. According to my watch, we still had over almost 10 miles to go, but the map showed Bluff 7.6 miles from the finish. I asked a volunteer, and she told me, yes, this is Bluff. We only had 7.6 more miles.<br />
<br />
This changed everything.<br />
<br />
We had been barely hanging on to the edges of 24 hour pace-- going by my assumption that my GPS was correct. But it must have been off a bit, what with all the trees. Now all of a sudden, 24 hours seemed a lot more likely. I checked the time. I can't remember exactly what my watch said, but I think we had around 2 and a half hours to go 7.6 miles.<br />
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Hang on, just hang on.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Rob was on the edge, and so was I. Nausea was taking hold, and I hadn't eaten in a while. I got a salt pill out of my pocket and tried to swallow it, but it came right back up on the trail, along with some of the aid station coke I'd just drunk. This was no good. I needed something to get rid of the nausea, but there was no way I would be able to swallow a ginger pill. I opened my last ginger capsule and poured the raw powder onto my tongue, then flushed it down with water. The burning in my mouth gave me something to think about besides the nausea for a while.<br />
<br />
45 minutes later, we made it to the aid station that was just 5 miles out. It was almost light enough to turn off our headlamps. I guzzled more coke as we ran right on through the aid station. The volunteers cheered maniacally. "Sub 24!!" The shouted. We had an hour and 40 minutes to do it.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbuff384CbDaTVR8j7IDC3LPnL0cw0twpKbqqoHJCtg7kT54hrL-0xQMZAcqq3Xq0XVxpGG0sXnBlZ65U77izy0RZgp-LoS9lljYTcb91yXGIeLyGKrh5MfdvTZ_CtJz4fbbU3uM8BpYg/s1600/IMG_2221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbuff384CbDaTVR8j7IDC3LPnL0cw0twpKbqqoHJCtg7kT54hrL-0xQMZAcqq3Xq0XVxpGG0sXnBlZ65U77izy0RZgp-LoS9lljYTcb91yXGIeLyGKrh5MfdvTZ_CtJz4fbbU3uM8BpYg/s320/IMG_2221.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
"Rob, do you think you can do 20 minute miles?" I asked. The last few miles had been close to 15 minute pace, which was quicker than we'd gone in quite some time. Rob's GPS had died a while ago, and I didn't know if he knew how close we were. I didn't know if knowing that would make it better or worse.<br />
<br />
We had reached the point of the ultra where he occasionally groaned incoherently. "Roller coaster section coming up," he said.<br />
<br />
"That won't be as hard as what you've already done," I assured. He seemed to dread the hills, even the downhills hurt now. But I didn't think the roller coaster would be as bad. Those hills were larger, but they were smooth. And it was the gnarl that was slowing him down because he was struggling so much to pick up his feet.<br />
<br />
He seemed to be steeling himself for the roller coaster, preparing himself for the worst.<br />
<br />
And then he smelled the barn.<br />
<br />
The sky was indigo and lavender. We clicked off the headlamps, and he took off at a run. He never slowed down. He ran the uphills. We were banking time instead of losing it.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Three people passed us in the last two miles, but I think it was only one runner with his two pacers. Rob went with them, and I gave it everything I had to just barely keep up. My GPS clocked us at 8:20 pace uphill-- this was a massive recovery for someone who'd pulled a couple of 30 minute mile just a few hours ago.<br />
<br />
At last, the finish was in sight. Rob reached out for my hand and said he wanted to cross the line together.<br />
<br />
We did it.<br />
<br />
He did it.<br />
<br />
Sub 24.<br />
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Congratulations, Rob.</div>
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Thanks to my in-laws for watching Will and making all of this possible. Thanks for reading. </div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-16984281156953734922017-05-17T20:51:00.000-06:002017-05-17T20:51:04.289-06:00What it's like being a dyslexia momEveryday, you send your child into harm and trauma.<br />
<br />
You send him to people who are violating the federal laws set up to protect him.<br />
<br />
No one believes you.<br />
<br />
Your friends and family look at you blankly and assure you that the people harming him are HEROES. You are just being Melissa, overreacting like you always do. You are unreasonable, unfair, crazy.<br />
<br />
You don't sleep at night because you are so fucking terrified about what will happen to him after you die.<br />
<br />
You are all alone, screaming into the void.<br />
<br />
You can't do it anymore, but the cost of your failure is his life.<br />
<br />
Days since last panic attack: 0.<br />
<br />
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com85tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-30340037149959155772017-05-08T19:07:00.001-06:002017-05-08T19:07:16.472-06:00Eres una madre muy valienteLeda is one of the smartest people I know.<br />
<br />
She went to a one-room school in rural Nicaragua. About the time she would have she graduated from high school, she had her only child--a son. She was a cleaning lady at the field station where Rob and I lived for a year when I was doing my dissertation research. Leda washed sheets and scrubbed toilets. Her life couldn't have been easy.<br />
<br />
Leda didn't speak any English, but we never had trouble communicating. She was perceptive and could read my body language, and somehow she always knew what I meant even if I didn't use the right Spanish word. She was distant kin to Simeon, the volcano guide who sometimes helped me in the forest.<br />
<br />
She never asked me for anything, except some batteries for her flashlight so that she could safely walk home from work one evening. It starts getting dark in Nicaragua by about 6pm, year round. And it is not like there are street lights, or streets. The "road" through the village is more rugged than some of the trails I run here in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. You'd want a working flashlight if you were walking on them past dark. In sandals.<br />
<br />
Years later she asked me for 20 dollars when I saw her in Managua and she needed the money to buy life-saving medication. She was very ill. Rob and I bought her dinner that night too, but she didn't feel much like eating. She understood me better than I understood her-- I'm still not quite sure what was wrong, and I didn't pry.<br />
<br />
She recovered. The last time I saw her, she was healthy and well.<br />
<br />
Leda is one of the reasons why my life was never the same after Nicaragua. I remember coming "home" to a strange world of cars and grocery stores and microwaves. I remember watching the laundry spin round and round in the washing machine at our house in Urbana, while tears streamed down my face. What would Leda think of this? She washed bedsheets by hand, on a washboard, in a sink made of concrete.<br />
<br />
Leda figured out how to use a computer and type. She figured out how to get a Gmail address and a Facebook account. She figured out how to use Google Hangouts and Facebook messenger. We have kept in contact for more than 10 years.<br />
<br />
Shortly after the election this past year, she texted me, asking in Spanish if my family and I were safe. I replied that we were. Leda and I had never talked about politics or religion before. I could tell she wasn't sure where my beliefs fell on the political spectrum, and I also couldn't tell hers. So I asked her what people were saying in Nicaragua about the results of the election. Her reply was something like, we are afraid many will suffer. I said, it is the same here. Then, because I was pretty sure we were on the same page, I told her, "I voted for Hillary." She replied with a thumbs up and smiley face emoji. I wondered if both of us had just been placed on watch lists. I figured it was worth it. She continued, saying that she did not have much, but if my family was ever in need, she would share with us all that she had.<br />
<br />
I guess she never forgot that 20 dollars I gave her for medicine.<br />
<br />
Leda also read my Facebook posts that described William's struggles with dyslexia. She looked up "dyslexia" (<i>dislexia</i> in Spanish) and learned about what it was. This is more than any of Will's teachers at school have done. She wrote to me and said she was so sorry for our difficulties and that she wished only the best for Rob and me and Will. I told her thank you. She wrote, "Eres una madre muy valiente."<br />
<br />
I sat there with the phone in my hand, reading over her words again and again to make sure I understood what they meant. I was ugly-crying before I even knew it.<br />
<br />
William had just gotten home from school and was playing with some cars next to me. "Mommy, what's the matter?" he asked. I tried to explain that Leda had written something very kind to me and it had made me cry.<br />
<br />
"What did she say?" he asked. I showed him the phone, and I read the words in Spanish. "What does that mean?"<br />
<br />
I told him, and then he smiled the sweetest little smile and crawled into my lap. He pressed his face against my face and whispered so that I could feel his warm breath in my ear. "She's right," he said.<br />
<br />
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*****</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A lot of people have called me a lot of things since this whole dyslexia fight began. It hasn't always been kind. Those who are supportive tend to say things like Leda-- they tell me that I'm brave or strong for choosing to fight. I appreciate this, I really do, but I don't feel that it's true. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am the least brave or strong person I know. And I did not choose this fight. I am backed into a corner and my child's life is on the other side. I will eviscerate anyone who stands in my way, even if it kills me. And it will kill me. This isn't what I want. This isn't what I spent my whole life working for. But I have no other choice. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A few weeks ago, I contacted a local dyslexia parent support group and told them that I was considering going to speak at a school board meeting about the lack of appropriate intervention in schools and the life-long negative impact this has on dyslexic children. A few other mothers said they would go too. One of the mothers mentioned our intention to the assistant superintendent, and the reaction was very swift. Several school district officials offered to meet with us and discuss our concerns immediately. Better to keep these comments in a private room, I suppose, than in the publicly available minutes of the school board meeting.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We took them up on their offer, knowing we could always approach the board afterwards, particularly if our meeting with them did not go well. Several parents attended. I did not smile at any of school district officials. I couldn't. These are the people who are directly responsible for throwing my son's life away. These are the people who are throwing away the lives of as many as 6,000 children in the school district. Dyslexia is real, and it affects 1 in 5.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The assistant superintendent was at least somewhat receptive, which is a vast improvement compared to anyone else I have dealt with in the district. He seemed motivated by the possibility that our school district could do better than Boulder, <a href="http://www.dailycamera.com/boulder-county-schools/ci_30879030/boulder-valley-st-vrain-valley-parents-dyslexic-students" target="_blank">which initiated</a> a pilot program offering Barton instruction to 100 dyslexic kids in school. Our district currently does nothing but deny that dyslexia exists. He seemed intrigued that by providing appropriate instruction, we could lower the appallingly high drop out rate and epidemic of adolescent suicides in the district (depression, anxiety, dropping out of school, and suicide <a href="http://www.wjpch.com/UploadFile/08-066%20for%20proof.pdf" target="_blank">are all higher</a> in unremediated dyslexics). He said he would get back to us within ten days. The clock is ticking. The lives of thousands of children hang in the balance.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
After the meeting, the other dyslexia parents stood around, rehashing and decompressing, and marveling at how similar all of our horrifying experiences have been. There may be no other human universal. Dyslexia is the great equalizer.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The other parents all had children older than Will, and their concern was mainly about their kids entering middle school in the next year or two. Even though Will is a bit younger, it occurred to me-- none of the changes we proposed would in any way benefit him. We asked for mandatory kindergarten screening and at least one dyslexia specialist in each elementary school. I specifically demanded Orton-Gillingham instruction for every child identified who could benefit from it. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Even in the extremely unlikely scenario that any of these proposed changes would be put into place during the next school year, Will would be in third grade. And we've already paid thousands of dollars in private dyslexia tutoring to save his life. The effort would be put towards identifying the younger kids and providing them with intervention. Will would be past it. Shit out of luck.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I realized at that moment, I wasn't doing this for him after all. It is too late for him. I'm doing this for the other kids, for the other dyslexia moms, so that they never have to go through what I have. </div>
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It took a minute or two, for all of this to sink in.</div>
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There's this ethos among special-needs moms, or maybe all moms, or maybe all women in general, not be be seen as <i>complaining</i>. I've lost friends and made enemies for speaking up about what the schools in our country do to dyslexic kids. Nobody wants to go through this, to be seen as such a negative person. We'd all rather believe that schools are good, and teachers are heroes. It's easier that way. It prompts us to silence, but silence is acceptance, complicity even. And it makes every single dyslexia mom have to reinvent the wheel. We've known for decades what instructional approach dyslexic children require in order to learn, but schools simply refuse to use this. The stories dyslexic people tell about their experiences in the 1950's, 1960's, are no different that what is happening today. We've lost generations of brilliant people who were never taught how to read, and it is time for that to stop.</div>
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I'm not strong, I'm not brave, and I absolutely can't do this alone. Who is with me?</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com70tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-64244395284241754142017-02-14T21:28:00.001-07:002017-02-15T08:24:28.844-07:00Dear William (90 months)Dear William,<br />
<br />
On February 12th, you turned 7 and a half years old.<br />
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Life keeps getting harder and harder every day. But I will continue to fight for you as long as there is breath left in my body.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNGUlOI52qwv9OR4QByUViXja-8a9azVlUkTZJAoNlj7d3bknIX8uJT8y71VYakr3nlXmsKMMTZVjQhfiAKGNTegWvUODUKhaSrimu0sB9iNLOSvg0we3b6vwbi1AawVXhRv8g_ggwlno/s1600/IMG_0740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNGUlOI52qwv9OR4QByUViXja-8a9azVlUkTZJAoNlj7d3bknIX8uJT8y71VYakr3nlXmsKMMTZVjQhfiAKGNTegWvUODUKhaSrimu0sB9iNLOSvg0we3b6vwbi1AawVXhRv8g_ggwlno/s400/IMG_0740.JPG" width="392" /></a></div>
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You are so much stronger and braver and kinder than I could ever be. I keep reminding myself that, whenever I get scared.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpg3ypNBS0p1zBNDUt9tIB8mqoLeCjbRP5YMKy6tHjNNmtn4t9V6jVHZmJYPk4SiWe2y2x1sSwQci5DjobTFg_cuFnvbZHIf67ZYO53hMN9gn1TUKO5Tq0Wiegm4foGJ1pQsHmYguaJCs/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpg3ypNBS0p1zBNDUt9tIB8mqoLeCjbRP5YMKy6tHjNNmtn4t9V6jVHZmJYPk4SiWe2y2x1sSwQci5DjobTFg_cuFnvbZHIf67ZYO53hMN9gn1TUKO5Tq0Wiegm4foGJ1pQsHmYguaJCs/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Dyslexia is a gift. Everything is going to be fine.</div>
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Love always,</div>
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Mama</div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com78tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-11345783600100323722017-01-12T11:20:00.000-07:002017-01-12T12:39:06.140-07:00Dear William (89 months)Dear William,<br />
Today you are 89 months old.<br />
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Ms. Valerie asked you to draw a picture of what dyslexia means to you, and this is what you drew:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This is my drawing," you said proudly. I've always told you that dyslexia is a gift. I cried. Ms. Valerie hugged me.</td></tr>
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Star Wars Rogue One came out in mid-December and we all went to see it. I loved it. You didn't like the ending. You said you liked Episode VII better. There had been a blizzard while we were in the movie theater watching it, and we came out to like a foot of snow. I'm glad your dad was driving on the way home. It was terrifying.<br />
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On Christmas Eve, we took AJ to RMNP for some sledding and ski mountaineering. At first it was very cold, but after the sun came out, you practiced on your skis.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AJ is one of your faves. You told him he's a Ravenclaw. But his wife is a Gryffindor.</td></tr>
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On Christmas morning, you woke up at 5am.<br />
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You were very thrilled with all your presents, but especially with your Harry Potter costume (robe, wand, glasses, and Gryffindor necktie).<br />
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It snowed some more on Christmas, and you were thrilled.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm going outside now, to run around in the snow with my broomstick."</td></tr>
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You also got a chess set and you <i>love</i> playing chess.</div>
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We did not go to Across The Years this year because both mommy and daddy were injured. We took a couple of small ski trips instead. You guys skied, I worked on a novel.</div>
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Our first trip was to Eldora, on a very cold, blizzardy day.</div>
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When you got too cold, you came inside the very crowded ski lodge and played chess with me.</div>
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We also went to Winter Park. The weather was much better. I think they call this "bluebird skies," but I don't really understand much about ski lingo.<br />
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You and your dad left for an epic ski run about 2 hours before sundown, and it ended up taking you a lot longer than you and daddy thought it would. One of the hills was marked as "easy," but it actually was quite hard and scary. It was getting dark and the lifts had all closed and you guys had not returned. I was so worried. I kept seeing snow mobiles going up the mountain and returning with people who were injured or otherwise couldn't make it down. It was freezing cold and I wandered around, looking for you.<br />
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At last, I saw you both. You were okay. You were just scared and moving slowly. You removed your skis and ran down the rest of the way to me. I'm still not really sure what happened during those 2 hours because you wouldn't say anything other than to tell me you were cold and angry. But the next day you said you wanted to go skiing again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was from earlier in the day at Winter Park.</td></tr>
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We did eventually return to Eldora, where it was again a blizzard, but you and your dad were brave enough to ski for a while.<br />
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It's back to school now, after winter break. I miss you terribly. I don't understand the other parents, who say they are happy to get their kids out of the house send them back to school. My happiest times are when I am with you. You are the bravest, kindest, strongest person I know.<br />
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Love always,<br />
MamaMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com477tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-30041129219544163522016-12-12T23:00:00.000-07:002016-12-13T07:25:52.547-07:00Dear William (88 months)Dear William,<br />
Today you are 88 months old. I think. I skipped writing the last couple of months.<br />
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This is in part because I am busy. But mostly because, I guess, I don't think I have anything wise left to say.<br />
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We've continued with the very expensive and time-consuming dyslexia tutoring.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkTXO4MDIOiWpj8FaUaZC1cps6A30UP72Vh_z1jNq46xp_mYKu2EstzUWIzljUuNCtWbcUBC_r4JaYF7pZ9YOis-4eIn7d6WRI5QEKJubaq1wXZRTlZEHhRcLklhfu4NvgA7Exl_YAks/s1600/IMG_9834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghkTXO4MDIOiWpj8FaUaZC1cps6A30UP72Vh_z1jNq46xp_mYKu2EstzUWIzljUuNCtWbcUBC_r4JaYF7pZ9YOis-4eIn7d6WRI5QEKJubaq1wXZRTlZEHhRcLklhfu4NvgA7Exl_YAks/s400/IMG_9834.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Q and U stick like glue, and other fun things from the Orton-Gillingham method.</td></tr>
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I still don't know why, for the love of god, the education system can't just do this with you in school.<br />
<br />
You won a "major award" at the November assembly for being "hard working" and "committed to learning," or something vague like that. All the kids earn an award once per year. These people don't know the half of it, how hard you work and how committed you are to learning. Puh-leeeeeeeze.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. #SAYDYSLEXIA. </td></tr>
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Oh, we had the election since I wrote last, too. When you woke up on November 8th, your face and eyes were bright and shining, and you said, "It's Hillary's big day!"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0jho6ri_I72jO2tR97JSAhAfTzlxuTRS1g1TMcPk2eopwkh5Gzt2M0EyIoiOPHbUidwSuHYVm3vKINWoa0Q5Hg3ZXegHS7YHwlEXaIIegBnr3KULjNnhqSz1s2kgrIzzdpH3Qs4xdlo/s1600/IMG_9869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0jho6ri_I72jO2tR97JSAhAfTzlxuTRS1g1TMcPk2eopwkh5Gzt2M0EyIoiOPHbUidwSuHYVm3vKINWoa0Q5Hg3ZXegHS7YHwlEXaIIegBnr3KULjNnhqSz1s2kgrIzzdpH3Qs4xdlo/s400/IMG_9869.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Hillary lost, all of us lost.<br />
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We can stand and fight, for whatever that's worth. Or we can run and hide.<br />
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My first instinct, as always, was for campfire.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQo2tvStuT3RMOg_U0QpoTy1OVe6BKmJ9Vtu2YG2OfoeBO95sGMyJsURPhdjKem4VQ7WOBKMxBeWmSSZbZSY1QAAwpNrXtCVUo-WkMC0ft_7hjhQbbXGxHCY2K-gGRjXQRd8ZeSQM_tkI/s1600/IMG_9864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQo2tvStuT3RMOg_U0QpoTy1OVe6BKmJ9Vtu2YG2OfoeBO95sGMyJsURPhdjKem4VQ7WOBKMxBeWmSSZbZSY1QAAwpNrXtCVUo-WkMC0ft_7hjhQbbXGxHCY2K-gGRjXQRd8ZeSQM_tkI/s400/IMG_9864.jpg" width="365" /></a></div>
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Eventually we came home, and there was snow.</div>
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We had vegan Thanksgiving with friends, then put up a Christmas tree.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.</i></td></tr>
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To be quite honest, these days, I am surprised that the sun still rises.</div>
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William, I will continue to do everything I can for you, no matter what happens next. I am so glad that you are so much braver and stronger and wiser than me.<br />
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Love always,<br />
MamaMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-64362749350814033832016-11-28T23:37:00.001-07:002016-11-29T08:47:07.374-07:00Our NauseaAfter the disaster that was <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/11/part-2-how-i-got-off-boat-at-javelina.html" target="_blank">Javelina</a>, I thought I might have to give up running ultras. It's been more than 4 years of this-- the nausea, the vomiting. It was no longer how I wanted to spend my life.<br />
<br />
"We just need to get your stomach figured out," Rob insisted.<br />
<br />
I wasn't as optimistic. All the reasonable, rational, realistic things have not worked. I don't know what else to do. I wear anti-nausea wrist bands and take ginger pills, I've tried every possible electrolyte drink and tablet, I've tried gels and real food and liquid-only and high-fat. I feel completely out of ideas. <br />
<br />
But Rob has approached this stomach-sorting thing as a kind of science. We'll continue to try different things until we find something that works. We're not yet out of options.<br />
<br />
On Sunday, I left to go run 20 some miles at Lory State Park, and Rob said I couldn't just do the same-old-same-old (Nuun and peanut butter pretzels, which hadn't worked for me during Javelina)-- I needed to make this run count by trying something different. He suggested I give Tailwind another shot, because even though I have thrown it up before, in theory it seems to be the exact thing I need (a liquid source of calories and electrolytes). He said we could try diluting it a lot, so maybe the taste wouldn't bother me (yes, I think even the "unflavored" version tastes disgusting).<br />
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I grudgingly agreed.<br />
<br />
I felt terrible from the get-go on that run (after many days of not sleeping or eating properly), and Tailwind did not make me feel any better. It was all I could do to swallow that wretched stuff instead of gag it up or spit it out. I don't understand why people like Tailwind. It tastes exactly like the <a href="http://nica-blog.blogspot.com/2006/08/when-good-water-is-bad-for-you.html" target="_blank">suero</a> a pregnant Chilean girl gave me after I'd been throwing up for 2 weeks with The Vortex in Nicaragua.<br />
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I also took Endurolyte tabs during the run. For the past several years, I haven't taken any salt tabs at all, and Rob thought that this might be part of my problem. At Javelina, I took S!Caps, which are super concentrated, and maybe made the electrolyte imbalance worse. Endurolytes seemed like they would be a nice middle ground.<br />
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In addition to about 100 calories of Tailwind, I force fed myself ~500 calories of Wild Friends nut butter and peanut butter pretzels as I ran. This is the most I've ever consumed during a slightly over 4 hour run, but still lower than the 200-250 calorie/hour recommendation that many ultra runners ascribe to. I've long since maintained that I can get by on 100 calories per hour (or less even). Rob doesn't believe this is true.<br />
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My legs held up fine during the run, but my stomach felt awful and my mind followed in a downward spiral. I swear that the Tailwind and Endurolytes induced nausea, because I wouldn't normally have been sick during a 20 mile run in cold weather.<br />
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I took a ginger pill after I got home just to survive, but the nausea returned later in the evening when Rob got the great idea to watch the "new" Jason Bourne movie that neither of us had seen yet. By just a couple of minutes into the movie, I was reaching for an emesis basin and wanting to gauge my eyes out I was so nauseous. It was like the time, more than 15 years ago, when my friend Jarrod had to carry me out of the theater during the Blair Witch Project because the shaky camera made me so sick.<br />
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I laid face-down on the couch and covered my head with a pillow, and Rob described the movie to me. "Now Jason Bourne has jumped into a car and is driving away," he said.<br />
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"What kind of a car, like a sedan?" I asked.<br />
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"Yes, a sedan. The bad guy has stolen a swat car and is chasing him."<br />
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"You mean the guy who was trying to kill him earlier?"<br />
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"Yes, that guy," Rob said. "Now Jason has jumped the median and is driving the wrong way on a very busy street. The bad guy just plowed into 20 parked cars."<br />
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I felt like I was dying of nausea, but I laughed. This might be the only way I can watch movies, especially ones that involve a lot of shaky camera action. Movies make me sick all the time. From now on, I will just close my eyes and have Rob narrate.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="giphy-embed" frameborder="0" height="218" src="//giphy.com/embed/agU1ZUAUVegDK" width="480"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://giphy.com/gifs/matt-damon-bourne-agU1ZUAUVegDK">via GIPHY</a><br />
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When the movie ended and I managed to drag myself up to bed, I was still musing about this nausea. Rob asked me if the way I felt when watching the Jason Bourne movie was the same way I felt when I get car sick. I said yes. He asked if it was the same way I felt when I get sick while running a race. I said yes, now suddenly connecting the dots in my head.<br />
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All of a sudden I realized-- what if it wasn't about getting behind on eating and drinking during a race and then messing up my electrolyte balance or running out of fuel? I had always assumed that I slacked off on nutrition and hydration first, and the nausea followed after. But what if the nausea was what started it all off? What if I get motion sick just from running, and then my queasy stomach won't let me eat or drink anymore?<br />
<br />
It started to make a whole lot of sense. I've suffered from severe motion sickness my entire life-- in boats, planes, trains, buses, and cars, even while riding a bike. It seems reasonable that whatever causes my motion sickness would be in play while I'm running as well-- especially on trails where I'm constantly watching the terrain undulate and the rocks and roots rise and fall beneath my eyes. It makes sense that I felt even worse after dark at Javelina. The heat was less of a factor, but the bobbing headlamp against the darkness of night kept me throwing up. Maybe it even makes sense that in almost every ultra I've ever done, the nausea hits me around the same time-- 7 to 8 hours into the race, or somewhere between mile 35 to 38. Maybe my inner ear has the power to fight off the sensory onslaught of jagged terrain for that many hours, and then it just snaps. At least, that is how it seemed to happen at Javelina. Everything was fine until all of a sudden *bam* the nausea slammed me without any warning, even though I thought I had been doing a relatively good job of eating and drinking. It was after the nausea hit me that I shut down on my nutrition and hydration.<br />
<br />
So there it is, I think I've figured it out. It's not about calories or electrolytes. It's just my motion sickness, for which there is no cure. <br />
<br />
I'm trying not to feel abysmal about this, but I kind of do.<br />
<br />
Rob asked if it would be possible to take motion sickness medication during ultras, like Dramamine, but this would not be a solution. To say that Dramamine makes me "drowsy" is a vast understatement. It makes me catatonic for days on end if I merely lick a tablet. All of the various motion sickness products have the same side effect. They do make a "non-drowsy" version of Dramamine, but it is just a ginger pill (less concentrated than the ginger pills I already take) with a gelatin coating. That wouldn't be an improvement, even if I was willing to consume gelatin (I'm not). I did think that my vegan ginger pills offered me some relief during Javelina, it was just that I stopped being able to take them because the capsule is so big and I would gag on it when I tried to swallow. I've looked around to see if I can find any ginger supplement that concentrated (I'm talking 1,000mg of ginger here) in an easier to swallow version. I haven't been successful yet. But what I did try today was actually opening up a capsule and dumping the powdered ginger into a glass of water. It didn't taste completely terrible. Granted, I wasn't currently nauseous, but I had no problem drinking it like that. The thing I am actively clinging to at the moment is that maybe I could empty a ginger capsule into my water bottle during an ultra, and possibly survive to the end without nausea. Or maybe there is something else out there for motion sickness that doesn't cause drowsiness, dizziness, blurred vision, etc, as a side effect. I guess I'll keep looking, or else, limit myself to races I can finish in 8 hours if I want to do it without getting sick.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="giphy-embed" frameborder="0" height="254" src="//giphy.com/embed/E7UrI5NdlWrcc" width="480"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://giphy.com/gifs/transparent-random-serious-E7UrI5NdlWrcc">via GIPHY</a><br />
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Thanks for reading.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-23713435798025517502016-11-04T17:00:00.003-06:002016-11-28T23:44:47.862-07:00Part 2: How I got off the boat at Javelina 100<i>Continued from <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/11/selling-my-soul-to-get-to-javelina.html" target="_blank">Part 1</a>: Selling my soul to get to Javelina.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I didn't come to Javelina 100 from a place of great strength. There were the preceding months of injury, and then, the wearing down of my soul as I fought to make this world (or at least the education system) a habitable place for my <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/09/the-2-minute-conversation-with-my-son.html" target="_blank">differently-abled child</a>.<br />
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Of course, we all reach the start line having overcome obstacles. I don't think that mine were any more insurmountable than those that others faced. But I knew going into this that I had not handled it well. I was angry. I felt like I needed to own that emotion, that maybe it was a stage I needed to go through. I hoped that my anger would be an asset in this race, that I could use it as a powerful fuel, and that I could just keep holding on to that razor thin edge instead of snapping and losing it entirely.<br />
<br />
My knee hurt as we pulled into Phoenix, and my ankle hurt too. But we found Christina in the parking lot of packet pick up, and at that moment, I knew everything would be okay, no matter what the outcome. She was the reason I was here, she was why I had gotten this far.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, Christina and Angela.</td></tr>
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After a sleepless night, I was lucky to find Christina again at the start line in the dark of the pre-dawn morning, with about 600 of our closest friends.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ai_e3dGxwmVphBSEMSld8yzjLmEzQjhLpRC3ZHN9JapTF0JQU1koYjamLehai6EYB2KaPXD4YJB0aWWVUHh5Hy89fyZMaYMlEz0jiXFP1PgOQ-iEJ6UeNeQdsoeBJrlht8Z-CT8NnW4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.15.51+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Ai_e3dGxwmVphBSEMSld8yzjLmEzQjhLpRC3ZHN9JapTF0JQU1koYjamLehai6EYB2KaPXD4YJB0aWWVUHh5Hy89fyZMaYMlEz0jiXFP1PgOQ-iEJ6UeNeQdsoeBJrlht8Z-CT8NnW4/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.15.51+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angela, you are with us too.</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFUgO2CtCWgsubm5CckZpnCRE3ehUTMhTxsb1nHLFMHmdvwLEF_520zklPQqHVmbmMnw5F5FEjRlNt609hSUa89TLSaOGauKK4Dfsh9L3Xpmd3V-ADb2r8yYzdSTVvAwZijmNr6eJD6Q/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.15.59+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsFUgO2CtCWgsubm5CckZpnCRE3ehUTMhTxsb1nHLFMHmdvwLEF_520zklPQqHVmbmMnw5F5FEjRlNt609hSUa89TLSaOGauKK4Dfsh9L3Xpmd3V-ADb2r8yYzdSTVvAwZijmNr6eJD6Q/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.15.59+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christina, I meant to tell you something before the race and completely forgot: "This is your day."</td></tr>
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I didn't even know when the race started. I just noticed that all of a sudden Christina and I were moving and there was already at least a minute on the clock by the time we got there. I started my watch and ran about 10 steps. Then we came to a complete stop. There were a lot of people ahead of us.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzv2SFYeRd9m3DWsV4TnvNHt-w8esP_9YnORtdBuO9u8Z7_4G0pD3H4l7h2nNWWXA07-BPh_DsRChLFNOnxnOn0ffTOfl1xRwjNx6AH4cgZaQ7rolHzMdebuoxEFOyf3FbD8fK3YuAi6M/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.16.27+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzv2SFYeRd9m3DWsV4TnvNHt-w8esP_9YnORtdBuO9u8Z7_4G0pD3H4l7h2nNWWXA07-BPh_DsRChLFNOnxnOn0ffTOfl1xRwjNx6AH4cgZaQ7rolHzMdebuoxEFOyf3FbD8fK3YuAi6M/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+8.16.27+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That moment at the start line when anything is possible.</td></tr>
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<br />
The race started on a narrow trail, and because it was so crowded, the going was slow. The first mile took me over 18 minutes, which was about the same time when it got light enough to turn off my headlamp.<br />
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Christina and I stayed together in the congestion for a couple of miles. Then a woman passed me, flitting effortlessly up the trail. I decided I'd had enough of walking in the conga line. I went with her.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I talked with my new friend, I relaxed a little.
One thing I noticed (but cannot explain) was that all of a sudden, my knee didn't hurt anymore. This was an asset. I also noticed that once we
got to the "technical" section, I actually didn't think it was so bad. Maybe
living in the Rocky Mountains had done me some good after all. Asset.</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But what I did notice was that my ankles hurt, both of them. The one that had been injured and the "good" one as well. I didn't know what to make of this, especially so early in the race. I would have to find a way to make it manageable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Around 10 miles in, we reached the halfway point of the loop and the aid station at Jackass Junction. It was so crowded. I lost a lot of time standing in actual <i>lines</i> just to get a turn to refill my water, use the porta potty, find my drop bag, and get ice for the tube sock I was wearing around my neck as a cooling device. I took a salt pill and hoped the runners would start to spread out soon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was mostly downhill back to headquarters, and before I knew it, I had completed the first loop.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejc4QEwOa61FCA-LvFiAZLqwqpM1-6tXphPDqI0IHbb0jy1azm_dWnOtiWcOIIPkoGvi8znb7jcL4VwDl4J6OBDp4QVrNYVqM-_p3ujst0D5oF_xBoT9xSJySuhyH26CLDV9mbq5x48Y/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+9.52.35+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjejc4QEwOa61FCA-LvFiAZLqwqpM1-6tXphPDqI0IHbb0jy1azm_dWnOtiWcOIIPkoGvi8znb7jcL4VwDl4J6OBDp4QVrNYVqM-_p3ujst0D5oF_xBoT9xSJySuhyH26CLDV9mbq5x48Y/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+9.52.35+PM.png" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
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Headquarters was crowded as well, but there was more space than at Jackass, plus I had Rob to help me navigate and get my things for me. He filled my pack and tube sock with ice, while I fumbled around my drop bag for ibuprofen. The pain in my left ankle was getting bad. I mean, it wasn't as bad as when the injury had first occurred a couple of weeks ago-- that had felt like an alien was trapped in my lower leg and trying to burn its way out with a red hot poker. This wasn't to that point yet. I stretched and rotated the ankle as I downed an ibuprofen. I took another salt pill. I noticed again how terrifyingly hot it was becoming, so I took a ginger pill for good measure-- anything to keep the nausea at bay. I guzzled 2 dixie cups of ginger ale, then loaded up on Fritos, salted potatoes, and more peanut butter pretzels. It was time to go out for Loop 2.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't invent the tube sock of ice around the neck, but I sure appreciate whoever suggested it. That was brilliant. Also, apparently, I brushed shoulders with Rob Krar as I was exiting headquarters, but I didn't even know it. He wasn't running, he was there as either spectator or crew.</td></tr>
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I noticed that on Loop 2, everyone was walking. It was hot, yes, probably nearing 100 degrees, and we were only about a quarter of the way into a hundred mile race, and we were going uphill. But walking, really? Was it necessary? As the ibuprofen kicked in, I felt great. The salt and ginger were keeping my stomach at bay. The caffeinated Nuun had given me wings. I didn't want to walk. That would make it take longer between aid stations, and refills of ice and ginger ale. It seemed better to just keep going.</div>
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I tried to do the best I could on hydration and nutrition. The tube sock of ice was a life saver for keeping me cool, until two of the aid stations (each of them about 6-6.7 miles apart) were both out of ice. I felt bad for the volunteers, who looked at us apologetically, but seriously, I don't know how they managed to have <i>any</i> ice on this course throughout the day. It was so hot. We'd been lucky to have ice at all. </div>
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I didn't notice that the heat was getting to me until I gagged on salt pill at Jackass around mile 32. I tried three times to get one down and never could. I eventually gave up and just kept moving.</div>
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By mile 37, I was nauseous. The most important thing, I thought, was to get it under control and not panic. But this was hard to do because my ankle hurt so bad. Negativity spiraled me downward. I told myself to just hang on 5 more miles. Rob would be there at headquarters, and he would take care of me, and everything would be okay.</div>
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At headquarters, I gagged on two more salt pills. "Just put some water in your mouth and do this as fast as possible," Rob said. I managed it on my third try, but it felt like death and I started to cry. I needed to eat but I couldn't eat. The best I could do was ginger ale. I had covered just over 40 miles. How on earth was I going to go another 60?</div>
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Rob handed me my recharged headlamp, and I put it in my pack. The sun would set in 2, maybe 3 hours. Then it would be cool, and the nausea would go away, and I would be able to make up for these lost calories. All I had to do was finish Loop 3, and then Rob could pace me the last 40 miles.</div>
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I got some vegetable broth at the first aid station out. I knew it didn't have much in the way of calories, but at least I could keep it in, and maybe it would restore my electolytes enough so that I could eventually eat and drink again.</div>
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I ran with Carrie for a while, and Zach G. I felt better talking to them. I still hadn't eaten, but happy tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I had ridden the wave. I was going to make it.</div>
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I saw Christina and stopped to hug her. I was so proud of us for doing this, I was so happy. Zach Bitter flew past us at that moment, on his way to winning the race and setting a new course record. He had smiled and told me "good job" each time he'd met me on the loops. He'd done that for every single participant out there, still managing to run around an 8 minute pace for a hundred miles.</div>
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Shortly after mile 50, it was dark enough that I turned on my headlamp. This is what I had been waiting for all day. It would be cool again, and I would be able to eat.</div>
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I walked into Jackass Junction, around mile 52, in the dark. It was the "party" aid station. Volunteers wore costumes, there was music and lights. A volunteer asked me what I wanted, and all of sudden, without warning, I burst into tears. I can't eat, I told him. I haven't been able to eat since sometime before mile 37. Liquid. Liquid calories, not sweet.</div>
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They handed me broth. I sobbed and sobbed. A lady led me to a white tent, where I sat down on a chair and continued to sob. Then I started to shake. The lady brought me some oranges and told me that had helped other people who had been nauseous and sitting in that chair. I tried the oranges but they tasted so bitter to my nauseated tongue. I stood up, I wobbled. The lady told me she didn't mean to sound nagging, but she didn't think I should go back out on the trail. I said I was fine, but I was sobbing. She got me a baggie for the oranges, and I left, clutching them and the dixie cup of broth. I couldn't stop crying, but I headed back out onto the trail.</div>
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At mile 55, I puked for the first time. It was dark, and I apologized to the people around me because even at this stage in the race, the trail was still crowded. The nausea lifted for a few moments, and I knew I would have a little window of time to get some calories and electrolytes in me, hopefully turn this around. But what? Nothing I had with me sounded appealing. I did the best I could. A mile or two later, I puked again.</div>
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Eventually, I came to Coyote, the last aid station before headquarters. I was sobbing again. I asked them, was there anything they could give me that would take away this nausea. I was losing my mind. It had been more than 20 miles of this. I had been subsisting on sips of broth and water that whole time. I had 40 miles left to go. I couldn't stop crying. One of the volunteers asked if I wanted her to walk with me back to headquarters, some 3 or 4 miles away. I shook my head. I said I could make it and went on.</div>
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People cheered for me as I came in, and I wanted to scream at them to shut up. I was dying, I didn't want to be cheered. Rob found me and got me a chair by my drop bag. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.</div>
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"I don't want to have to quit," I told him.</div>
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Rob had on his headlamp to pace me, and we left from the aid station as I tried to take a couple of sips of ginger ale. I didn't know why we were doing this. There was no way I could make it to the end. I was angry that people kept telling me I had so much time left on the clock. 14 more hours to go 40 miles, they said. It didn't matter. I couldn't see straight. I was so nauseated I thought I would die.</div>
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I don't know how long it took for us to get back up to the aid station at mile 66, but I knew that was the end for me. I didn't know how I would drop from there. I was terrified that I would end up just having to walk back to headquarters the way we'd come. </div>
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I couldn't tell what Rob was thinking. Was he mad at me, was he annoyed? Did he think I was being a wimp and just needed to get my shit together? Was he disappointed that he had sacrificed so much for me to do this, and now I had completely fallen apart? He kept telling me that I had plenty of time left. He had me lay down on a cot, and I think he thought I just needed to rest a while so I could feel better. But I was way far past the gone. Lying there, not eating or drinking, wasn't going to bring me back. I couldn't even walk another step. My mind had snapped, and I knew I'd fallen off of that razor thin edge I'd been clinging to when I started this race. All I wanted, in the whole world, was to get rid of this nausea.</div>
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I'm not sure how long we were at that aid station--an hour, maybe two? I started to get cold and shake again. One of the volunteers told me he felt so bad to see me suffering like this that he would just take me back to headquarters himself. I nodded and kept telling him I was so, so sorry. He got his truck and I climbed in. Another volunteer asked for my bib number, and I said "432." She radioed my number back to headquarters, and I guess that's how you drop a race.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQiZpVHcjvbndOFo-uwb6X13VISeBafFdF3crl2_oLzxETTSUmhagGk5Ui_FDMXII-88fQoGslQZqMLgNGMdNg2YlUzqeK_tERQddXAZ0uahh_UBCyaQIsYpWbfIzj0DQbvjyk9MEzHI/s1600/IMG_9781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQiZpVHcjvbndOFo-uwb6X13VISeBafFdF3crl2_oLzxETTSUmhagGk5Ui_FDMXII-88fQoGslQZqMLgNGMdNg2YlUzqeK_tERQddXAZ0uahh_UBCyaQIsYpWbfIzj0DQbvjyk9MEzHI/s400/IMG_9781.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I had plenty of time to think, as I talked to Christina the next morning, and then during the long drive home. I was messed up, for sure, but I have been messed up much worse in other ultras and still managed to finish. Maybe it was because I still had so much distance left to cover when the nausea hit. If you get messed up at mile 37 of a 50 miler, you can gut it out to the end. Maybe you can't if the distance is 100 miles. At least, I couldn't.</div>
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When all was done, I'd gone about 8 hours on only a few dozen calories. My body was shutting down. If somehow, I'd managed get some fuel in me, I think I would have recovered instantly. I just couldn't do it-- my mind was gone, my gut was gone, and I couldn't come up with the strength to power through any more.</div>
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If you've known me for longer than 5 minutes, chances are you've heard me talk about how I had <a href="http://www.helpher.org/" target="_blank">Hyperemesis Gravidarum</a> while I was pregnant with Will. This is not morning sickness. This is puke until you almost die sickness. I lost at least 10% of my body weight and couldn't work I was so sick. Once I realized that it wasn't going away the whole time I was pregnant, I didn't know how I was going to live through it. I didn't know how I'd survive one more minute of it, much less 9 whole months. At 12 weeks, I was prescribed anti-emetic pills to stop the vomiting, which mostly worked, but they didn't do anything for the nausea. It was terrifying. I thought I would lose my mind, and there was no way out. Not one for minute did that nausea ever leave me. </div>
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It felt like all those times, when I lived on Ometepe Island and got seasick on the boat back to the mainland. I would white knuckle it through those boat rides, clutching the railing until my skin was thin and pale, and I would vomit into a trash can as Lake Nicaragua swirled violently around me. I would hold on, just hold on, for an hour and a half, or maybe two, until the boat ride was over.</div>
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Hyperemesis was that same feeling, except the boat ride was much longer, and no matter how much I wanted off that boat, I was trapped. There was nothing anybody could do. </div>
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I thought of all this, as we drove home through Utah.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXn9aEb5Kbnpop5jaX8ZziOaI_kQZOy2fOz7DpMFDaLHhaAaW3TsH7Ff3NUGoYDZGeL8PzndQ1ajrGZUrrEqMkL-BwiAX7O-0OhUf850qf1P1cmNMGQG1mDfr2AkLGyE3f1Nvgf8Op3M/s1600/IMG_9785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXn9aEb5Kbnpop5jaX8ZziOaI_kQZOy2fOz7DpMFDaLHhaAaW3TsH7Ff3NUGoYDZGeL8PzndQ1ajrGZUrrEqMkL-BwiAX7O-0OhUf850qf1P1cmNMGQG1mDfr2AkLGyE3f1Nvgf8Op3M/s320/IMG_9785.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I thought, maybe I've never really gotten over that. Maybe I never will. I don't know. During hyperemesis, I had no choice, I had no options. But during Javelina, I did. I could take something I had worked so hard to get to, made so many sacrifices for, and I could throw it all away. But in doing so, I could get off the boat. And maybe that's what I needed to do.</div>
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Thanks for reading.</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-12237033079041840332016-11-03T16:53:00.000-06:002016-11-03T17:04:05.996-06:00Selling my soul to get to JavelinaI sold my soul to the devil at least six times just to make it to the start line of Javelina 100. Each time I sold a soul, I wondered if I'd had any left to get me to the finish.<br />
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Remember how I vowed, or maybe just hoped, that I wouldn't spend August injured after reaching a <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/08/222-miles-in-july-2016.html" target="_blank">new mileage high in July</a> (as has happened for the past 2 years)? Right. I got injured.<br />
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The sharp, shooting pain in my knee began 2 weeks after <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/08/howl-2016-you-might-love-ultra-but.html" target="_blank">Howl</a>, when I was trying to run this local event called 24 Hours of Towers. I had no intention of going 24 hours. But I did want to attempt Towers 3 times (1,700 feet of gain each ascent) because the most I'd ever done before was twice. My quads were still sore from Howl the whole time, but on my second Towers descent, there it was, bright and white hot, screaming, searing pain on the outside of my right knee.<br />
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There was no point in worrying just yet. Javelina was 2 months away. I would get myself down the mountain, and this would pass.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-37HZLY0wQjNIFkK0bVaMbUbg0D3q5KiFX6FueA9ua45hoqgedNMdbvhD0jFi_f6WATx8x9WSUSyvEgHddpUN8S95MLk9km2B_4yJOILvg8N6Rq7TrXPerRk_Fu4i_eF8mpbrRNvaeBQ/s1600/3A352D85-8962-484E-8BFE-4999B75C31B5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-37HZLY0wQjNIFkK0bVaMbUbg0D3q5KiFX6FueA9ua45hoqgedNMdbvhD0jFi_f6WATx8x9WSUSyvEgHddpUN8S95MLk9km2B_4yJOILvg8N6Rq7TrXPerRk_Fu4i_eF8mpbrRNvaeBQ/s400/3A352D85-8962-484E-8BFE-4999B75C31B5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper right: This was Will's first Towers summit. He said it made him feel tired and proud and hungry. Lower Left: Me, smiling at the top of Towers, feeling good for the last time in what would be a very, very long time. </td></tr>
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It would not pass.<br />
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The pain was really only there while I was running. I would take a few days off and then try it again, and sometimes I would make it 2 miles before the pain returned, sometimes only a quarter mile. I tried everything. Rest, ice, ibuprofen, KT tape, strengthening and stretching, rossiter. I made an appointment with a knee specialist who couldn't see me for another 2 weeks, at which point, I hoped the injury would just be better. But the pain always came back. Sometimes I could manage as much as 6 miles, by running a half mile at a time with a quarter mile walk break in between. This felt abysmal and terrifying. I was always waiting for those daggers of pain to return, and they always came back, at some point during the run. I stayed on a miserable 1/2 mile dirt loop right by my house so that at least when the pain started, I wouldn't have far to get home.<br />
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Days passed, weeks passed. I became a very unhappy person. It killed me to see other people posting their long, long training runs and happy smiling faces. I took a leave of absence from podcasting with my friends about our journey to Javelina. I knew I had to accept that there wasn't enough time, I wasn't going to make it there.</div>
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School started again, both for Will and me. One of the classes I had worked very hard preparing got canceled, because whoever was in charge of putting it on the registration website had forgotten to do so, and therefore no students had known about it or been able to sign up. I guess I should have made sure that other people were doing their jobs, but I didn't check until it was too late. Unlike real professors, when one of my classes gets canceled, I just don't get paid. Maybe that doesn't really matter. I get paid so little anyway. I would have said my life felt like a joke, but really it felt more like a waste.</div>
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Second grade started off somewhat promising for Will, because he seemed to like his teacher, but it was only a week until he cried when he got off the bus and asked me, "Mommy, am I dumb?" The education system tests children to within an inch of their lives (sometimes even beyond that), and Will knew that he had been placed into the lowest "reading level" of his class.</div>
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"No," I assured him, referring to the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/09/the-2-minute-conversation-with-my-son.html" target="_blank">two minute conversation</a> we'd had over the summer that changed everything. "You are not dumb. You are dyslexic."</div>
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I'd given his teacher a full week into the school year, which seemed like enough of a grace period. It was time to find out what the education system could do for a dyslexic child, and I knew, even as I tried to hang onto a modicum of calm and strength, that I was doubling down for the biggest fight of my life.</div>
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What I found out, as I went into the arena, was that it is actually possible to black out from rage. Like, literally pass out from anger at the response you get from teachers and "reading specialists" who don't do a fucking thing for the 1 in 5 dyslexic children in schools. These people often don't even "believe" in dyslexia, and they just look at you, blankly, showing you test scores that assure you your child is "below average" and then suggest that you sign him up for an after school homework club. Sometimes, as an added bonus, they stress the importance that you make sure he keeps up on his 20 minutes of reading each night--completely ignoring the fact that he can't read <i>because</i> <i>he is dyslexic</i> and they are doing nothing to help him. </div>
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To say that this fight has taken a toll on me is a drastic understatement. For two years I've had to listen to elementary school teachers tell me that my child is basically stupid and they can't understand why he doesn't improve with more of the same. I had to find out <i>on my own</i> what dyslexia is, that my kid has it, and what to do to get him help. It has been a long, long, <i>long</i> and very expensive road, and I am only on the beginning of it. For several weeks this fall, there were nights I went completely without sleep, days I went mostly without food, and I became a husk of a person-- feeling like I was only keeping myself alive so I could continue this fight. In every way, I am shredded and empty. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside the tutoring center. We will spend thousands and thousands of dollars on private dyslexia tutoring (not to mention, an official diagnosis) because the education system doesn't have enough money to follow the law and screen for learning disabilities or provide Free Appropriate Public Education to all children, even though this is required by the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act. (A school reading specialist who hasn't been trained in the methodology that dyslexic children require is not Free Appropriate Public Education, but having someone called a "reading specialist" is apparently how they get around it).</td></tr>
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Near the middle of September, Rob ran the Black Squirrel Half Marathon. After the race, I talked to one of his friends, who had also had an IT band injury, and he gave me the contact information of his physical therapist. Her name was Teresa, and she used a technique called Dry Needling. "I've never had an injury she couldn't fix," Rob's friend told me. And I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe I could still salvage the absolute shit show my life had become and make it to the start line of Javelina 100, the race I registered for last May when I thought that everything was going to be fine. I'd been injured for nearly a month, but I had six weeks left to train. If Teresa could fix me right away, maybe I could make it, and maybe my life would mean something again.</div>
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I sent her a text. She replied. Her first available appointment was just a few days away, on that coming Tuesday, during the time when I had set up a meeting with Will's teacher and the school "reading specialist" who doesn't even know what the Orton-Gillingham method is. (Note: the Orton-Gillingham method is how dyslexic children must be taught in order to learn how to read. It was invented in 1930).</div>
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Rob offered to go to the meeting alone.</div>
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I sold my soul to the devil and told Teresa I could take the appointment.</div>
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Teresa lives in the mountains. Way, way up in the mountains, like a 50 minute drive away from our house on the absolute edge of town, and she sees people in her home. The last 10 or so miles of the drive are on a dirt road so steep that my Prius started rolling backwards at times. She doesn't deal with insurance, you pay her in cash. You sign a waiver saying that she's explained to you the risks of what could happen if she nicks an artery or nerve with the dry needles. Each appointment costs more money than one of Will's very expensive sessions with his Orton-Gillingham certified dyslexia tutor.</div>
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And Teresa is worth every penny.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise on the long drive up to her house.</td></tr>
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She spent nearly 3 hours with me on that first visit. She figured out that my knee hurt because I have scoliosis. I've always known I had scoliosis and that my back is completely messed up, but what I didn't know was that this messes up my hips, which makes my piriformis pull on my greater trochanter, which pulls on my IT band, and I end up with pain on the outside of my knee. She stuck needles in my piriformis so that it would relax, and she didn't hit any nerves or arteries. It didn't hurt as bad as I expected, but nonetheless, I almost passed out. On one of the sticks, my muscle contracted so strongly that it bent her acupuncture needle.</div>
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The day after my appointment, I ran 5 miles. And the day after that, I ran another 7. All pain free. None of this shitty half-mile run, followed by a quarter-mile walk. I was <i>running</i>. For the first time in almost a month, I began to believe I had a chance to make it to Javelina.</div>
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My knee started hurting again that weekend, but I made another expensive appointment with Teresa for Tuesday. To hell with all the money we were bleeding out on dyslexia tutoring and physical therapy. I would sell my soul to the devil six times over just to show up to the start line of this race healthy.</div>
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I managed a 27 mile trail run that weekend, 5 weeks before the race. I climbed up the thirteen switchbacks on Howards, and then I stood on Westridge, overlooking the mountains and Teresa's house somewhere below. I sobbed. I screamed. I was so, so angry at what my life had become, at my meaningless PhD, at the future my precious child might suffer because the language processing areas of his brain work differently than that of neurotypical people. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the place where I come to scream.</td></tr>
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I made it back to my car at the trailhead almost 6 hours after I'd begun. I learned that there is a well of raw strength inside me that is far deeper than I ever thought possible. I had eaten peanut butter pretzels during the run to keep up on calories, but I truly believed that if need be, I could run this entire race fueled by rage alone.</div>
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Every run after that was double digits. Every day. I went from zero to 50, 60, and 70 miles a week. I reneged on my beginning-of-the-semester promise to myself that I'd use my time wisely-- develop other courses to teach in the future, keep on top of things in the professionalization workshops I was still in charge of leading. All I did was run, and drive Will to his dyslexia tutoring (a half hour away) after school. If I was going to sell my soul to make it to Javelina, I would sell it all the way.</div>
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The family of Will's best friend invited him for a sleepover on the last night of September, and it worked out well for training. I made Rob go with me to Horsetooth Mountain after I dropped Will off, and we ran together for 5 hours in the dark. When most people worry about Javelina, they worry about running in the heat of the day. I was worried about running in the dark, since I've had problems with nausea and migraines after too many hours of that bobbing cone of light from the headlamp. Rob and I worked out the details of battery changes and pacing. At midnight, we stopped for a minute to turn off our lights and look up at the Milky Way. It was October 1st, the day we had met 19 years ago.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcXTqEIH06YW-7gzd5QxGHh0YnMhVhlnfjwN7-AlFSTrlyPhSn1hPSuzWZbEDjGebbtCg-sr8wUIZBdlAJsQDTShHlZWu2HmJoFbi-m0igQdX7K4rt8E77j6FrxzC11xoLQTR7Or3cws/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+2.27.15+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcXTqEIH06YW-7gzd5QxGHh0YnMhVhlnfjwN7-AlFSTrlyPhSn1hPSuzWZbEDjGebbtCg-sr8wUIZBdlAJsQDTShHlZWu2HmJoFbi-m0igQdX7K4rt8E77j6FrxzC11xoLQTR7Or3cws/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-11-03+at+2.27.15+PM.png" width="390" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">19 years ago, I never would have dreamed that one day Rob would make me run up Horsetooth Mountain in the dark.</td></tr>
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I kept running through two more weeks of big miles. My knee held up, and it seemed like a miracle. I gradually stopped worrying and waiting for the ever familiar stab of pain to return. I felt strong and invincible. Then, on what was to be a routine morning 20 miler, there was a sudden burning in my left ankle that I feared could only be explained by a ruptured Achilles. I managed to hobble home, but this knocked me down a dozen notches. It made me remember that no matter how good I was feeling, at any moment, the circumstances could change. If this had happened during the race, I would have had no choice but to drop.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture from that run.</td></tr>
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I texted Teresa, but she was out of town. I panicked. I gave it a couple of days, dosed myself up on ibuprofen, used my last pre-paid rossiter appointment, and applied massive amounts of KT tape. By sheer force of will, it held up for one more 82 mile week. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHYT-Bz7ZzxP6GbHNMruLB-ogsZPMCV4VwuTHXK0KzXqGcjli_3gWkfrcK6WrNwq9JF8A6zkjx4zPHMWE2Lt5numLmjU3rT8DOFEgry0_4WSaRuZLRz-eUaWfsoSbb6q-1dBx5jIP-x8/s1600/IMG_9695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtHYT-Bz7ZzxP6GbHNMruLB-ogsZPMCV4VwuTHXK0KzXqGcjli_3gWkfrcK6WrNwq9JF8A6zkjx4zPHMWE2Lt5numLmjU3rT8DOFEgry0_4WSaRuZLRz-eUaWfsoSbb6q-1dBx5jIP-x8/s400/IMG_9695.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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During my last long run of this training cycle, it was 34 degrees and raining. Of all years, this year in Colorado, winter had already begun. This wasn't the best set up for attempting a hundred mile race in the Arizona desert, but it was the best I could do. I reasoned that if peanut butter pretzels and rage could get me through the heat of the day, at least I would be well prepared for the cold of the night once the sun set. It was time to taper.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last long run out at Lory</td></tr>
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I tapered as hard as I had run. My body was completely beaten up. I'd accomplished everything I'd wanted to during training, but it had been so compressed due to the time I'd taken off for injury. I was ragged, hungry, and jagged skinny. So many other areas of my life had been lacking in attention just to get in the miles, keep up the fight as Dyslexia Mom. My ankle was dodgy at best, and I ran very little during the last two weeks before Javelina.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pineridge trail, if I squint and add a filter, it looks kind of like the desert.</td></tr>
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On the Monday before the race, I wanted to do one more night run and try out the spare headlamp (i.e., the one I'd use only if something goes terribly wrong with my real headlamp). I felt so terrible on every step of this run. I couldn't quite figure out why.</div>
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And then, there it was, the sharp, shooting pain in my right knee. </div>
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I made it home, but I completely panicked. It was too late now to try to get in to see Teresa, or another PT, before we left for Arizona. All of this, all of this soul selling, only to be back in the very same place with the very same pain in my knee. Why did this keep happening to me? Why couldn't I just stay healthy?</div>
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Rob and his friend Stephen tried to calm me down. Pre-race jitters. It happens every time. How many races have I run, lining up on the start line with a nagging injury, even a <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2014/10/bear-chase-50-miler.html" target="_blank">stress fracture</a>, and once the gun goes off, everything is fine? All of them, almost all of my ultras I have run with an injury. This too would pass. </div>
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I packed my bags like this was still going to happen. After all, the entry fee had been paid months ago. Rob's dad had already driven 1000 miles here to take care of Will while we were gone. There was nothing left to do but show up and hope that I could run through 100 miles of pain.</div>
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We left for Phoenix. Every time we got out at a rest stop or gas station, I walked around and my IT band snapped, my knee hurt. My ankle was marginal at best. I thought, you know what, I give myself maybe a 10% chance of finishing this thing. It had happened-- I'd sold every possible soul just to get to the start line, and I didn't have any left to get to the finish.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOuEoh9KkFNwiGHbSbgmB0NTHIrPLw7_iemKTI0P1euzzEhyphenhyphenQyU3qQ2a3cmaY4wd-CVSy-ZUFBaegbnWS0kEnHKtN-EjDqfx_nrQcfKtVKdvV2MkTbzGbLoOsgJg_4mfNQv5RiPu_I40/s1600/IMG_9757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOuEoh9KkFNwiGHbSbgmB0NTHIrPLw7_iemKTI0P1euzzEhyphenhyphenQyU3qQ2a3cmaY4wd-CVSy-ZUFBaegbnWS0kEnHKtN-EjDqfx_nrQcfKtVKdvV2MkTbzGbLoOsgJg_4mfNQv5RiPu_I40/s400/IMG_9757.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Thanks for reading. Part 2 to come</i>.</div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-20456445601480979162016-09-22T15:02:00.001-06:002016-09-23T10:00:21.209-06:00The 2-minute conversation with my son that changed everythingSince the moment Will walked into school on the first day of kindergarten, our experience in the education system has been horrifying and unforgivable.<br />
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I never realized, until then, that he wasn't like the other kids. I mean, I guess I sort of always knew, but I didn't realize, how really, <i>really</i> different he was. And I had always thought it was a good thing, for him to be like this. He just always seemed to come up with different solutions than other people would. And he did things on his own time--which was often far later than the "experts" said he should-- and in his own terms. </div>
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For example, he never crawled. Ever. People told me that was my fault, because I must not have done "tummy time" enough with him. Or people told me it didn't matter, he would crawl when he was ready. But he never did. We had hardwood floors when he was little, and one day--determined to get him to crawl--I put a blanket on the floor and set him down on it, on all fours. I put a toy at the other end. He wanted that toy. He looked at that toy. He studied that toy. And then he took the blanket and pulled it towards him until he could reach the toy.</div>
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I thought, how creative.</div>
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Then I thought, he's going to have a tough time in school.</div>
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And he did. Kindergarten was when I realized the other kids could do things he couldn't do. The other kids all learned how to read in kindergarten and William didn't. He was so frustrated. His teacher labeled him as the "bad kid," and she treated me like I was some kind of meth addict because I was audacious enough to have a 5-year old who couldn't read. By February, he cried every night and told me he hated school and he hated that everyone thought he was bad, and he begged me to homeschool him. I don't even know where he learned the word <i>homeschool</i> because I'd never used it around him before. My last conversation with his teacher ended with her crying, and not too long after, she quit her job. I don't know if I had anything to do with that. I no longer regret it if I do.</div>
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I thought, the education system is ridiculous. Teachers have the emotional maturity of middle school mean girls who couldn't think of anything better to do with their lives. Common core is bullshit. These people are making way too many demands of little children. William is a whole year younger than most of the other kids in his class, because we started kindergarten "on time" (he turned 5 just a week before the first day of school), and so many other parents wait until their kids are already 6, so that, I don't know, they'll be the biggest, toughest ones on the football team by the time they get to high school. Parents are ridiculous. </div>
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I thought, William will learn to read when he is good and ready. Why should I expect him to read at age 5? He's never done anything "on time." Recall, he never crawled. He didn't walk until he was 16 months old. He didn't talk until after he turned 2. But he walks and talks just fine now. He will read when he is ready to read.</div>
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On the last day of kindergarten he got to pick out a book to bring home with him. He chose a very long book-- a chapter book-- about the Apollo 11 mission to the moon. We read it to him when we celebrated the beginning of summer by camping out in our back yard. There was a full moon that night, and we looked at it. William began to love space. We went to the library and checked out every single book they had on space. We read them again and again. William learned so much. <i>I</i> learned so much. We built models of the solar system. We listened to podcasts about space. We watched videos about space. He could tell you every planet in the solar system, and how many moons each planet had, and all the names of the larger moons. He could explain The Late Heavy Bombardment. He could discuss the Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud. He could describe the life cycle of a star. He worried about what would happen when our own Sun died (several billion years in the future). He could tell you why Pluto used to be a planet, but wasn't considered a planet anymore.</div>
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I clung to his obsession with space. This was his thing. And this was my lifeline. He was just a late bloomer. He wasn't a bad kid who failed to meet the basic expectations of kindergarten. He was a misunderstood genius.</div>
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He went to first grade, and his teacher wasn't a horrible person. I volunteered in the classroom sometimes, but I had to stop that by the middle of the year because it killed me to see how far behind Will was compared to the other kids. They whizzed through hundreds of sight words like it was nothing. Will never got past the first page. At his parent teacher conference, his teacher said, William really likes math--he would do math all day long if I would let him. But his reading scores were very low. Very very low. The big words BELOW AVERAGE were all over his evaluations. How could I argue with that? Those were his scores. How could I say, no you must be wrong--Will is a misunderstood genius. There's no way he's BELOW AVERAGE. How could I question his teacher on that, like I expected <i>my</i> kid to be smart just because I was high school valedictorian and have a PhD? There it was, plain and clear, on the evaluation forms. His teacher didn't seem particularly concerned about it, it was just a fact, he's BELOW AVERAGE. Meaning, YOUR KID IS STUPID. Here are the test scores. These numbers don't lie.</div>
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All year, he was in a special reading program at school. Sometimes he would get pulled out of the classroom when the other kids were doing fun stuff that he would have loved to do (like an engineering project to build a little house). During the second half of the year, he wasn't progressing as far as they thought he should, so he brought home an extra hour of reading homework every night. AN EXTRA FUCKING HOUR. OF READING HOMEWORK. EVERY NIGHT. Maybe they thought it would take him 10 minutes. But it didn't. It took an hour. He hated it. He cried and got frustrated and we yelled at each other. He would run and hide to try to get out of it. But the teacher said he was BELOW AVERAGE and this extra homework was the thing he needed to learn how to read. I had to sign a form saying that I had done the homework with him, in order to prove I was a good mom. Because the default assumption when your kid is in first grade and can't read is that you must be a meth addict. Will told me again that he hated school. He hated first grade. First grade was too hard, he said. He hated that he worked so much harder than all the other kids, but he still didn't get it. He hated feeling like he was stupid. He begged me to homeschool him.</div>
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The summer after first grade, I thought, okay. We're going to figure this out. I have a PhD, I teach college. I am going to freaking teach my kid how to read. </div>
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Except I couldn't.</div>
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Books that I'd already read to him, he could get through on his own just fine. He memorized whole pages. He could recite stories flawlessly. He could read, but only if he wasn't looking at the words. Whenever we tried a new book, it was the inevitable breakdown of frustration and tears.</div>
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Camping was what saved us that summer. We slept in our van in beautiful places on 25 nights between Memorial Day and Labor Day. Out in the wilderness, there were no test scores or homework or elementary school teachers saying they were doing everything they could, he just wasn't that bright. I wished it could be like that all the time.</div>
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On one of our trips to the Never Summer Mountains, we met up with a bunch of friends, and it was great. Will and the other kids ran and ran. We roasted marshmallows and made Smores. The huge snowcapped mountains were all around us. Will named the stars as they came out.</div>
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The next morning, I was talking with one of our friends at the campground. She's a special education teacher in a different school district. I was wary of her, because she is a teacher. But she seemed almost as skeptical of the education system as me. She asked me how William liked school, and I didn't sugar coat our experience. I told her that it had made me so angry. We sat in the van while the kids ran and I said, "I'm surprised they didn't hold Will back, to repeat first grade."</div>
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She cocked her head and raised her eyebrow and gave me an <i>Oh, honey </i>look. She said, "They'll never tell you that. They'll never hold him back. If you think he needs to be held back, you need to go in there and demand it."</div>
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I was shocked. I said I didn't know if that was the right thing to do. How was I supposed to know if that was the right thing? They're the teachers, isn't that <i>their</i> job to determine his educational needs? What if I demanded that he be held back, and that wasn't what he needed, and it ruined his life? He was brilliant with knowing things about space, but he just couldn't read, at least, not when he was looking at the words. Maybe reading was like walking and talking. One day he'd just be ready and do it. Maybe, hopefully, that day would be soon.</div>
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She asked me about his reading. She said, "Can William sound out words?" </div>
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"Well yes. Some words. Like the words <i>can</i> and <i>cat</i>."</div>
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"But what about longer words?" </div>
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"No."</div>
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"Can he tell apart <i>b</i> and <i>d, </i>or<i> p</i> and <i>q</i>?"</div>
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"Well, sometimes," I hesitated, because <i>rarely</i> was a better answer.</div>
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She looked at me and said, "Melissa, he's dyslexic." </div>
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I shook my head, slowly at first, then faster. "No," I said. "It can't be. His teacher never said that. He went to a reading specialist at school, and she never said that. They just said he was below average and gave him extra homework. Wouldn't they have told me if they thought he was dyslexic?"</div>
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She gave me the <i>oh honey</i> look again and shook her head. "No, they will never tell you that. They aren't allowed to tell you if they think he's dyslexic. They won't even use that word."</div>
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I broke down crying. I thought of a student I had in one of my classes one time. Early in the semester, he gave me a note from the campus learning center, explaining that he was dyslexic and was allowed to take exams at the testing center and have extra time. He was a brilliant guy, really. One of my favorite students ever. He could fix computers, and he was enthusiastic and engaged, and he could explain concepts so well in class. But when I read his written work, even when he had extra time to finish it, there was something about it that made me think, he knows the answer to this question, he just can't write it down. I wondered if that had something to do with dyslexia, but I wasn't sure. I thought dyslexia meant you saw things backwards.</div>
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We got home from our camping trip and tried to continue learning how to read. My mom had sent Will a package, with a book from the movie, <i>Finding Dory</i>. Will was very excited. Even with all his trouble reading, he has always loved books. He loves looking at them and he especially loves books with very bright pictures. He loves making up stories to go along with the pictures. Who cares what the words say anyway? His stories are often so much more interesting than the printed text.</div>
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The book was for pre-schoolers. It was mostly pictures. It had one sentence on each page, maybe just five words long. It was a book he had never seen before, and he couldn't read it. Just. Could. Not. I got a burst of hope when he successfully recognized the word "fish" on one page, but a page later, when he saw the word, "swim," he couldn't read it. His eyes darted around and looked at the pictures. I got frustrated. "Look at the word, William," I said, and pointed to it.</div>
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"Ssssss..." he said, and his eyes darted to the pictures again.</div>
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"Look at the word," I reminded him.</div>
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"Sssss..." he said again. Then, "<i>Set</i>," he pronounced.</div>
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"No," I shook my head, kept pointing to the word. "Sound it out." I was so frustrated. Why couldn't he do this? Why didn't he try harder?</div>
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"Ssssss," he said. "<i>Smile</i>."</div>
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Now he was just guessing, in hopes that he would randomly say the right word and this could be over.</div>
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"No," I said. I felt like I was going to be sick. This book was something pre-schoolers were supposed to be able to read, and he couldn't do it.</div>
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I thought about what my friend had said on the camping trip.</div>
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"William," I asked him gently, "what is it about reading that makes it so hard for you?"</div>
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He shrugged. "I don't know the words," he said.</div>
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"But can't you sound them out?"</div>
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He shrugged again.</div>
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I pointed to the word <i>swim</i>. "Can you see all these letters?" I asked.</div>
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"Yes."</div>
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"What are they?"</div>
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"S-W-I-M," he spelled out.</div>
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"Yes!" I said, encouraged. "Do you know what sounds each of those letters makes?"</div>
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"Yes," he was confident. And he made each of the sounds.</div>
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"Yes," I said. "<i>Swim</i>."</div>
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"Swim," he repeated, looking at the word and understanding it now.</div>
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"Right," I told him. "You've got it. So what makes it hard for you to sound out the word on your own?"</div>
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He didn't even need to pause to think. "I can see all the letters," he explained, "and I know what sounds they make. But when I try to read a word, I can't make the sounds go in the right order."</div>
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That was it. Right there.</div>
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I had to let it sink in for a minute.</div>
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"Did any of your teachers in school ever ask you what made reading so hard for you?"</div>
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"No," he said.</div>
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<i>Of course they didn't. </i></div>
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"Did you ever tell them this, what you just told me now about the sounds and the letters?"</div>
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"No."</div>
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"How come there are some words you can read just fine, and other words are hard?"</div>
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"Well, the words I can read are the ones I memorized."</div>
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"Do you sound out <i>any</i> words?"</div>
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He shook his head.</div>
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"So all of the words you can read, it's because you've memorized them?"</div>
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He nodded.</div>
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"Your teachers in the reading lab, they said you had worked so hard and your reading had gotten better." At the end of the year he was still considered below average, but he was at least up to the lowest possible reading level for his grade.</div>
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"Well, sometimes the other kids read first, and I memorized what they said."</div>
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"And you just repeated it?"</div>
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"Yes," he grinned.</div>
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"So you tricked the reading teachers into thinking you could read?"</div>
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He grinned even wider. "Yes."</div>
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I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his blonde curls. He smelled like stardust and sunshine. Here was my kid, who never crawled, but figured out he could drag the blanket towards him so he could reach the toy.</div>
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I realized at that moment how amazing and beautiful his mind was, how he saw the world completely differently than I did, how most people do. The education system had spent the last two years trying to turn me against him, convince me that he was stupid and it was my fault, but none of that was true. What he described, using his own words, in those two minutes--that's dyslexia. </div>
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I am not asking for advice. In fact, please, do not give me advice. If there is one thing I hate, and absolutely do not need right now, it is untenable solutions. 999% of my energy is focused on getting Will what he needs. What I am doing might not be what you think I should do, but I am doing the absolute best that I can.</div>
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You can't "cure" dyslexia, but there are ways to manage it, so that these kids learn to read. It hasn't been easy for me to find help for him, but I did, and it hasn't been within the education system. Dyslexia requires specific, explicit intervention. The gold standard is called the Orton-Gillingham approach. It isn't sophisticated or expensive to implement, and it has been around since the 1930's. It involves using multiple sensory inputs to help the brain make the kinds of connections it needs to in order to recognize words. Plus, it's fun. It makes reading like playing a game. William adores his dyslexia tutor and the very expensive sessions I take him to twice a week until he learns how to read, or we run out of money.</div>
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I have not spoken favorably about our experience in the education system, and I know this may be shocking or hurtful to friends who are teachers. In fact, many have assured me that what I've described is highly unusual--an example of a particularly "bad school" or teachers who are not doing their jobs. This is not true. William's school is consistently ranked one of the best in the district, and the district is one of the best in the state. And these teachers are <i>absolutely</i> doing their jobs. Nothing more, nothing less. This experience is happening in every school, in every classroom across the nation. </div>
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Research indicates that as many as 1 in 5 people have some form of dyslexia. At Will's school, that means there are about 100 dyslexic kids (I'm pretty sure about this--I had William do the math). These kids are being told they are BELOW AVERAGE, and they are going to the reading lab to work with reading specialists-- like Will does, now twice a week. By law, this is what the school has to provide. But the reading specialists are not trained in specific methodology for dyslexia intervention, nor do they use these methods. Dyslexic children will never learn to read this way, but they may develop coping strategies that trick the reading specialists into thinking they can read. This type of approach is called an RTI (Response to Intervention). It exists so schools don't have to designate so many children as qualifying for special education, and it saves them money. It exists so that schools can act like they're doing something, when they're actually not. What it does is set up dyslexic kids to fail, and then blame them for it.</div>
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I could see through all that, and I found a way. Other parents don't, and their kids don't get help. Think about that. There are a hundred kids in Will's school alone who aren't getting help. One of these kids might have become a research scientist who found the cure for cancer, if only he or she had been taught to read. </div>
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During the first week or two of school this year, the children were tested and placed into reading levels. Will told me that he was in the lowest reading level of his class. "Am I dumb?" he asked me, shame tinging his voice.</div>
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"No," I said. I hugged him tight and breathed in his stardust-and-lemon-cookie scent. "You work harder than the other kids, and that makes you stronger." I thought about the amazing connections that his non-neurotypical brain can make, and the way that he thinks about things and processes information completely differently than most people do. "You're smarter than the other kids too, because this stuff comes easy to them, but you have to work hard to find way."<br />
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The world needs people like William. "You have dyslexia," I told him. "And it's a gift."</div>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-43652067517995971732016-09-12T22:58:00.000-06:002016-09-12T23:23:21.720-06:00Dear William (85 months)Dear William,<br />
Today you are 85 months old!<br />
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We had a belated birthday party for you at the neighborhood pool. You asked me to make you a Smurf cake, and you and your BFF Liam drew me diagrams of how it was supposed to look. I did the best I could and when you saw it you hugged me tight and said, "Oh thank you, Mommy, that is just exactly how I wanted!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was your idea to place Clumsy Smurf upside down in the pond.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting for the guests to arrive.</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-captioned="" data-instgrm-version="7" style="background: #fff; border-radius: 3px; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.5) , 0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.15); margin: 1px; max-width: 658px; padding: 0; width: 99.375%;">
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BJY7beThI8x/" style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Pool party</a></div>
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A video posted by Rob Raguet-Schofield (@sexyhermit) on <time datetime="2016-08-21T23:39:52+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Aug 21, 2016 at 4:39pm PDT</time></div>
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You hiked Towers for the first time this month. That's 7 miles and 1,700 feet of elevation gain (and loss). It took about 4 hours, and you never complained. Training for The Barkley.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeLNhx_XBIejvxYt5QBJNviqn4ZjNcFjtmrUQOtUAGcqKk6mG4Ah3Gz0Mxq_Sgp_LWuvi_NiV-vfAuu7FYYW62aemce4RGT2NTaGFlknzfaknPA4fBekRCDUOejXQciDl2E1IOXif2bM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-09-12+at+9.42.08+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeLNhx_XBIejvxYt5QBJNviqn4ZjNcFjtmrUQOtUAGcqKk6mG4Ah3Gz0Mxq_Sgp_LWuvi_NiV-vfAuu7FYYW62aemce4RGT2NTaGFlknzfaknPA4fBekRCDUOejXQciDl2E1IOXif2bM/s320/Screen+Shot+2016-09-12+at+9.42.08+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the top of Towers!!!!!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4MtpIF4g752wRe52x5tQwzUBvjfDeXl4WGgmFZby8KrQEKDnnfIIkmsiRn9ynwTZKHzndRo5-G4yGvXJM7e4xhOGDgfnDfz9tlGWPDcpO66eU4JVUUZAP856QMmz-q3qFYTuf8VMvc0/s1600/IMG_9192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4MtpIF4g752wRe52x5tQwzUBvjfDeXl4WGgmFZby8KrQEKDnnfIIkmsiRn9ynwTZKHzndRo5-G4yGvXJM7e4xhOGDgfnDfz9tlGWPDcpO66eU4JVUUZAP856QMmz-q3qFYTuf8VMvc0/s320/IMG_9192.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BJWoiNehYgG/" style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Not bad for a seven year old.</a></div>
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A photo posted by Rob Raguet-Schofield (@sexyhermit) on <time datetime="2016-08-21T02:16:17+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Aug 20, 2016 at 7:16pm PDT</time></div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BJWpYYYBelC/" style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">The long and winding road</a></div>
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A photo posted by Rob Raguet-Schofield (@sexyhermit) on <time datetime="2016-08-21T02:23:41+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Aug 20, 2016 at 7:23pm PDT</time></div>
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We took another trip to Telluride over Labor Day weekend, just because we wanted to see it again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPmHBeXQdWKWhxooTRD23qRa4s7o3eBsP9iHg-t0DSsd8B0vnw4dwh_ZeW2Oj7CdUEsGx1y9FI6RJhNJg8tFFgEq4qXxzjBdESJRb87TDDLwyD6f3x4f9aiE3XC422AYKr5HU0COYLjQ/s1600/IMG_9324+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPmHBeXQdWKWhxooTRD23qRa4s7o3eBsP9iHg-t0DSsd8B0vnw4dwh_ZeW2Oj7CdUEsGx1y9FI6RJhNJg8tFFgEq4qXxzjBdESJRb87TDDLwyD6f3x4f9aiE3XC422AYKr5HU0COYLjQ/s400/IMG_9324+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telluride Town Park looks a little different without Hardrock going on.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Training for The Barkley at 8,500 feet.</td></tr>
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We did some light hiking on the Bridal Veil Falls trail. It rained for part of the time, but you didn't complain.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You were being Goofy McGooferson</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The leaves were already starting to turn.</td></tr>
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We happened to be there during the weekend they were having a film festival. We saw Tom Hanks. You heard his voice and your face lit up and you said, "Woody!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeik6KeKq397Wt9tNgBHTiX__PxtHRPZL1oJIoCHAUPWSyFCDa9UA-TIL4hP564-8spFFxCu1cDtdOI1vFOWNzVx0NtmTe66W6rmoDNTs3iHd4JxD9W1TnBOf1FPfNsjUMNijszxA9XY/s1600/IMG_9337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzeik6KeKq397Wt9tNgBHTiX__PxtHRPZL1oJIoCHAUPWSyFCDa9UA-TIL4hP564-8spFFxCu1cDtdOI1vFOWNzVx0NtmTe66W6rmoDNTs3iHd4JxD9W1TnBOf1FPfNsjUMNijszxA9XY/s400/IMG_9337.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You know, Woody-- from Toy Story 1, 2, and 3.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Daddy always finds us the most interesting, beautiful places to camp.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr7BClVL7r7fBuNt4FdfdvOjLKuqbtVkIkNNRIOB88B2COYCTu-oIrfF2BpFHjSXqou3oiYvW52N1tjEHk9uqQQ_DgM_kbHQOuAmrgMXN28qYdQ_ADg9M9fnvoqyLBYKRQhmwu1UXdfA/s1600/IMG_9313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQr7BClVL7r7fBuNt4FdfdvOjLKuqbtVkIkNNRIOB88B2COYCTu-oIrfF2BpFHjSXqou3oiYvW52N1tjEHk9uqQQ_DgM_kbHQOuAmrgMXN28qYdQ_ADg9M9fnvoqyLBYKRQhmwu1UXdfA/s400/IMG_9313.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We did some light homeschooling in the van. William, you are dyslexic, but that isn't going to stop you from doing whatever you want to do in life.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoxd1oAFACQzjSmfE65kS4QybesH1pSIpGJvC9Xa6KIMkIT-DiOYQYXYFZTsckSII_oYHkTvw72LSEy3pzUoZDbUbuc8GGk4x7IKoBRJ_rL9qJv-ETt2N-rpB4QWNXoHjPWSMehMafrU/s1600/IMG_9321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoxd1oAFACQzjSmfE65kS4QybesH1pSIpGJvC9Xa6KIMkIT-DiOYQYXYFZTsckSII_oYHkTvw72LSEy3pzUoZDbUbuc8GGk4x7IKoBRJ_rL9qJv-ETt2N-rpB4QWNXoHjPWSMehMafrU/s400/IMG_9321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dyslexia Warrior. I will never forgive the education system for what it has put you through. Dyslexia is a real thing. You have it. And you are fantastic--don't ever let anybody make you feel otherwise. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We visited Colorado National Monument on the way home.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4l-aFF-3Co9GznSS3BYSmWv3yW7e9Ey5_hDJVrdxqiHX4rh-n9v2VjMSlLa0YhwNv22xv9OphO90ruf46JnaffLn15LfnDhI-VqqWKjHVX2b8Ae_gicCM-GTebJ0jjBtgD2RnrhE2364/s1600/IMG_9377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4l-aFF-3Co9GznSS3BYSmWv3yW7e9Ey5_hDJVrdxqiHX4rh-n9v2VjMSlLa0YhwNv22xv9OphO90ruf46JnaffLn15LfnDhI-VqqWKjHVX2b8Ae_gicCM-GTebJ0jjBtgD2RnrhE2364/s320/IMG_9377.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
You drew me a picture. I LOVE IT SO MUCH.<br />
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZfui4Qmd-DalN5fEtO_kRRqw076VXGmrrspcAnaaAJpkgKYNaweQet7Sry4YCKIMc9unJAKsRdzUPxu_OqEtrNN2VWuAg-R1djL3pJvSqG1L2IdMMTVNJl7PkvCu5RDOnS6hXp2AW53M/s1600/IMG_9240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZfui4Qmd-DalN5fEtO_kRRqw076VXGmrrspcAnaaAJpkgKYNaweQet7Sry4YCKIMc9unJAKsRdzUPxu_OqEtrNN2VWuAg-R1djL3pJvSqG1L2IdMMTVNJl7PkvCu5RDOnS6hXp2AW53M/s320/IMG_9240.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Look, Mama," you said, "I drew you a picture! It's me, as the Little Prince, on B612!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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You ran a kid's race at Lory State Park.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWf_HXwekVVTC7nwI-0dsQNw80KzcEqu6qr9VneoaDc0_ztgfUWuFt6OWq1GeTBMcTT3WzR9bFd3P_Kst22EtysEjyQ3mttR1QXKCxxDoTDwBNOzAY2IsqjICq4IPruFQZAPzQnrDXe0M/s1600/IMG_9454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWf_HXwekVVTC7nwI-0dsQNw80KzcEqu6qr9VneoaDc0_ztgfUWuFt6OWq1GeTBMcTT3WzR9bFd3P_Kst22EtysEjyQ3mttR1QXKCxxDoTDwBNOzAY2IsqjICq4IPruFQZAPzQnrDXe0M/s400/IMG_9454.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Race Director explaining the course. He's not always dressed as a black squirrel, just for special occasions. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv124j4LtFvovfCw6al0n4bVeZK84R0vy5tgIJocGBQITGienpfbNzx_H0ezRrXixZUw7rsWsjw-VV4ql9gqskaQmo7-0nZxZZef9cBzvlMt8lhyphenhyphenA0rITcvm05iUc39ctCfN6USqi-vco/s1600/IMG_9434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv124j4LtFvovfCw6al0n4bVeZK84R0vy5tgIJocGBQITGienpfbNzx_H0ezRrXixZUw7rsWsjw-VV4ql9gqskaQmo7-0nZxZZef9cBzvlMt8lhyphenhyphenA0rITcvm05iUc39ctCfN6USqi-vco/s400/IMG_9434.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You decided you wanted Daddy to run with you, even though he had already run and placed 5th overall in the half marathon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgz8Gj2KTP0hqk7MaTiJ68p-7oDZCCodb_xotyzsYoEaiO5NIaG30gFBqOluOZlQPw3pXskLJm322s08KMCvi0OhM2OYnHBcHs0ftkof9Rirdf8cgftaFE_nzb7BJRhRc1KTFwee2GUo/s1600/IMG_9435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEgz8Gj2KTP0hqk7MaTiJ68p-7oDZCCodb_xotyzsYoEaiO5NIaG30gFBqOluOZlQPw3pXskLJm322s08KMCvi0OhM2OYnHBcHs0ftkof9Rirdf8cgftaFE_nzb7BJRhRc1KTFwee2GUo/s400/IMG_9435.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
You were the third place finisher. You ran a 9:05 mile on rolling terrain, and when you finished you said, "I could have run faster if there was more downhill." There was a little girl who finished 5 seconds in front of you, and you'd been trying to pass her for about half the race. She would move to block you from getting around her every single time. She was very intent on not letting you pass. You were frustrated. I understand, William. I understand so much. That's how life is. Sometimes it sucks and is not fair and people or things get in the way and knock you down or hold you back. Sometimes you work ten times as hard as everybody else only to get half as far along. I wish it wasn't that way, but it is. I don't have the answers. All I know is that the only thing we can do is just keep running.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXmnhKgCgkwU0PW2CABl_LT6pzoIEqQ6F6nRy3AOml3DbzMxfX1dwoMIntVR6Wc939aU4wyzCnW2AnyU7hW3FC_OD2_eh70_amXjmtfw5_Z9h0DTidPLzK5Uf8Wssgj5-v8j6WPQ1mqI/s1600/IMG_9455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaXmnhKgCgkwU0PW2CABl_LT6pzoIEqQ6F6nRy3AOml3DbzMxfX1dwoMIntVR6Wc939aU4wyzCnW2AnyU7hW3FC_OD2_eh70_amXjmtfw5_Z9h0DTidPLzK5Uf8Wssgj5-v8j6WPQ1mqI/s400/IMG_9455.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I am so, so thankful that I get to be your mom.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Love always,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Mama</div>
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<br /></div>
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<script async="" defer="" src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-23621949970134257242016-08-17T20:01:00.000-06:002016-11-28T23:45:13.781-07:00Howl 2016: You might love the ultra, but the ultra doesn’t love you back<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a lot riding on Howl At The Moon this year. It would
be my fourth time running the race, and quite honestly, I was already thinking
it might be the last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It keeps getting
harder and harder to get into Howl. You have to be sitting at your computer the
instant registration goes live (usually sometime around Earth Day) and then click like mad to get the page to load
and enter your information before all 300 slots are gone within a matter of
minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I managed to do this for both Rob and me this year, I’m not
sure that I’ll be so lucky in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All I knew was that if I wanted to go back “home” to sea level and run a
race on my kind of terrain (non-technical loop course) while Will was being
cared for by his grandparents (the race takes place in Rob’s hometown), this
was my chance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Howl is an 8-hour timed ultra, meaning you run the same 3.29
mile loop (of mainly grass, dirt, and gravel) as many times as you can within 8
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or rather, within 7 and a half
hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When there is a half an hour left
on the clock, you are diverted to the ½ mile out and backs for the remainder of
the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the 8 hours are up, the
person with the most mileage wins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
person is never me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i>
done progressively better each time I’ve participated in <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4066108016896383194" style="mso-comment-date: 20160816T0950; mso-comment-reference: MR_1;">Howl</a><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"> </span></span></span>.
<a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2015/08/howl-almost-hero.html" target="_blank">Last year</a> my super secret goal was to complete 14 loops (46.06 miles), but I’d
fallen short of that and ended up with 13 loops plus 4 out and backs—44.77
miles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this year</i>,
I was determined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was going to be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my year.</i> This was the year I would run
14 loops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The mere thought of that was terrifying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew what it had taken out of me to run 13
loops the previous years, and <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4066108016896383194" style="mso-comment-date: 20160815T1717; mso-comment-reference: MR_2;">14</a><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"> </span></span></span>was
so at the absolute edge of my capability. Nothing could go wrong if I was going to
make that happen. Nothing. <span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9.0pt;"><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"> </span></span></span>All
I could think about was this Jenn Shelton quote from the documentary <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://vimeo.com/ondemand/outsidevoices" target="_blank">Outside Voices</a></i>, when she’s talking about
ultras (maybe it is 100 milers specifically), and she says something like, “You have to care
about it more than anything in the world, but you also have to not give a
shit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is so true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
are a million, billion things that could go wrong while you’re running an ultra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them you can control, some of them
you cannot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You absolutely have to be
able to let it go, cut it off, jump ship, if the situation changes and what was
once marginally possible becomes truly and legitimately impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, the ultra will destroy you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This ultra really did seem like it was planning on destroying
me when all week the weather forecast was calling for severe thunderstorms and
heavy rain on race day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I had to
mentally prepare myself to let go of 14 loops if the conditions were bad, and I
had to be okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when I
woke up on race morning, the forecast had changed to: “light scattered rain.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood there at the start line, trying to summon
the wherewithal to switch my brain back to “GAME ON” mode.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYjr6BiARD8LaDMJhsiGfvoXtwxWjn880kSmEmAwgQiD4bzLTBMgXJ8JcILt3YLWTiTeeONwaTheABgyzmhZKlOMTj8-ispy3xyXWzjMssApzPFB-6jw8PE65JvIoUzOFclMFDBWASOE/s1600/IMG_9132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiYjr6BiARD8LaDMJhsiGfvoXtwxWjn880kSmEmAwgQiD4bzLTBMgXJ8JcILt3YLWTiTeeONwaTheABgyzmhZKlOMTj8-ispy3xyXWzjMssApzPFB-6jw8PE65JvIoUzOFclMFDBWASOE/s400/IMG_9132.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You'll have to wait for Rob to write a blog post about his race, or maybe do a podcast about it. This was going to be his year, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN7Hd7go6PsMfrstz9RAZ9ia6x9KmtP0IC_tdVZNx0IPAoGohyp3DEOhPBFGKsMmYU9ZTu3cL3R-Hj1Vn1bPSriMfMSl0yldcCvl0XMUzo9Z28RHDjXppIKTDAOo2dwk07CVcN33D8_k/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-17+at+7.42.34+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifN7Hd7go6PsMfrstz9RAZ9ia6x9KmtP0IC_tdVZNx0IPAoGohyp3DEOhPBFGKsMmYU9ZTu3cL3R-Hj1Vn1bPSriMfMSl0yldcCvl0XMUzo9Z28RHDjXppIKTDAOo2dwk07CVcN33D8_k/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-08-17+at+7.42.34+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race. Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During t<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4066108016896383194" style="mso-comment-date: 20160816T1022; mso-comment-reference: MR_5;">he </a>first
couple of loops, I relaxed at the way the terrain felt smooth and effortless
under my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My legs decided for me—I
was going for 14 loops today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started
ticking off the miles at around 9:45 pace, and although this was a bit faster
than I needed to be going, I told myself this was wise and calculated rather
than stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The current situation was
that the weather was cloudy and cool. These were the best conditions I could
hope for all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within a few hours,
the heat and humidity would be suffocating, and I had no idea just how “light
and scattered” this rain would be, and whether or not it would turn the trail
into mud soup.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was now or never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I wanted even a slim chance of 14 loops, I
needed to give it to glory from my very first step.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only problem I had during the early miles was when my
scorer did not to mark me down for Loop 3, and I briefly panicked that I had
just run 3.29 miles that wouldn’t count towards my total.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howl is still old school—it is not chip timed.
They have volunteers who are assigned to a certain number of runners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These scorers put an X by their runners’
names every time one of them comes through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I started out on Loop 3, the volunteer sitting next to my scorer
nodded and pointed to me (I thought) and said, “He’s got you, you’re good to
go,” as my scorer was marking an X on the page (I assumed, next to my
name).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said “Thanks” and carried on,
but when I got back, I found that my scorer had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> seen me and had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>marked
me down as starting out Loop 3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The one rule of Howl is “Never argue with your scorer.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without arguing, I showed my scorer my GPS,
and tried not to black out from sheer panic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, he saw the mileage shown on my GPS
and assumed he must have made a mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(This is actually <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2012/08/howl.html" target="_blank">not the first time</a> I’ve had a scorer make a mistake at
Howl).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything was fine after that,
but I made for damn sure that I shouted, waved, and heard him say my name and
loop number every time I passed through.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The loops kept going by so quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was like I was eating them up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It felt like nothing at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was staying on top of hydration and
nutrition with Trail Butter and Nuun from my drop bag, and then I would grab
boiled, salted potatoes and water at the halfway point aid station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 3 or 4 hours into the race, the clouds had
lifted and the sun was sweltering. I dealt with the heat by refusing to
acknowledge it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would hand off my empty water bottle to a
volunteer at hilltop aid station, and while he filled it, I would eat as much watermelon
as I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as he handed my
bottle back, I would take off running again, now less than a mile to the
start/finish area, where I would stuff my hat and sports bra with ice from the
cooler we had brought. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still felt reasonably good so long as I ignored the heat
and the way I was disgusting and soaking wet from so much sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not raining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rain would have been nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By around 20 miles, I grabbed my phone and
Flip Belt so I could listen to music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
had to do whatever was necessary to get this done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to Lady Gaga <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poker Face</i> and ran an 8:47 mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Good, that would help counter the occasional 11 minute miles I was
putting in while walking the hill and stopping at the watermelon aid
station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could do this.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I could no longer ignore the deafening pain in my
quads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dammit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Were these muscle cramps?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never suffered from muscle cramping in the
heat like some runners do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often have
quad pain during long races, but never anything quite like this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I refused to let go of 14 loops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took an ibuprofen back at our tent and
loaded up on more caffeine. I was going to get this done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The miles kept flying by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I finished a marathon and then a 50K.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There was still enough time on the clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Things were going well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was practically the only person still
running, rather than walking, on the course. But by mile 35, I wondered if
maybe things were not going so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
decided to ignore this and keep moving forward.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then at mile 37, the wheels dramatically and suddenly fell
off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One minute I was running, tired but
resolute, and the next minute, I was at a complete stop on the trail, sobbing
out loud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nausea clogged my ears and
throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the heat I’d been refusing
to acknowledge for the entire day suddenly hit me, tenfold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, I put one foot in front of the other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sobbed through a 15 minute mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like that, any chance of 14 loops was
now gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought, you might love the
ultra, but the ultra does not love you back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I made it to the halfway aid station, there were cups
of what looked like fruit smoothies sitting on the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked the volunteers what these were and
they told me strawberry margaritas. I took one and drank it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was cold. I moved a tiny bit faster for
the next mile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it into the
start/finish area after Loop 12 with an hour and 10 minutes still left on the
clock. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slow this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would finish Loop 13, but nothing
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be the first Howl where I
did worse than the year before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
couldn’t think about that, not because I was being stoic, but because I simply
couldn’t think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just kept moving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking felt as awful as running, so I
ran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made it to the halfway aid station
and had coke and water. By the time I turned onto the trail that led back to
the start finish area, I was moving at a pretty good pace again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t stop at our tent but headed straight to the out and
back area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was still around 25
minutes on the clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I ran 2 more
miles, I would tie my distance from last year, and that would at least be
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The out and backs are my most dreaded part of Howl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The terrain is super rutted and it’s crowded
with people and everybody is completely shot by that point. I’m always worried
I’ll get trampled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this year, I was
the one doing the trampling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
notice any ruts or roots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I flew,
dropping to sub 10 minute pace for the first time in 7 miles. There was pain
and exhaustion and nausea, but I was stronger than it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pure grit and guts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just ran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew could have taken my time, but I didn’t want to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to finish this running.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With 7
minutes left on the clock, I hit 44.77 miles and called it a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hands were turning inside out and all I could see in
front of my face was wavy lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everything that I had been holding back or pushing aside for the last 8
hours came crashing down on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
mother in law was standing there and asked if I wanted to go back to the
tent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, yes I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made it there and I face-planted in the
grass and closed my eyes so that I could forget for a minute about not being
able to see right and try to stave off the post-race nausea. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifP_jDlx4FG2-TBc10rqdqF1Kh_TUvresDgEGmBIZEKYuOgAHJG3sVYInrrnVQIzaS9bsd25dHfckihUk0AnJ-lwfhxRf-XMXuklmnE7KkLa9nnb6SbyPgKLiYg7nZu0rTkerz60ynhkc/s1600/IMG_9134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifP_jDlx4FG2-TBc10rqdqF1Kh_TUvresDgEGmBIZEKYuOgAHJG3sVYInrrnVQIzaS9bsd25dHfckihUk0AnJ-lwfhxRf-XMXuklmnE7KkLa9nnb6SbyPgKLiYg7nZu0rTkerz60ynhkc/s400/IMG_9134.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This coconut water will replenish those electrolytes and keep me from throwing up! (It didn't).</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our friend Eric came to the van to talk as the awards
ceremony was winding down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was lying
on the bed clutching a bowl I thought I might puke into, and I told him I
didn’t know if it was worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What was
the point?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rob and I, we’ve structured
our entire lives around running ultras. We moved to Colorado, we bought this
van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave up or didn’t even try to
hold together a real career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Running
comes first, in all things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for
what? Would it mean something if I was good at it? Would it all be worth it if
I were out there winning these races instead of falling apart and finishing
last or in the middle of the pack?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Shouldn’t I find a new hobby or something?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was insane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultra life chews you up, ultra life spits you
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might love the ultra, but the
ultra doesn’t love you back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I threw up twice and will eventually lose one blackened
toenail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still don’t know if it was
worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not upset with myself for
falling short of 14 loops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m more
amazed that I held it together as well as I did, that I managed to ride the fucking
wave and come back to life after a massive bonk during loop 12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea how I am going to do Javelia
Jundred in 2 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I don’t know
whether I’ll be sitting at my computer one morning next April, waiting for Howl
At The Moon registration to go live, so I can try one more year to make it 14
loops.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thanks for reading.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0FppsVQJPQKFPEWhLvihf3ls1bzmj4aeTAQOrWhL3HVpz6GyoWZPE4ziZZZultvFWOdAAs5u0ytGiq2Z_nTJjMDhSCZjRfJ-nFq87mqMlD36azO2cOEgcitB1Y0HK4edhdV58-wM2bo/s1600/IMG_9138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0FppsVQJPQKFPEWhLvihf3ls1bzmj4aeTAQOrWhL3HVpz6GyoWZPE4ziZZZultvFWOdAAs5u0ytGiq2Z_nTJjMDhSCZjRfJ-nFq87mqMlD36azO2cOEgcitB1Y0HK4edhdV58-wM2bo/s400/IMG_9138.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Howl At The Moon, I'm not sure I have anything left to give or take.</td></tr>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-13670000722851005332016-08-12T12:34:00.001-06:002016-08-12T12:34:29.996-06:00Dear William (84 months)Dear William,<br />
Today you are 84 months old! Happy 7th birthday!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissZ6pcCeNtfXrhfI3T_6OY1Aj-7pJ0keBQaCVBapYzDbpjm-nia__A_E_owI3rYMro1YCV42k8dBCHvDv4LvGObIZLz62-WBIsDMxt5q-r-3l23P5Nynq1gWE0Ams4C0kq0zuQC0zVxE/s1600/IMG_9060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissZ6pcCeNtfXrhfI3T_6OY1Aj-7pJ0keBQaCVBapYzDbpjm-nia__A_E_owI3rYMro1YCV42k8dBCHvDv4LvGObIZLz62-WBIsDMxt5q-r-3l23P5Nynq1gWE0Ams4C0kq0zuQC0zVxE/s320/IMG_9060.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
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Just a short note today to tell you how proud I am of you for being so brave and strong. You are an orchid in a dandelion world.<br />
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Now, back to your party.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJr8FHYyFmJu9l12sa1HDGjWGjJJPlthJfxVqe19DNFMRpA_1Zrz5M1KyiAM1lP8ygRFoIjwIGE6x2cxdm9gn6_Yf67_iUMbYOV-tJYmepTUCkAZpe9YL_jikRGfIvW9nqdCmMZH6380/s1600/IMG_9117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqJr8FHYyFmJu9l12sa1HDGjWGjJJPlthJfxVqe19DNFMRpA_1Zrz5M1KyiAM1lP8ygRFoIjwIGE6x2cxdm9gn6_Yf67_iUMbYOV-tJYmepTUCkAZpe9YL_jikRGfIvW9nqdCmMZH6380/s320/IMG_9117.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Love always,<br />
MamaMelissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-80626737774853230782016-08-01T20:25:00.000-06:002016-08-01T20:25:03.057-06:00222 miles in July 2016For the past two Julys, I've hit new mileage highs. And for the past two Augusts, I've been injured. Go figure.<br />
<br />
History has repeated itself this year, at least in terms of the July mileage high. I am hoping to avoid injury in August though. (What do they call it, when you keep doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?) We'll see.<br />
<br />
I started off the month with a 20-mile run at Lory and Horsetooth. In many ways, this run was great. I'd been planning on keeping things relatively smooth and easy, but then I made a completely spur-of-the-moment decision to divert onto Mill Creek trail (which I'd never taken before). Mill Creek was rocky, technical, and a steep uphill in the direction I was going. It wasn't easy, but it was oh-so-beautiful. I had to walk a lot. In spite of my expression in the photo below, I was happy.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisv-zwp0AEmguzS_LzHzvXyTEEgLGQ9VUfLivKTCnZI3okSdjBeGb8JvqLcEjW_17rSOB_8L3UqREXafESs1mHIr68IR5TKAu2MPUe2CuMDIZG05z_aIwEhUVwufYlwOh8sovxzVAowdk/s1600/IMG_8458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisv-zwp0AEmguzS_LzHzvXyTEEgLGQ9VUfLivKTCnZI3okSdjBeGb8JvqLcEjW_17rSOB_8L3UqREXafESs1mHIr68IR5TKAu2MPUe2CuMDIZG05z_aIwEhUVwufYlwOh8sovxzVAowdk/s400/IMG_8458.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A mountain biker bombing the downhill saw me and shouted back to his buddies: "WALKER UP!" <i>Come on</i>. It's like he didn't even see my crop top and backwards trucker hat.</td></tr>
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Keeping on with the theme of impulsive decisions, I also jaunted down Spring Creek trail when I came to that intersection. I had not revisited this trail since last <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2015/08/6-hours-and-17-minutes.html" target="_blank">August</a>, when I skidded on a sandy rock while I was descending and had one of the worst trail falls of my life. On this particular instance, however, everything was fine. The trail didn't even seem that hard. I couldn't believe it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHL2eboXJb0veqHMfiIzv3Xm8eL6MhQAJyDjK1kD6_pyC9LAySdvwWb3ors8jMD3fJf5GHSLhn0pvz6MD2TiHJ1O99NDTsl4XgotYlTdC_WRKCfjou2hn00hXV-XHLsWrNiVVEqIhYJw/s1600/IMG_8464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHL2eboXJb0veqHMfiIzv3Xm8eL6MhQAJyDjK1kD6_pyC9LAySdvwWb3ors8jMD3fJf5GHSLhn0pvz6MD2TiHJ1O99NDTsl4XgotYlTdC_WRKCfjou2hn00hXV-XHLsWrNiVVEqIhYJw/s400/IMG_8464.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Achievement unlocked: Descending Spring Creek Trail <i>without </i>falling so hard I thought I might have fractured my tailbone. I guess the Altra Lone Peak 2.5's make all the difference.</td></tr>
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Oh, in other news, I couldn't stand my hair anymore, so I got a pixie cut.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogWUvYAzeRZXzglUFGXX3gmBzgHmYWct-J_AiYr7N-Ul7t5TnL2i3W3srJSRmLZHFQfL1OgdovQIUXdZQmtHkWLjYR_KwAUy-nXR6XG_uQB-90pI45ugZi0pIADp2Oh5KnU0Npv3GnmY/s1600/IMG_8534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiogWUvYAzeRZXzglUFGXX3gmBzgHmYWct-J_AiYr7N-Ul7t5TnL2i3W3srJSRmLZHFQfL1OgdovQIUXdZQmtHkWLjYR_KwAUy-nXR6XG_uQB-90pI45ugZi0pIADp2Oh5KnU0Npv3GnmY/s400/IMG_8534.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks to Lisa at Great Clips.</td></tr>
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Sometimes it is quite challenging for both Rob and me to work in the time for our runs (what with childcare, etc), so we have to get creative. In order to free up time for the family over the weekend, I got this great idea to go for my long run on Friday after Rob got done with work. I had decided I wanted to run <i>around</i> Horsetooth Reservoir, which would end up being about 23 miles and involve some lite trail running in the dark (good practice for things to come). I was kind of scared of this run, but I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Unfortunately the weather had other plans.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nNbXjkPO3k-LG8G-lsbu5nspfSUetnBEfwsPwrCUiASLYGdwlA9_tWNkPfpLzvAV2MxZ7pMEGym7N-95ygXbT5kSI7j14TDIdOTd7LkQScDJ4kXxHyfI3kz3AhlVrk1IlaI84N6-aOg/s1600/IMG_8562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nNbXjkPO3k-LG8G-lsbu5nspfSUetnBEfwsPwrCUiASLYGdwlA9_tWNkPfpLzvAV2MxZ7pMEGym7N-95ygXbT5kSI7j14TDIdOTd7LkQScDJ4kXxHyfI3kz3AhlVrk1IlaI84N6-aOg/s400/IMG_8562.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If Colorado were writing a memoir about this summer, it would be called <i>Thunder and Lightning with Only Five Drops of Rain.</i></td></tr>
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It was bright and sunny around 5pm when I left, but the thunderheads rolled in about 6 miles into my run. I could see lightning flashing over Lory State Park, where I was headed. I wasn't exactly sure what to do. Would this blow over by the time I got there? Or was this the kind of lightning that could kill you?</div>
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I bided my time by trying out some new fuel. It was delicious, but tasted kind of like frosting, and I liked it even though I normally do not like sweet things when I run.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHeU96GxMfymzG_-wE3A8P_9xOr2ErtxAThub2ycSA8Q7qcFmqUsoxCfluA-WwRdcL__-DcLCqy4d-_w87deoh2_qlmaM3bEop4dvXsYrefA7282gSMKoy3JRCYyrX7dm-lKMaoNN9LE/s1600/IMG_8564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioHeU96GxMfymzG_-wE3A8P_9xOr2ErtxAThub2ycSA8Q7qcFmqUsoxCfluA-WwRdcL__-DcLCqy4d-_w87deoh2_qlmaM3bEop4dvXsYrefA7282gSMKoy3JRCYyrX7dm-lKMaoNN9LE/s400/IMG_8564.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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Suddenly, there was this flash of light that seemed like it was in a bubble all around me. Was that some weird type of lighting? Was it one of those flashing-light migraines I sometimes get? I didn't know, but I decided I needed to get the hell out of there. It wasn't even raining. There was just the thunder and lightning. But off to the east, it was still sunny. I thought, Horsetooth Reservoir will still be there some other day. I should run in the direction that is <i>away</i> from the electrical storm.<br />
<br />
The sky cleared up in about 20 minutes, and I felt bad, like I had wimped out on a run that scared me. But wimp or not, it turned out to be a good decision. One of those lightning flashes I had seen over Lory State Park struck a tree and <a href="http://www.coloradoan.com/story/news/2016/07/08/crews-responding-small-fire-lory-state-park/86883342/" target="_blank">caused a fire</a> near Howards Trail and Arthur's Rock. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkM3g-X27AJbDTvJcyd1JC5AhnfR3qP9SiVWIhfu7MIJa37dl49UBuQUfAqxgBBdwkw6nqAPqxYpqdvjdGUz7JR842Q9mu_wGk5hS7YBSjhJBO8Srd9zIl_8_01d8sr8dp3SsYA8YlZ4A/s1600/IMG_8563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkM3g-X27AJbDTvJcyd1JC5AhnfR3qP9SiVWIhfu7MIJa37dl49UBuQUfAqxgBBdwkw6nqAPqxYpqdvjdGUz7JR842Q9mu_wGk5hS7YBSjhJBO8Srd9zIl_8_01d8sr8dp3SsYA8YlZ4A/s400/IMG_8563.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running on safer trails and not feeling good about it until I read the news about the fire late that night.</td></tr>
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<br />
I also did some heat training this month.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd7Mt5OSP2Oa9e0Ow0vDs9GTMir58zARRq5SGuCP7p8IHwOvmWUW4JKfkMb3dyvzDgK8gSS8wuIorF_c2EjvdCKvO5PxVEfxa1MBvBtCMQmpZRS-C9CwqiXmzPbm93K3bKdVSN7Olr54/s1600/IMG_8566.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnd7Mt5OSP2Oa9e0Ow0vDs9GTMir58zARRq5SGuCP7p8IHwOvmWUW4JKfkMb3dyvzDgK8gSS8wuIorF_c2EjvdCKvO5PxVEfxa1MBvBtCMQmpZRS-C9CwqiXmzPbm93K3bKdVSN7Olr54/s320/IMG_8566.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time to run! (That 90% humidity in the midwest is going to crush me when we go back next month for Howl)</td></tr>
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<br />
Rob and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary (we don't actually celebrate these things, but we did make note of it).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V62ceYwW92dsNqbQ8WNO8hfEKqaI5CHL9oHSWVMPJinRKuUh7QjF6IHw2bM8NXYFps6yhWFr1XNblOrRORJ_lTqpD1jINAPJZBrMumTpDrXwFoac-PSk3qHcGgFg_wmrZD2dCnQ2N7I/s1600/IMG_8569.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V62ceYwW92dsNqbQ8WNO8hfEKqaI5CHL9oHSWVMPJinRKuUh7QjF6IHw2bM8NXYFps6yhWFr1XNblOrRORJ_lTqpD1jINAPJZBrMumTpDrXwFoac-PSk3qHcGgFg_wmrZD2dCnQ2N7I/s400/IMG_8569.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This heart-shaped brick thing somebody gave us for our wedding. I added a partial snake skeleton I found while weeding the landscaping in the front yard. The head was there (but not the tail), you could see the fangs. It was cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The majority of July, however, was taken up by an epic trip through Colorado and New Mexico and ended up with Rob pacing his friend at Hardrock 100 for like 10 hours. I wrote extensively about this, starting <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
But some Melissa Running Highlights from that trip include running at the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part.html" target="_blank">Great Sand Dunes</a>:<br />
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Running up (and down) Mosca Pass in the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part.html" target="_blank">Sangre de Cristo </a>wilderness:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funny side note: Rob pointed out that I actually took the women's Strava course record for running up Mosca Pass. I should note that only 3 women have run this (at least, using Strava). And I should also note that I am in last place for the descent.</td></tr>
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Running, and getting lost, in the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part_19.html" target="_blank">Jemez Mountains</a>:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tyKC6byTCG-hO7BLiJWrq5Yz0LK_egwyYxMlikZqtEUGADCPxmg64FBgkFYwl-g8OQycHfRdeg6JmtJuY7JRDyjAanpwx-Lk5VM1AOqup6Bbs4GO75zF6nYrfAM2_W4vomPpYEFp4uc/s1600/IMG_8627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tyKC6byTCG-hO7BLiJWrq5Yz0LK_egwyYxMlikZqtEUGADCPxmg64FBgkFYwl-g8OQycHfRdeg6JmtJuY7JRDyjAanpwx-Lk5VM1AOqup6Bbs4GO75zF6nYrfAM2_W4vomPpYEFp4uc/s400/IMG_8627.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling here because it is early in the run and I still know where I am.</td></tr>
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Running in the desert at high noon outside Chaco Canyon:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UaxEF1_Npxo1UA9kdwouZf1jWHrcBdrWGGVFgHNvZ9WJgahzNWsSzY7SbQjqeTweUOP9oqeGf7Jor6x4ShQBvsd_4n89Kz3KTQNLV6pwqs5W11yzTp4BcZLX5EcRPpZl_6Ovmz3_L1U/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-01+at+5.32.18+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_UaxEF1_Npxo1UA9kdwouZf1jWHrcBdrWGGVFgHNvZ9WJgahzNWsSzY7SbQjqeTweUOP9oqeGf7Jor6x4ShQBvsd_4n89Kz3KTQNLV6pwqs5W11yzTp4BcZLX5EcRPpZl_6Ovmz3_L1U/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-08-01+at+5.32.18+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6aOXrx0fTETmikl2U8sT6lxEWyoSQFxx6dn74BENVA0p0eAshE4l6FUGNFGMZ2-5fS_D0FZSTDRzUeV29sdhjMAIEXN86lcOORdRy3X0ehx5EVeuZHDyWAHA2wVG4ms5YA_ywyQkEOI/s1600/IMG_8675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6aOXrx0fTETmikl2U8sT6lxEWyoSQFxx6dn74BENVA0p0eAshE4l6FUGNFGMZ2-5fS_D0FZSTDRzUeV29sdhjMAIEXN86lcOORdRy3X0ehx5EVeuZHDyWAHA2wVG4ms5YA_ywyQkEOI/s400/IMG_8675.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling because what else can you do when you are running and it is like 110 degrees.</td></tr>
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Running at 10,500 feet elevation in Telluride, while wearing cargo shorts because I had not been planning to run:<br />
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We'd only been home a matter of days before it was time to meet up with Angela and go run the 12-hour overnight relay Chase the Moon (which I wrote about <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/chasing-moon.html" target="_blank">here</a>).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XC6VJCKwvTJ32J4j3i5OSxzDhjQQbegcEr1Q6E76byZwm5Pxn-jjjcGO1UPJxDJtM1RCJuKvmmqSFDMEMiL9jt-5aA7e-H8pYX7wwZ_oJ-vtBl_VSq1E1iizHWxV0Hj40bqIhtjHRug/s1600/IMG_8989.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7XC6VJCKwvTJ32J4j3i5OSxzDhjQQbegcEr1Q6E76byZwm5Pxn-jjjcGO1UPJxDJtM1RCJuKvmmqSFDMEMiL9jt-5aA7e-H8pYX7wwZ_oJ-vtBl_VSq1E1iizHWxV0Hj40bqIhtjHRug/s400/IMG_8989.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dream team! Thanks Angela and Rob for making this happen! </td></tr>
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For me, this race was not a "race," but instead just a chance to practice running in the dark on trails. Which I will have to do about 12 hours of at Javelina 100. Angela and Rob graciously allowed me to have a good chunk of running that started a little before midnight, and ended a little after 4am.<br />
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It was trial by fire, I suppose, for nighttime trail running. I hated it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApbgAxwd5hJFLZ5wtGaRxDfoyAtLBooLpu3D7WuYKVx_FFCU37Ifac_wIgM3xIzj7K4Z2-DxKGcrSp-FtMxrxye-atbbmT56vl3uiu0pFJyhlsLY2folR-Fc1pgt_PjdLVNlp9sBAQV4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-08-01+at+7.11.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApbgAxwd5hJFLZ5wtGaRxDfoyAtLBooLpu3D7WuYKVx_FFCU37Ifac_wIgM3xIzj7K4Z2-DxKGcrSp-FtMxrxye-atbbmT56vl3uiu0pFJyhlsLY2folR-Fc1pgt_PjdLVNlp9sBAQV4/s200/Screen+Shot+2016-08-01+at+7.11.11+PM.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'll always remember <br />vomiting off the side <br />of the Karen Maria.</i></td></tr>
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The trail was tortuously sinuous and winding, so much that there was rarely a time when I could see more than 5 feet in front of my face, the hills were tiny but constant (which ended up resulting in a not insignificant beating of your legs, at least after 21 miles of it), and yes, there were rocks. I think these factors, combined with the bobbing bubble of the headlamp, made me feel like that time I <a href="https://nica-blog.blogspot.com/2007/03/we-do-it-for-stories.html" target="_blank">threw up in Lake Nicaragua</a> during the windy season. <br />
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Seriously. I didn't stop seeing flashing lights for days after the event was over, and although I managed not to throw up, the nausea and throbbing pain behind my left eye persisted for just as long. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL-TUct1aoINtHmNr4GAfXyHhw1cfjCX22UjDZgzgzal5bbgF9uzxjf3dp4lDsKkQb17D6WcVMqd8UtSTJj5z87rFdeO3izxMaWNb4eJ_v1ZRdBvN7AI6b_iXNwHYMgPwlWAz5VWks9c/s1600/IMG_9008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHL-TUct1aoINtHmNr4GAfXyHhw1cfjCX22UjDZgzgzal5bbgF9uzxjf3dp4lDsKkQb17D6WcVMqd8UtSTJj5z87rFdeO3izxMaWNb4eJ_v1ZRdBvN7AI6b_iXNwHYMgPwlWAz5VWks9c/s400/IMG_9008.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">21 miles in the dark, done. I may be smiling in this picture, but I feel like I am about to have some sort of seizure.</td></tr>
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I am definitely worried about how I will manage Javelina 100. I have the best headlamp there is-- a Petzl light designed specifically so it won't bob around and make you motion sick. And yet, it made me motion sick. I've run in the dark before with it and been okay, just not for that long. And Javelina 100 will be for even longer. Has anybody out there ever run a 100 miler who suffers from severe (and I'm talking <i>severe</i>) motion sickness? What did you do?<br />
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I can only hope that it was the super twisty turny course that was bothering me, and the wave like undulation of the 5-feet up, 5-feet down hills. The Javelina 100 course isn't like that. Well, I think it is a little undulating, but it is nowhere near as twisty turny. That will save me, right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnwySlf94H5X1w9-fq3lpZD5atlwY7iXBRHfbL7MVaukdcsjwsInN_LD0oKG0jvDRcW8svdNiJIewt5iNeW8pMUZPdg2-0cqrKdYBngF6AnVKt6N183iA6peMg2lZZ3i6IVal6e3vqgw/s1600/IMG_9010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgnwySlf94H5X1w9-fq3lpZD5atlwY7iXBRHfbL7MVaukdcsjwsInN_LD0oKG0jvDRcW8svdNiJIewt5iNeW8pMUZPdg2-0cqrKdYBngF6AnVKt6N183iA6peMg2lZZ3i6IVal6e3vqgw/s400/IMG_9010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the morning light. I didn't choose ultra life, ultra life chose me. I will find a way.</td></tr>
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On the Thursday after Chase the Moon, Will and I went with Rob to the Towers trail run. Will and I hiked while the rest of the group ran, and then when that was over, I ran the almost 11 miles home. I started around 7:45pm, so it got dark a little more than an hour into my run.<br />
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I tried using Rob's waist lamp (a suggestion someone had offered to deal with headlamp nausea), but it worse, much worse. I gave up on that and just switched to the Petzl headlamp, which was fine for the short time I was using it. At any rate, I had not been feeling well all day, but it was really nice to see the sunset at Horsetooth Reservoir.<br />
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That weekend I decided to finish out the reservoir run I had cut short earlier in the month, due to lightning. <br />
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For most of the run, I felt terrible, except for a 6 mile section along the valley trails when I intermittently hallucinated myself back in Nicaragua.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnWNKCxqSKpCEx5v4DzYLqxdcv9Wxby1QoBA_JoXUZansFUuqet2kB4zWfdjnywzxeheXS1dmmPtEmHWTOgH-mjlaN2xEomN2ejluOhnpajc4x73fZePUfUeNIeW1GnTXr0Ki7X9yoNk/s1600/IMG_9062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKnWNKCxqSKpCEx5v4DzYLqxdcv9Wxby1QoBA_JoXUZansFUuqet2kB4zWfdjnywzxeheXS1dmmPtEmHWTOgH-mjlaN2xEomN2ejluOhnpajc4x73fZePUfUeNIeW1GnTXr0Ki7X9yoNk/s400/IMG_9062.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I figure it is okay to semi-hallucinate myself back in Nicaragua, just so long as I don't see howler monkeys in the trees.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9IZ_I6Z1PPTMTms_GMbiiVVY5RkZBSeZGeOVvq2GgbQpuQMwWXr_T_hFazyokVcHxTsmp8DA3e7cm-NrTgkPtjhq0SY-QMNmdcH72eLa-fxiMUTNXsq9Dx7hDPdpd7iiHpTaLnsXXYc/s1600/IMG_9063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9IZ_I6Z1PPTMTms_GMbiiVVY5RkZBSeZGeOVvq2GgbQpuQMwWXr_T_hFazyokVcHxTsmp8DA3e7cm-NrTgkPtjhq0SY-QMNmdcH72eLa-fxiMUTNXsq9Dx7hDPdpd7iiHpTaLnsXXYc/s400/IMG_9063.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stout was the name of the town they flooded in 1949, to build the reservoir.</td></tr>
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And I did it. 23 miles. Reservoir run complete.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZSooObjv9mw8EiZT8ij40sZqUsTvF_xLNbI3ETIXnXKdgM-RW57gRKL7ZUIh-OI097idmNz8HMvtaHi-ioq0Gx_oIYA7xYOTCimrwn9_NwkRrGipbxznC_cOvl85Un2hHaf_684SuKU/s1600/IMG_9064.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZSooObjv9mw8EiZT8ij40sZqUsTvF_xLNbI3ETIXnXKdgM-RW57gRKL7ZUIh-OI097idmNz8HMvtaHi-ioq0Gx_oIYA7xYOTCimrwn9_NwkRrGipbxznC_cOvl85Un2hHaf_684SuKU/s400/IMG_9064.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<br />
By tacking on another run the next day, I ended up with just over 71 miles for the week. I've run this kind of mileage before, but it has generally taken quite a toll on me. This time, I feel remarkably good. Well, my legs are okay. My mind is just trying to hang on, and my stomach doesn't know what to do. It is such a fine line between nausea and hunger anyway.<br />
<br />
So when I totaled everything up, I finished July with 222 miles (and 1101.1 year to date). I'm feeling pretty good about this, in particular, about the 71 mile week. I think this puts me in about as good of shape I can be, going into Howl, and I think it is also a decent place to be for Javelina 100 at this point. <br />
<br />
The trick, moving forward, is going to be keeping this up, while staying injury free. Wish me luck.<br />
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Thanks for reading.<br />
<br />
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<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-390185928689457262016-07-24T10:26:00.000-06:002016-11-28T23:45:42.033-07:00Chasing the moonA few weeks ago while I was running the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/06/north-fork-50-life-is-hard-running-is.html" target="_blank">North Fork 50</a>, I talked with a woman for a little while who told me about another race she'd done, called <a href="http://www.chasethemoonrace.com/#race-info" target="_blank">Chase The Moon</a>. It sounded like something I should do--a 12 hour overnight ultra, which would be great nighttime training for Javelina--plus, it was organized by the same people who put on the Bear Chase (which I've done twice and liked).<br />
<br />
This is a great idea, planning your next ultra, <i>while you are currently running an ultra</i>.<br />
<br />
The only problem with Chase The Moon was that this year it was scheduled for July 22nd/23rd. That's only 3 weeks out from <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2012/08/howl.html" target="_blank">Howl At The Moon</a> (I seem to like moon and bear themed ultras), and knowing the way my body recovers (poorly and slowly) it seemed likely that I would ruin my chances of doing well at Howl if I also did Chase The Moon.<br />
<br />
Hard choices.<br />
<br />
Howl is, and always will be, my "A" race. It was my first ever ultra. It is like a family reunion in motion for me. Everybody from Second Wind Running Club is there. I cut my teeth running with these people during the 13 years we lived in Champaign-Urbana. Howl is my kind of terrain (not technical) and my kind of course (loop). I <i>love</i> this race. If I can just withstand the heat and keep my mind in the game, Howl is literally the only ultra I stand a chance of doing well at.<br />
<br />
It is getting harder and harder to do Howl every year though. Not only do we live about 1,200 miles away now, but also, the race has become hugely popular. It used to be you could just show up and do it. Nowadays online registration fills within 15 minutes of opening. No kidding. You have to be sitting at your computer the instant it goes live, hit "refresh" like a zillion times, and hope you can type in all your information before it sells out. I was lucky enough to get Rob and me both in for this year (it is the only race we can do where we have family to watch Will), but in the future, I don't know if we'll make it. This could be our last chance to go back and do Howl.<br />
<br />
And yet. I know I can't let my emotional ties to this race stand in the way of what I need to do for Javelina Jundred. Staying up all night, or at the very least, getting more experience with nighttime trail running, needs to be a priority for me. I've realized it is not as feasible as I had thought, to go out by myself and run the trails around here alone. Chase The Moon would be an excellent opportunity for a supported nighttime trail run.<br />
<br />
I needed to figure this out. I knew I couldn't pass up Chase The Moon, but I also couldn't forfeit Howl.<br />
<br />
Luckily, there was a middle of the road option: doing Chase The Moon as a relay!!<br />
<br />
I am so, so thankful to Rob and <a href="https://silverliningstrong.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Angela</a> for offering to be a 3-person team with me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQkv_W-M5vzkhhZiiyOR6Rki2r5_aReTWG271srzNICdbgcrbrGjiU3TcxjJjIjDk5i8hDLe27-92owO-eWhbNyXO9Bkued9kpUGDCK2YQfgLxAdqRvILClOmybvNPy84KRuSQ7w79Jo/s1600/IMG_9006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQkv_W-M5vzkhhZiiyOR6Rki2r5_aReTWG271srzNICdbgcrbrGjiU3TcxjJjIjDk5i8hDLe27-92owO-eWhbNyXO9Bkued9kpUGDCK2YQfgLxAdqRvILClOmybvNPy84KRuSQ7w79Jo/s400/IMG_9006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Team Ultraordinary!</td></tr>
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<br />
Our game plan was: Angela would be the first team member to run when the race started at 7pm. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KJ7zISIivtmEl4PDdu9mIUf54zkGzApbP_8QhUQGHyWMnUwGHgN1014WrhxuZ0HZREnQ_VbtrRmktByocau7Cy2fj3wFYfgeA3mUxHZxU_-OcvKqLYkMQIH-xnj7-SOfmhfSgi6H_ZE/s1600/IMG_9003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2KJ7zISIivtmEl4PDdu9mIUf54zkGzApbP_8QhUQGHyWMnUwGHgN1014WrhxuZ0HZREnQ_VbtrRmktByocau7Cy2fj3wFYfgeA3mUxHZxU_-OcvKqLYkMQIH-xnj7-SOfmhfSgi6H_ZE/s400/IMG_9003.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Luckily these storm clouds blew over and we never got more than a couple drops of rain! Also: I love this picture of Angela!</td></tr>
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<br />
Angela was stoked.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtKqnSCnyZd0lYpxzQ27C8rHG_oUv9FZGcqHGaUAH-U87X_LxfAyovJ9C0pRaXoh3su9ff6aqdbnjBTFTTb8R_stc423oXFubmj9lBtXlZ6D17rLXVAEQFzZnUKXLE0CaqDnsSryyfAQ/s1600/IMG_9004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtKqnSCnyZd0lYpxzQ27C8rHG_oUv9FZGcqHGaUAH-U87X_LxfAyovJ9C0pRaXoh3su9ff6aqdbnjBTFTTb8R_stc423oXFubmj9lBtXlZ6D17rLXVAEQFzZnUKXLE0CaqDnsSryyfAQ/s400/IMG_9004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let's get this party started.</td></tr>
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<br />
Angela ran hard for the first loop (10.3 miles) and got back super fast-- before sundown! <br />
<br />
Rob headed out next. Practically in the blink of an eye (well, something like an hour and 20 minutes), he was back. When he'd taken off, I hadn't known whether he would be doing one loop or two. So I just sat there ready to go, or not, depending on how he felt. <br />
<br />
When he came into the transition area, he didn't even slow down. He had his race face on and was all business. He grabbed a couple packs of Clif Shot Blocks and kept going. I thought, <i>great, he has turned this from a fun run into a race</i>. <br />
<br />
As I waited, I started getting pretty nervous about heading out on my own run. I really didn't know what these trails were like, and I hadn't seen the course during the daylight. I had thought I'd be okay to do 20 miles in the dark, but the waiting game was wreaking havoc on my nerves. Plus, Will kept wandering out of the van and begging me to cuddle with him instead of going to run. That was hard to pass up.<br />
<br />
Rob returned from his second loop around 11:30 or 11:45pm. He was still in race mode, rapidly handing over the baton to me and ushering me to the start line. I wanted detailed trail information (was it rocky or steep, would I get lost or die?), but all I got from him was: "This is not a fast course, it is more hilly than I expected."<br />
<br />
The course was set up so that you alternate directions on loops: odd loops were counter-clockwise and even loops were clockwise. I was starting on an even loop, so headed out in the clockwise direction.<br />
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The first bit was paved, until you got to the turn off point where the loops split direction. I had worried this would be confusing, but it was well marked and I had no trouble. After I turned off onto the clockwise trail though, it did become a bit disconcerting. I was completely alone and it was pitch black. I'd thought there would be other runners around me, but I swear, I didn't see anybody for the first 4 miles. The turns were marked with glow sticks, but you had to be pretty vigilant or else you could have missed them, and there were a lot of intersecting trails out there. I found myself getting nervous during the sections in between "confidence markers," and was always happy to see a glow stick letting me know that I was still on the right trail.<br />
<br />
Even so, I was pretty uncomfortable during the first section of this loop. This part of the course was kind of rocky, and I was still trying to get used to running in the beam of light from my headlamp. I definitely had enough light, but I felt like I had trouble with contrast or something. I was constantly worried that I would misjudge a rock and catch my toe on it and end up sprawled on the trail.<br />
<br />
I began to get a little mad. The woman I'd chatted with at North Fork told me this race course was "super easy" and "not rocky or technical at all." She had gone so far as to explain it as a "wide, smooth, dirt path," and said you didn't even need a headlamp because the full moon was so bright.<br />
<br />
That was complete bullshit.<br />
<br />
First of all, you definitely needed a headlamp. It was pitch black out there. Moreover, I would have described the course as a shitty, suburban mountain bike trail. The section I had started out on was not a "smooth, wide, dirt path." There were definitely rocks. The 1,300 foot of elevation gain per loop was not insignificant either. Most of the course was constantly undulating, in that shitty way mountain bike trails do-- uphill for like 10 steps, followed by downhill for 10 steps, and so on. There were also very few sections where it was straight. I found it hard to build up any kind of momentum or rhythm when I could almost never see what was in front of me because the course turned like every 1/10 of a mile. Maybe all of these things would have been completely a moot point in the daylight, I don't know. All I knew was that I was unhappy, didn't feel comfortable running mostly uphill on rocks in the dark, and I had no idea how I was going to manage a full night of running at Javelina Jundred.<br />
<br />
Things got better by the time I reached the aid station, roughly 4.5 miles in on this direction of the loop. Not only was it nice to see the volunteers, eat some potato chips, and be reassured that I was still on course, but after that, the trail was significantly more smooth. I no longer worried about rocks after that, but I did more frequently meet counter-clockwise runners on that section (I'm not sure why I hadn't seen people during the first half). It wasn't like there were steep mountain drop offs or anything (from what I could tell in the dark, the views along the course were mostly suburban neighborhoods with houses that probably all looked the same), but it did get kind of annoying to keep having to pile off into the knee deep (and possibly rattlesnake infested) brush to "share the trail" with other runners. All the runners I met were nice, but there was quite a range of paces out there. Some runners were part of 5-person relay teams, and hell bent on not getting out of your way so they could maintain their 7 or 8 minute miles. Some people were doing the 12 hours solo and walking. I was just trying to hang on.<br />
<br />
The last mile (or maybe two?) before heading back into the start/finish area was wider and even smoother, and although still a bit undulating, more of what the North Fork woman had described to me. Maybe that was the only section of the course she had chosen to remember.<br />
<br />
All was quiet back at the van, so that was my cue to keep on running for another loop. I put myself into a "get the job done" mindset and headed back out again. I did stop a while at the transition area aid station to refill my water (they had only 1 water jug and there were like 5 people filling up, so I had to wait in line and that was kind of annoying) and grab some more food.<br />
<br />
This time I was on an odd lap, so headed out in the counter-clockwise direction.<br />
<br />
It was a completely different experience, to start out on the smooth section. "This is a super easy course," I found myself thinking. "Not technical or rocky at all." You still needed a headlamp, but maybe, just maybe, that North Fork woman hadn't been crazy after all.<br />
<br />
Even so, I did have to concentrate on the trail in the dark, and I realized that I found it hard to eat and drink while doing so. I was in a pretty significant bonk by 4 miles into my second loop (14 miles total) and did my best to suck down some Wild Friends nut butter and just hang on until the aid station. I also realized that I was feeling pretty nauseated. I had this throbbing over my left eye. The bobbing light of the headlamp was really annoying me. <br />
<br />
I breathed my way into the aid station, and boy was I ever glad to see those people. It occurred to me that it was probably around 3am, and I was exhausted. I drank cup after cup of coke and pounded down some potato chips. I spent quite a while in the aid station talking to the nice volunteers and generally trying to get myself back together before heading out for the last 6 miles.<br />
<br />
Seriously, only 6 miles to go. I could do this.<br />
<br />
I wasn't moving fast, but I kept moving. My legs were starting to feel the ~2,300 feet of elevation gain I'd put on them, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to eat again until the finish.<br />
<br />
I just hung on. Even when I got to the rocky section, it seemed shorter than on the clockwise loop, and not nearly as difficult (which is ridiculous, it was the same exact trail). I was absolutely thrilled when I finally saw the start finish area up ahead and coasted on into it. Yay, I was done!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVAjgzuB-cUmcEsw988lEbg1We_H6NilcPuyJEM7uwznKK5b55u8wPNLinICXZUhq-tZBrbx3ysyE6lbWfgJgiZls8Ky5rak9Yhqbko5Z_Ah-wdCsVgUxtlaQFc8Bs7kz00g9Zt8Zz1Y/s1600/IMG_9008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVAjgzuB-cUmcEsw988lEbg1We_H6NilcPuyJEM7uwznKK5b55u8wPNLinICXZUhq-tZBrbx3ysyE6lbWfgJgiZls8Ky5rak9Yhqbko5Z_Ah-wdCsVgUxtlaQFc8Bs7kz00g9Zt8Zz1Y/s320/IMG_9008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did it!! 20 trail miles in the dark!! (Actually it was closer to 21).</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
I had no idea what to expect when I got back to the van. It was 4:18am. Would Angela want to run again? Would Rob? Should I wake one of them up if they were sleeping? Just as I reached the van, I saw the door open, and Rob walked out, dressed in full running gear. He reached for me to hand him the baton. For me, this was a fun run, for him, this was a race.<br />
<br />
After Rob left, I drank some ginger ale at the finish area and quickly got very cold. And nauseous. And that throbbing over my left eye wouldn't go away. Eating real food was not an option. I went back to the van and took a quick, semi-warm RV shower, and then climbed into bed with Will. "Mommy, is that you?" he asked. "Yes," I told him. He crawled into my arms and said, "I'm so happy."<br />
<br />
I fell into a fitful sleep, while Rob ran another 10.3 mile loop. When he finished that, runners still on the course were diverted to the 3.5 mile loop (because time was running low). He finished the 3.5 mile loop at 6:19am and not allowed back out onto the course because the cut off to start another 3.5 mile loop was 6:15. Which seems pretty ridiculous, especially for relay runners. The 3.5 mile loop had taken him only 28 minutes, and with more than 40 minutes still left on the clock, he could easily have completed another. But whatever. The race was over for Team Ultraordinary.<br />
<br />
A million thank you's to Angela and Rob for being on the relay team!! This was the best of all possible worlds for me. Not only was I on a relay team with two of my favorite people, this also gave me a chance to trail run for around 4 and a half hours in the middle of the night. It was very good nighttime training for me, but without the stress of doing the solo race right before Howl. <br />
<br />
It does, however, raise a certain level of panic for what to expect at Javelina. Even on this "easy" trail, nighttime running was far from easy for me. Rocks and hills aside, I think the darkness contrasted with the circle of light from my headlamp made me nauseous. I never threw up, but I didn't eat anything until lunchtime the next day, and even now, my appetite is still off. That certainly hasn't helped me recover. People have suggested trying a waist lamp instead of a headlamp. As luck would have it, Rob has one of these, so he said I should try that "next time."<br />
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Oh great, there's going to be a "next time." (I guess there has to be).<br />
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Anyway, thanks again to Angela and Rob, congratulations to both of them on their fantastic runs, and thanks for reading!!Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-62771639874479305772016-07-20T10:58:00.000-06:002016-07-20T10:58:51.846-06:00The Trip 2016: Everything is Ultra (Part 5, Hardrock to Home)Continued from <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part_62.html" target="_blank">Part 4</a>.<br />
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After Rob finished pacing Ryan from Ouray to Grouse, there had been talk of him jumping in again at the last aid station, Cunningham Gap, 10 miles from the finish. Ryan had another friend pacing him starting at Grouse, but none of us were sure if his pacer would be able to make it all the way to the finish (that would be over 40 miles of pacing. At Hardrock).<br />
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Rob missed the call from Katie in the morning, and only later received her message saying that she was in Silverton and could give him a ride to Cunningham. Damn. Rob briefly considered just running over to Cunningham on the road (6 miles away) so I could stay in Silverton with Will and the van, but we didn't know how close Ryan was and we were concerned that Rob might not make it there in time if he ran. <br />
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So we loaded up the van and drove. I paid very careful attention to the road, as it deteriorated from asphalt, to gravel, to rutted out dirt and rock. Parts of it were a little steep and scary, but it wasn't anything like the terrifying mountain pass between Ouray and Silverton. I convinced myself that I'd be able to drive the RV back to the Silverton after Rob left to pace Ryan. <br />
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Cunningham Gap was beautiful.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CYETWIpq-LH1RKiFRX9qNRGxdJghvqoozykOq9yEbappd4f9xNYjRog92oMMZVyZcW52fVCo4VQhYSGiB-cS8OLIt_eS2cuFLdw8-67JalmX_kGOuUIDXEaJOQCKpthAWtkMiSoSO7g/s1600/IMG_8922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_CYETWIpq-LH1RKiFRX9qNRGxdJghvqoozykOq9yEbappd4f9xNYjRog92oMMZVyZcW52fVCo4VQhYSGiB-cS8OLIt_eS2cuFLdw8-67JalmX_kGOuUIDXEaJOQCKpthAWtkMiSoSO7g/s400/IMG_8922.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends at the aid station explained that runners would have to go up and over this mountain in order to reach the finish.</td></tr>
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William made friends with Ryan and Katie's dog while we waited, and they played together in the stream.<br />
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We had no cell signal at Cunningham, so we couldn't track Ryan. All we could do was wait, and watch, and wonder whether his pacer John would feel like continuing to the end, or whether Rob would jump in again.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting and cheering on other runners as they came into the aid station.</td></tr>
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At last we spotted Ryan and John descending into the aid station. They were walking, but Ryan had a smile on his face as he went to the aid tents. John looked very tired and and seemed glad that Rob was there to take over pacing. He'd been with Ryan for almost 15 hours by this point-- all night long and most of the next day. It was now 3:30pm, and he was done. He updated Rob on everything he needed to know, and then said, "Bring a headlamp." There was still over 5 hours of daylight left and only 10 miles to go, but the terrain was difficult, and you never know what might happen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting ready to go.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan and Rob leave for the final 10 miles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny figures heading up a very tall mountain.</td></tr>
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Ryan and Rob took off, up the final mountain. I was just in total awe and amazement that Ryan was still going, still smiling even, after all this time and so many miles on his legs.<br />
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All that was left to do was wait. <br />
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Well, wait, and drive the RV back down from Cunningham Gap to the finish line at Silverton.<br />
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There were some steep and rocky parts out of the aid station. I would have been a little bit nervous even in a car. With the RV, I just had to Lamaze breathe and hope I didn't meet another vehicle coming around any of the corners or sections where there were drop offs on one side.<br />
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Will stayed very good and quiet, and eventually we made it off of the dirt road and back to the smooth, paved highway. It was a straight shot back into Silverton, and I had no trouble finding a place to park the van right by the finish line. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjW5hOetnNrp9DVLgXipoi9cOX-ardzjCIJe_gw_VT2919KeSVNo2EJ-WWEZ2DRbOLUHWxFcl60YyN6w1pwOx5-VNbRB2p56AKqjihS3RkbYMnstdZXKLNXYAzwzvmhisrcrryUpubYlY/s1600/IMG_8925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjW5hOetnNrp9DVLgXipoi9cOX-ardzjCIJe_gw_VT2919KeSVNo2EJ-WWEZ2DRbOLUHWxFcl60YyN6w1pwOx5-VNbRB2p56AKqjihS3RkbYMnstdZXKLNXYAzwzvmhisrcrryUpubYlY/s400/IMG_8925.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sweet little co-pilot</td></tr>
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I had thought that we might have a very long time to wait (what with Rob having taken the headlamps and all), so I wasn't in a hurry as I chatted with people, tidied up the van, and made something to eat for Will and me (we had kind of forgotten about lunch, might as well move right on to dinner). Then I got a text from my mom, who was tracking Ryan from her computer at home. "They're at mile 97!" she said, and I thought, holy shit, they're going to be here soon. They won't need headlamps after all. I'd better get to the finish line.<br />
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Will and I grabbed our camp chairs and went over to hang out with Katie and the rest of Ryan's crew. My phone buzzed and I saw this text from Rob:<br />
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Everybody cheered. We tracked them on my phone as they got closer and closer.<br />
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At last we saw them coming down the road.<br />
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Ryan had done it!! He was a Hardrock Finisher!! </div>
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I was so, so happy for him!<br />
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The sun set over Silverton that night, and we went back to the van to get some sleep. We were so close to the finish line that every once and a while, I would wake up hearing cheers as another runner kissed the rock.<br />
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By the next morning, Hardrock was officially over, and it was time for us to head home.<br />
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We took the long way, stopping by the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.<br />
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We finally made it back late that night. What a trip it had been! I would go back to Hardrock anytime. </div>
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THANKS FOR READING!!</div>
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-17514295636553029402016-07-20T09:40:00.000-06:002016-07-20T09:40:20.854-06:00The Trip 2016: Everything is Ultra (Part 4, Watching the Hardrock Winners)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Continued from <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part_20.html" target="_blank">Part 3</a>.</i></div>
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It had been a very long day. I'd been taking photos and tweeting everything I could about what was going on during the race. I was overwhelmed by the kind words and appreciation people from all over the world expressed to me about my on-the-ground updates (thanks if any of you are reading this). I began to feel a responsibility to document the race as best I could, and I sort of wished I could do this for a living. It was fun! </div>
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Nevertheless, it was hard to post very many updates from Ouray. I only got cell signal maybe 25% of the time, and the going was very slow. After Rob took off from Ouray to pace Ryan, I had very little idea of how they were doing. I couldn't get the runner tracking to update on my phone, nor could I get the GPS from the spot tracker Rob had taken with him. </div>
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I tried my best to get some rest after the sun went down, and I cuddled up next to William in the bed of the RV and slept for about an hour. Finally I got the runner tracking to load on my phone, and I saw that Ryan had checked into the Grouse aid station at 11:19pm. Great news. They had made it there. Or at least Ryan had made it there. Presumably Rob was with him. I thought maybe in an hour or so, Katie would be bringing Rob back to Ouray. </div>
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What didn't occur to me was that it had taken them more than 6 hours to get to Grouse (this was longer than we'd been expecting), and Ryan had not yet checked out of the aid station. He was still there. He was feeling terrible. He spent a long time at Grouse with Katie, Rob, and his other pacer, getting care. It wasn't until 2:30am that Katie brought Rob back to Ouray.</div>
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Rob felt surprisingly good considering all he had been through in the last 9 hours. He drove us back across that terrifying mountain pass to Silverton and told me bits and pieces about his pacing adventure. He said Ryan had not been able to eat or drink much between Ouray and Grouse and gotten very behind on hydration and calories. Everyone was right--this section of the course had been extremely difficult. It had taken Ryan a while to recover at Grouse and feel well enough to continue with his other pacer, John. Rob also told me that Nick had ended up dropping at Grouse, due to severe stomach pain. I was sad to hear that news. I really hoped that Ryan would be able to finish.</div>
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When we got back to Silverton, Rob said he was done. Done, done, done. It was 3:30 in the morning, and he and Will piled back to sleep in the RV bed. As long as Rob was staying in the van with Will, that freed me up to go to the finish line and see who was going to win this race.</div>
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The most recent updates from iRunFar indicated that Kilian and Jason Schlarb were still running together. Supposedly they'd shared a sandwich at one point, and even a pacer (Emelie pacing them both). I wondered what on earth was going to happen. Would one of them pull away from the other towards the end, and which would it be? How could you even do that...leave someone in your dust after you'd run with them and shared so much over nearly 100 miles? I couldn't help but wonder if they would finish this thing together, hand in hand even. From what I knew about Jason Schlarb and Kilian Jornet, it seemed like the kind of thing they might do. <br />
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I must have been the first person standing there at the finish line, but little by little the crowd grew. At last, a race official (Dale himself, I guess) told us that it would be soon. <br />
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And then they were there. All I could see was a rush of two figures together, one of them wearing red. They were moving fast into the finishing chute, and I didn't even realize until they were already past me that it was both of them-- Schlarb and Jornet, and they really were hand in hand.<br />
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They bent to kiss the rock together (this is how you finish Hardrock, you kiss the rock), ensuring a tie.</div>
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Then they turned to each other and embraced.<br />
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Media and spectators swarmed them. Soon I couldn't see a thing. Someone brought them little white folding chairs and they sat down to answer questions. They said they had talked it out and planned to finish together this way. After running the entire race side by side, it just would have seemed ridiculous to have a fight at the end. Both of them seemed to acknowledge that Kilian could have gone faster (in fact he has, in previous years), if he had wanted, but what was the point? To be alone and suffer? Or to be with a companion who has become your lifelong friend? The decision was clear to them. Each said it was an honor to have run such a race and finished with the other.<br />
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I started crying. With so much hatred and violence in the world, this, this is the thing I want to remember about how people can be: this sight of these two grown men holding hands and running towards the rock together. Neither was seeking to hurt or undermine the other. They had worked so hard for this and just wanted to share the experience of winning this race. <br />
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Under the cold starlight, I wandered back to the van, in awe of what I had just seen, and fell asleep.<br />
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Several hours later, Rob and Will and I were all up again, and we went to the finish line to see the first place woman, Anna Frost. She had led the race all day, and now as she finished, she floated towards the rock. She had this look of total bliss on her face. She weaved among the crowd, giving everybody high fives. You could tell she was just so happy. You never would have guessed she had just run 100 hard miles in the San Juan mountains.<br />
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A while later, Emma Roca, the second place woman ran towards the finish line. All day when I'd seen her at aid stations, she had been surrounded by these kids. I assume these are her kids, but I guess I don't know. Either way, it was very sweet.</div>
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Emma Roca got an accordion serenade from Ricky Gates as she headed towards the finish line. (Incidentally, didn't Gates pace Anna Frost for a while? See...this is the way ultra runners are. You do your best. You race against yourself and the mountains. But you support everyone else out there and want them to do their best too).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ricky Gates playing his accordion. Kilian and Emelie are wearing yellow coats.</td></tr>
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There was a long time between finishers, and the crowds would thin out during these lulls. At one point, I was still standing there and Kilian and Emelie walked right by me. They were both drinking coffee from blue mugs. I had to say something, but the only thing I could think of was, "Congratulations!" Kilian smiled and nodded in his humble way and said, "Thanks." They kept walking, and I thought, <i>I just congratulated Kilian Jornet on winning Hardrock. How is this my life.</i></div>
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Thanks for reading</div>
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<i>Stay tuned for Part 5.</i></div>
<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-64009916930573248472016-07-20T00:16:00.001-06:002016-07-20T00:29:12.089-06:00The Trip 2016: Everything is Ultra (Part 3, HARDROCK from the start to Ouray)<i><a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part_19.html" target="_blank">Continued from Part 2.</a></i><br />
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As the sun set on Thursday night, tensions ran high. We still hadn't figured out where we were camping, and Hardrock was starting in a matter of hours. We checked a few campgrounds between Durango and Silverton, and...surprise, surprise...they were full. Just before I reached full on panic mode, Rob found an out of the way dirt road where we could pull off and park the RV overnight (did you know, you can <a href="http://www.rv-camping.org/usfscampgrounds/" target="_blank">camp for free in most National Forests</a>, including the one we were driving through). It was a beautiful place to sleep. Problem solved.<br />
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We woke up bright (actually dark) and early the next morning and drove into Silverton. I was picturing a scene of mass chaos, like the start of the Chicago Marathon, but in reality, we parked about 2 blocks away from the start line and saw not only Rob's friends, but also a bunch of famous people, just milling about as they waited for the race to begin. It was way more low-key than I had envisioned, and no more crowded than the photo below.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost go time.</td></tr>
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Rob and Will stayed right by the start line, but I headed down the road a bit to get photos of the runners after they rounded a corner. Nick Clark took an early lead.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't help but wonder what he's thinking here. Whatever it is, it's in a British accent.</td></tr>
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I wasn't even looking at where I was pointing the camera, I was just scanning the crowd of people as they streamed by.</div>
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It kind of threw me that Nick Clark came by first and I didn't see Kilian anywhere. I'd thought Kilian would be up front. I wondered if he had started the race after all. It was only later when I went through my photos that I finally found him. He was kind of incognito in that trucker hat and jacket, several rows back from the front runners!</div>
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After the throngs of runners (okay, there were only around 200 people in the race) went by, I finally looked over and realized who I had been standing next to that whole time. It was John, from <a href="http://barkleymovie.com/" target="_blank">The Barkley Marathons documentary!</a>! John is Will's ultimate hero. Will can recite every statistic pertaining to John that occurred during that race. I am normally terrible around famous people, and this moment was no exception. I tried to sputter out to John how much Will admires him, and how Will wants to run The Barkley someday. I asked John if he could stay right there for a minute and I ran over and got Will so I could take a picture of them together. Instead of asking for any advice on how to get into or run The Barkley, Will told him, "Today is July 15th. My birthday is less than a month away, on August 12th."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrmQm9eziUnhZIBm72FQobNfrbMEB4nRYMQSI0SLsBHz8CUDdxBEGfOqx7ApCyzC2T7NX-zVcDu3g121VLdgetCxpEbuovnY9i4K8rHTyfioHwZKEQ3JAD2JjNu7NoIFiMZHO4O6ULgs/s1600/IMG_8709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrmQm9eziUnhZIBm72FQobNfrbMEB4nRYMQSI0SLsBHz8CUDdxBEGfOqx7ApCyzC2T7NX-zVcDu3g121VLdgetCxpEbuovnY9i4K8rHTyfioHwZKEQ3JAD2JjNu7NoIFiMZHO4O6ULgs/s400/IMG_8709.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, John.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Photo op completed, we headed back to talk to Rob's friends at the start line. "So, Rob, do you want to pace Ryan from Ouray to Grouse?" Katie (Ryan's girlfriend) asked. Pacing someone at Hardrock is like the ultrarunner equivalent of graduating college with highest honors. Katie explained that Ouray (mile 44) was the first place where you could have a pacer. Ryan had a pacer lined up starting only at Grouse (mile 58) to the end. He wasn't expecting anyone to jump in with him at Ouray, but if Rob could do it, it might be a nice surprise.<br />
<br />
The thing is, if you get asked to pace someone at Hardrock, <i><b>you do it</b></i>. For Rob, I knew this would be an amazing experience. I absolutely wanted him to pace, as much for himself as for Ryan. But the logistics of the situation caused my panic levels to rise. In order for this to happen, I knew it would probably mean that I would have to drive the RV from Ouray back to Silverton (or else be stranded there). I had no idea what that mountain pass was like, all I knew was that I had only driven the RV twice--on perfectly flat, wide roads with absolutely no traffic.<br />
<br />
"We have to find a way," I said to Rob. In typical Rob fashion, he shrugged, and said, "We'll see." We headed back to the van and began the drive to Telluride--where there was an aid station some 28 miles into the race.<br />
<br />
The only way to get to Telluride from Silverton is through Ouray, so I saw that mountain pass I would have to drive if Rob was running with Ryan (instead of driving) back from Ouray later in the day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGsKlJjGS-yN5PmK8ZiDbPUMDOMchm4-72uBbPzSHtLqk4rgb1jpmjgZ2mUvov1Yul-vSeLodG_q06ZhCKNMQh2kT9q49n4G59BLYYoGSZW7LAC5GJuRoj5UksT3QHUwVAOJFk2cYBf0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.26.24+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheGsKlJjGS-yN5PmK8ZiDbPUMDOMchm4-72uBbPzSHtLqk4rgb1jpmjgZ2mUvov1Yul-vSeLodG_q06ZhCKNMQh2kT9q49n4G59BLYYoGSZW7LAC5GJuRoj5UksT3QHUwVAOJFk2cYBf0/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-19+at+10.26.24+PM.png" width="388" /></a></div>
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The pass was terrifying. Steep gradient, at least 100 hairpin turns, road construction, and a lot of traffic (because it is literally the only way to get between many of these mountain towns). Rob never tells me I can't do things, but even he was uncomfortable driving this road. "This requires a fairly advanced level of RV driving," he said. In other words, more than experience than the two very short trips on flat roads I had taken.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, Rob didn't seem worried (does he ever worry?), so I tried not to let my concern about what would happen ruin the rest of the day. We had some time in Telluride before the runners arrived, so we took the (free!) gondola up into the ski areas and looked around.<br />
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<br />
Rob told me if I wanted to run, I'd probably have time for a couple of miles. I was wearing cargo shorts and didn't have my watch with me, but you never pass up an opportunity to run. I don't know how far I went, but it was uphill at over 10,000 feet of elevation, so it wasn't easy. The views were breathtaking, if I'd had any breath left to take.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtwRsHBxPUtgyYmp1peyVrek9Ui5gEIp7ghhvvjcQGb4HEgqJLnuTK3UoF_BZsEtn2PKxUh7QKRR0ZzWOq3eM5KiWm2FYA3W8studOU7Lb41T_bAYBwwtRF-QhrnVPqaBsYfGiMhfAWk/s1600/IMG_8715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFtwRsHBxPUtgyYmp1peyVrek9Ui5gEIp7ghhvvjcQGb4HEgqJLnuTK3UoF_BZsEtn2PKxUh7QKRR0ZzWOq3eM5KiWm2FYA3W8studOU7Lb41T_bAYBwwtRF-QhrnVPqaBsYfGiMhfAWk/s400/IMG_8715.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Afterwards, we took the gondola back down to town.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ROUyfMrYpGB7liOn47IIEmXSIa5FtZRQqM5ZJnUt3_tSlXQQ9un4ogzw-LRAEJNLljjBgCIvAECFdVy2W8egedtjSF3uzt6sRXDgl7hGUhem1eBHMMVVCV251CoXpWN1kcvLaonRfu8/s1600/IMG_8718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ROUyfMrYpGB7liOn47IIEmXSIa5FtZRQqM5ZJnUt3_tSlXQQ9un4ogzw-LRAEJNLljjBgCIvAECFdVy2W8egedtjSF3uzt6sRXDgl7hGUhem1eBHMMVVCV251CoXpWN1kcvLaonRfu8/s400/IMG_8718.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Telluride. I did <i>not</i> throw up on the gondola, probably because Will was holding my hand.</td></tr>
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We walked to the aid station in the town park a little bit before the front runners arrived.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2OY4pVMTBBpefWxBvhTiGt4tXGdhYiq946rGd3vyvCm_-q7hBCsXXbgCAtkmAopFzuzlc50jrwfLQOI6D7aS5QH8bU7_17JYXt7wlqL_-Ti77S_HgihOlTVgE6l2Ziubdc_lEQeWZnA/s1600/IMG_8735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ2OY4pVMTBBpefWxBvhTiGt4tXGdhYiq946rGd3vyvCm_-q7hBCsXXbgCAtkmAopFzuzlc50jrwfLQOI6D7aS5QH8bU7_17JYXt7wlqL_-Ti77S_HgihOlTVgE6l2Ziubdc_lEQeWZnA/s400/IMG_8735.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(L-R) Kilian, Xavier, and Schlarb, arrived together. Schlarb was behind the other two by a little bit when they left.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwGes-ePkZ9faKdI_sIgWpOQbxf3SS43hhEk4P1hzlemYAMijyVnw5kwrNqneok3FU1OpUY39nP7nSDmEqYVvrsZzXnN5Ghk0t9-bn8fAVcF4mZlK2fk7B9X8uCZoA3pA5vfQblb-k5k/s1600/IMG_8740.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwGes-ePkZ9faKdI_sIgWpOQbxf3SS43hhEk4P1hzlemYAMijyVnw5kwrNqneok3FU1OpUY39nP7nSDmEqYVvrsZzXnN5Ghk0t9-bn8fAVcF4mZlK2fk7B9X8uCZoA3pA5vfQblb-k5k/s400/IMG_8740.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joe Grant leaves Telluride.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7jcK5bLha3q5XXzdckenVcpGAcMDP1BGBZlw-BfG1vdW4UGiUfhHWUoCwqloT3d_UKmDCW3EwQlPEVerTo2Hz4h3yVsSzsvv0GiisM6PioblCPYW100VNQDUa_FG3Il9MfezuudtAo8/s1600/IMG_8743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7jcK5bLha3q5XXzdckenVcpGAcMDP1BGBZlw-BfG1vdW4UGiUfhHWUoCwqloT3d_UKmDCW3EwQlPEVerTo2Hz4h3yVsSzsvv0GiisM6PioblCPYW100VNQDUa_FG3Il9MfezuudtAo8/s400/IMG_8743.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeff Browning.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXI24zTuF6QShnJnPQY319YJbMH37-4QcfzOXgi90vG8WrC9odYQl73ocF8UB30i3Rf9FzN0UD2ZCsUwSdiUlytjs6cIXOf2AvbjrFlGunAelZ2CDnVBcM3b7dwewXA9TeajSjrCcVvI/s1600/IMG_8756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipXI24zTuF6QShnJnPQY319YJbMH37-4QcfzOXgi90vG8WrC9odYQl73ocF8UB30i3Rf9FzN0UD2ZCsUwSdiUlytjs6cIXOf2AvbjrFlGunAelZ2CDnVBcM3b7dwewXA9TeajSjrCcVvI/s400/IMG_8756.jpg" width="322" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy Olson.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7drfSIZ71UWkcR1SyqnGl6iAbjpkfttRdn7rD0vtR3Zij6-xj6SviVw_0eMJcaEp6XReu1MKnODMdMBvxgESdTZsPceJZMtKr5LkzSM-WQ_lKkVVxAkc2LxtD5wsRph7Y78pGYEywIZU/s1600/IMG_8776.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7drfSIZ71UWkcR1SyqnGl6iAbjpkfttRdn7rD0vtR3Zij6-xj6SviVw_0eMJcaEp6XReu1MKnODMdMBvxgESdTZsPceJZMtKr5LkzSM-WQ_lKkVVxAkc2LxtD5wsRph7Y78pGYEywIZU/s400/IMG_8776.jpg" width="347" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick Clark!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgjHqYO4Ny3JVsEcMJjGXJjVfxUvcMfCXq5wUQqrqZbXwQm6_Pg29bM-Xhw76RwygGv6yR5gFu01z35P_ablaFf8XcvPlzbGsaip0RGDhuyctCO8j0sbr9bk9NnbV6alBoBi73fTYyUU/s1600/IMG_8777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgjHqYO4Ny3JVsEcMJjGXJjVfxUvcMfCXq5wUQqrqZbXwQm6_Pg29bM-Xhw76RwygGv6yR5gFu01z35P_ablaFf8XcvPlzbGsaip0RGDhuyctCO8j0sbr9bk9NnbV6alBoBi73fTYyUU/s400/IMG_8777.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna Frost, the first woman, arriving around the same time as Clark</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-EdaqU0WwGVo2TpEXHGGXHaGNdXtDO5TuR3OjCDdnD7kSQ2ASwr7gsZ8xnefe4t9LniBAlFIOPIKDF6eYXCAKQu7OvQbqpckAfEx9nW-r3Ndf3-65VrmKFWRF7sxDJCc1C08Ahm-xZg/s1600/IMG_8784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-EdaqU0WwGVo2TpEXHGGXHaGNdXtDO5TuR3OjCDdnD7kSQ2ASwr7gsZ8xnefe4t9LniBAlFIOPIKDF6eYXCAKQu7OvQbqpckAfEx9nW-r3Ndf3-65VrmKFWRF7sxDJCc1C08Ahm-xZg/s400/IMG_8784.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma Roca, second woman, getting hugs from her kids.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BEt_MjX5W2nQ4gqNvZS5k3Hxla3LvR_j8eZnUs7Pxn6Q36sFsAPLSWHoZFLnbOh7rS3RB2ngyGzhR0gDaMUca6xbTeywauFuOTID6aOh-P6Rt2SqGdUb5lPov91ZSzQZvDw70U0hO1M/s1600/IMG_8792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9BEt_MjX5W2nQ4gqNvZS5k3Hxla3LvR_j8eZnUs7Pxn6Q36sFsAPLSWHoZFLnbOh7rS3RB2ngyGzhR0gDaMUca6xbTeywauFuOTID6aOh-P6Rt2SqGdUb5lPov91ZSzQZvDw70U0hO1M/s400/IMG_8792.jpg" width="388" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob's friend Ryan rolled in!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3pNVtUhTg1GFpzbXUqYHBovnOwjjWNqsi0pcFE0CuslHQnQJk900-SvZR4Xo8xLGRFxzRhN_XPipUfTR1nkMYLDxvkcw7VJCq8rZlHNwxvV5LQ_kF48PyWLzMsB30HS0Yvs7pfB1Bq0/s1600/IMG_8747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3pNVtUhTg1GFpzbXUqYHBovnOwjjWNqsi0pcFE0CuslHQnQJk900-SvZR4Xo8xLGRFxzRhN_XPipUfTR1nkMYLDxvkcw7VJCq8rZlHNwxvV5LQ_kF48PyWLzMsB30HS0Yvs7pfB1Bq0/s400/IMG_8747.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aid station menu. I was wondering if the vegetable broth, and hummus or black bean burritos are vegan. Also, my one contribution to the race thus far was when this sign blew down and I went and found someone with duct tape and taped it back up.</td></tr>
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After Ryan left Telluride aid, we talked to Rob's friend Jaime, who was crewing for a different runner. Jaime told me that the section between Ouray and Grouse (where Rob had been asked to pace) was the only place on the Hardrock course where you could actually die.</div>
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<b>Great</b>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iuVIEfNoPgOO-ISdGkHCA4MWmZgvlv6kEW8LXV1Q2BSGlJ-o4NR7-oGhc3vNn2n-tZsbF8c5t7LiwhyDmPT34oTDBEQwIClFmdRXQqXhOfQx84acr2k-1o9UelPZxwM3JwLnnasA2B0/s1600/IMG_8798.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iuVIEfNoPgOO-ISdGkHCA4MWmZgvlv6kEW8LXV1Q2BSGlJ-o4NR7-oGhc3vNn2n-tZsbF8c5t7LiwhyDmPT34oTDBEQwIClFmdRXQqXhOfQx84acr2k-1o9UelPZxwM3JwLnnasA2B0/s400/IMG_8798.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's been real, Telluride. Heading to Ouray.</td></tr>
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We left Telluride and headed to the next checkpoint where we would be able to see the runners-- at Ouray. This was where we would have to finalize the details about whether or not Rob was pacing Ryan. Parking in Ouray was a basic cluster cuss, and we made it to the aid station about 3 minutes after front runners left with their pacers. Garrrrrr. Emelie was pacing Kilian. I would have loved to see them take off!</div>
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We had a long time to wait before any of the people we knew came through. I began asking around, and before too long found Rob two possibilities of getting a ride back to Ouray from the Grouse aid station after his pacing gig with Ryan was over. That way, Rob, Will and I would be together, and I wouldn't have to drive the van either back to Silverton or to pick him up at Grouse.</div>
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<b>PROBLEM SOLVED</b>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU-FyzgNsc2uAqBT6wm9e-vvbKaX_0QS905JUI0nmFtXCZaa_8tgHTWs5GKzHihnfpw3AmkIduLAZQzpOtPB70U29hlqybw71ouqaVUU6IzLfThUoZaw79t8ZCwzk6K4VPW_IaFEZEjg/s1600/IMG_8799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyU-FyzgNsc2uAqBT6wm9e-vvbKaX_0QS905JUI0nmFtXCZaa_8tgHTWs5GKzHihnfpw3AmkIduLAZQzpOtPB70U29hlqybw71ouqaVUU6IzLfThUoZaw79t8ZCwzk6K4VPW_IaFEZEjg/s400/IMG_8799.jpg" width="387" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jim Walmsley sighting at the Ouray aid station. Word had it that he was supposed to be pacing Joe Grant from here, but he got lost and/or had trouble parking, and ended up arriving after Joe had already left. (And Joe was at Ouray for a long time because he was being treated for a severe bump on his head that he'd gotten from a fall or something). Anyway, Walmsley took off by himself to find Joe. Joe ended up dropping from the race between Ouray and Grouse (that bump on his head was a concussion), and Walmsley turned back up in Ouray.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5hsYEnKBgJZEOCG-gFfjFz2dMxs_CBgWGYHipan5PBobIituK9mEOZYRwsxvlR-RulrCROqETdYhojkI-UpJM03PCNpnz3h7Gs9hqyr1hcBEQMAd6o1KaeBJKbIBEluxDt6XX8ploOw/s1600/IMG_8816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5hsYEnKBgJZEOCG-gFfjFz2dMxs_CBgWGYHipan5PBobIituK9mEOZYRwsxvlR-RulrCROqETdYhojkI-UpJM03PCNpnz3h7Gs9hqyr1hcBEQMAd6o1KaeBJKbIBEluxDt6XX8ploOw/s400/IMG_8816.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a little animalito I discovered while waiting beside this tree in Ouray.</td></tr>
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Once we got the logistics of pacing figured out, Rob was kind of like, holy shit, I need to get ready. The route from Ouray to Grouse was something like 14 miles and involved a 5,000 foot climb. In the heat of the day. But during this section, the sun would go down, and they would be running in the dark for a while. Rob needed to pack his headlamp. He also packed my headlamp as a back up. He needed to pack his own food and water. Rob was prepared. Aside from Handies Peak (a 14-er), this was one of the hardest sections of the course.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDnX4_Mp5TO4rsv_u93BMfK4eW66GHE1kYIy9DfCwNqMhvSwe2KIlpVtB7ZcrsRrPBmi-J1Ew0DW8zF-OcJkoDZjLU_WDI9EX0X8HicCdkHLQl3kq5Dm0ObG1oGY-ng6441hPimiAjXE/s1600/IMG_8820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDnX4_Mp5TO4rsv_u93BMfK4eW66GHE1kYIy9DfCwNqMhvSwe2KIlpVtB7ZcrsRrPBmi-J1Ew0DW8zF-OcJkoDZjLU_WDI9EX0X8HicCdkHLQl3kq5Dm0ObG1oGY-ng6441hPimiAjXE/s400/IMG_8820.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Rob, hold still. I'm going to pretend I'm taking a picture of you, but really, it is because Walmsley is behind you." </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DlUe49mD-LJxBeetUDOWes0AQIP6HKZHVpoQd8qx-PdKGfOgB-an0HvKyh6jF41tQTlKpbY30_RuDz0DxzuW_9QHFGWtWWXgDYkaboyZfWTLGYPLKHv9f02QNXAQR0dbjbUHfCpPTsk/s1600/IMG_8803.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0DlUe49mD-LJxBeetUDOWes0AQIP6HKZHVpoQd8qx-PdKGfOgB-an0HvKyh6jF41tQTlKpbY30_RuDz0DxzuW_9QHFGWtWWXgDYkaboyZfWTLGYPLKHv9f02QNXAQR0dbjbUHfCpPTsk/s400/IMG_8803.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nick Clark and his crew/pacer (also named Nick).</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMg1LAb1E0XVYSgqpSllNRiPyBCCGhGx4vIbR1422ju1uakCNojpXMMsT4B1s4MyCdOp4ZTV0kWfrd0mz1EnY41uXLowF5vpX6UtS_xCuOAkhwhS8UOxxEcOpRzCFazvWHsNXmFAPN7M/s1600/IMG_8811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMg1LAb1E0XVYSgqpSllNRiPyBCCGhGx4vIbR1422ju1uakCNojpXMMsT4B1s4MyCdOp4ZTV0kWfrd0mz1EnY41uXLowF5vpX6UtS_xCuOAkhwhS8UOxxEcOpRzCFazvWHsNXmFAPN7M/s400/IMG_8811.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna Frost arrived nearly the same time as Nick Clark. I think they had been running together.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85x8l2VK4aC6KmCdELCIIXLIUI4rGDtOPUBHCwWv1MfNyDdpkY_Clh61_cPZUOlUZtJCjZSpZXWJoWJDBw5HKR6ivRlNmoSg_Q9BO3ZlS0W4St6deohVM2dzRrwoVpfIMN45lo9UbG4U/s1600/IMG_8815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="367" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85x8l2VK4aC6KmCdELCIIXLIUI4rGDtOPUBHCwWv1MfNyDdpkY_Clh61_cPZUOlUZtJCjZSpZXWJoWJDBw5HKR6ivRlNmoSg_Q9BO3ZlS0W4St6deohVM2dzRrwoVpfIMN45lo9UbG4U/s400/IMG_8815.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna Frost and crew taking care of her feet. I did feel really bad for the famous people running this race. In the aid stations there were swarms of spectators surrounding them with iPhones and cameras, taking pictures. It made me glad that I am as slow as f*ck and nobody is bothering me while I am trying to run and take care of myself. I only took this picture because they literally stopped right next to where I was standing to re-do some blister care on Anna's feet.</td></tr>
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Ryan came in probably around 5 in the afternoon. We had no idea how he would be feeling, some 44 miles into the race. We also hadn't told him that Rob would be pacing him (just in case it didn't work out, we didn't want him to get his hopes up), and we weren't even sure he would want a pacer. Rob was prepared for whatever. Go with Ryan on a 5,000 foot climb, or not, depending on what he wanted.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg97J0fMdknx5Th5D6YQv-3Kv13gChDzZwMaht604x1KYbb2bTuuTaG89_o-lUooPQ2a68HQw8mPHLH2j4DZPXV_51zx_Ve5LjbiJmK8QPLH-6L7Ne9hCVfT1WfTHgWICfXUnrODVuhFXw/s1600/IMG_8823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg97J0fMdknx5Th5D6YQv-3Kv13gChDzZwMaht604x1KYbb2bTuuTaG89_o-lUooPQ2a68HQw8mPHLH2j4DZPXV_51zx_Ve5LjbiJmK8QPLH-6L7Ne9hCVfT1WfTHgWICfXUnrODVuhFXw/s400/IMG_8823.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Ouray aid tent. Ryan is in the red shirt and blue trucker hat. Rob and Katie are getting him what he needs, after he's run 44 miles in the San Juan mountains over the last 11 hours.</td></tr>
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Ryan was cool with having Rob jump in as a pacer.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zPTqwOuyTC8QHrYDb4s2l-ZB2usAem6jT6TeP6-PqUJ3P5gT3wcZu_NwZdilL42nQZg495teRxzsQhJDdsiGbo9qhFeS9pfRLRGV4hBRPd5Yw9S7i9Ed68r1QZzFMk88UbsumjscIZU/s1600/IMG_8839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zPTqwOuyTC8QHrYDb4s2l-ZB2usAem6jT6TeP6-PqUJ3P5gT3wcZu_NwZdilL42nQZg495teRxzsQhJDdsiGbo9qhFeS9pfRLRGV4hBRPd5Yw9S7i9Ed68r1QZzFMk88UbsumjscIZU/s400/IMG_8839.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob is either thinking, "This is going to be fun," or "What have I gotten myself into."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3juVJXig1t2ERNbxhWzf_yMCljc6UlBe4jVS-1ilL5ngPeXE-ds-T0MRlFBh_D9uWsOX3UlnVJ3-I9oYlHgGtTBAqdlAm6lv8NZbfXy2KwM8gw2GOJ5bo_V-Ji2VRGV97M0m9le870s/s1600/IMG_8835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3juVJXig1t2ERNbxhWzf_yMCljc6UlBe4jVS-1ilL5ngPeXE-ds-T0MRlFBh_D9uWsOX3UlnVJ3-I9oYlHgGtTBAqdlAm6lv8NZbfXy2KwM8gw2GOJ5bo_V-Ji2VRGV97M0m9le870s/s400/IMG_8835.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They took off running as they left Ouray aid!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0Sruvne2PFHP-R7uyNZf4BwgWZsch5TrN5arP3XCQPHNpcMnQeX6BdXPEndyLrDi7F4X_HTdtnJKe8VrKLzgRsjDI4UOUCHxt5yQCukr9w7HQZH0cv8PQgEZfceFrRZsme8ZXBmvG4w/s1600/IMG_8843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr0Sruvne2PFHP-R7uyNZf4BwgWZsch5TrN5arP3XCQPHNpcMnQeX6BdXPEndyLrDi7F4X_HTdtnJKe8VrKLzgRsjDI4UOUCHxt5yQCukr9w7HQZH0cv8PQgEZfceFrRZsme8ZXBmvG4w/s400/IMG_8843.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom had been reading up on Ouray and found that it is called "the Switzerland of the rockies"... or something like that. "Take a picture for me!" she texted. And I'm sorry to say, with all the commotion going on, this is the best I could do.</td></tr>
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With Rob out pacing Ryan, Will and I were suddenly on our own. I was so proud of Will because he had been so good and never complained even though it had been a very tough day (we'd all been up since 4:45 in the morning). He had mostly been entertaining himself by running laps around the baseball diamond in the Ouray town park. This poor kid, he must have run about 10 miles, and it was <i>hot.</i> We stayed for a while, chatting with Katie and the other members of Ryan's crew. We estimated that it would take Ryan and Rob around 5 hours to cover the 14 difficult miles between Ouray and Grouse. Then Katie herself would drive Rob back to Ouray, where Will and I would be waiting. It should be around 11pm, or maybe midnight, when they returned. But then again, anything could happen in a hundred miler.<br />
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Will and I went back to the van so that I could make us dinner, and I told him we could watch a movie together on the iPad before we went to bed. He was beyond thrilled. We did these things, and then we hunkered down for the night.<br />
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<i>Stay tuned for Part 4.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Thanks for reading!!Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-80286933091904572762016-07-19T11:17:00.001-06:002016-07-19T11:17:29.177-06:00The Trip 2016: Everything is Ultra (Part 2, New Mexico)<i><a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/07/the-trip-2016-everything-is-ultra-part.html" target="_blank">Continued from Part 1</a>!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> After leaving the Great Sand Dunes on Monday afternoon, we headed for the Jemez Falls campground in New Mexico. We made couscous and roasted vegan hot dogs over the fire and had S'mores for dessert. William ran over 2 miles-- laps around the campground loop. He's still training for The Barkley.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoREUmhSwC0mUYyV9Tz-ZD4BhNZfMrbpMJtEyprtZDoEp5xMXWEZSwyo4Oza-WAU-nO-cnl85_0JxwGKtR-wd1C_F20cSf63WVN7oFjTxkVQWCIE0slPOkVG9XoC9oRLZ9wy3lVlMaLp4/s1600/IMG_1834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoREUmhSwC0mUYyV9Tz-ZD4BhNZfMrbpMJtEyprtZDoEp5xMXWEZSwyo4Oza-WAU-nO-cnl85_0JxwGKtR-wd1C_F20cSf63WVN7oFjTxkVQWCIE0slPOkVG9XoC9oRLZ9wy3lVlMaLp4/s400/IMG_1834.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd10edvXLDjHdiBnIde025eaOCH9qBgYp_Y4wa5alU2VrLdmg7zVgtDVkXAcWPWIXMNKWI7-Tt_bAORWcuEWGlttygGogTZe0HvJPUiVLlg2Lrxvi6FPpgql6xtrAnZm7iVqDQeTmsYLk/s1600/IMG_1828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd10edvXLDjHdiBnIde025eaOCH9qBgYp_Y4wa5alU2VrLdmg7zVgtDVkXAcWPWIXMNKWI7-Tt_bAORWcuEWGlttygGogTZe0HvJPUiVLlg2Lrxvi6FPpgql6xtrAnZm7iVqDQeTmsYLk/s400/IMG_1828.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0_JgM3NDzZiCkDDiv2XcI4LHGnOZn9dHWP6dMuF_WQmlKZsjb5sZIazf10inG9irblFv4dl6vZcpMMmidRE32oUgUiLY-kaRb0l-efs1LOKAfeihEd30LyHBL1tVBB_X3e89KI1R0A8/s1600/IMG_1831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0_JgM3NDzZiCkDDiv2XcI4LHGnOZn9dHWP6dMuF_WQmlKZsjb5sZIazf10inG9irblFv4dl6vZcpMMmidRE32oUgUiLY-kaRb0l-efs1LOKAfeihEd30LyHBL1tVBB_X3e89KI1R0A8/s400/IMG_1831.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKHGWczmLILthw4UAukKmyFHGNqWkmF37g_QdnsNHuqIQGyR0UhVRkC5VN8uxBfM7vT0bBssSo9pBaRoywpl1sCa7tSqVzL9PFWwtb5As9yfU8PFBT0cdQOvuimtfGmxA79Wdy3INLHU/s1600/IMG_8609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKKHGWczmLILthw4UAukKmyFHGNqWkmF37g_QdnsNHuqIQGyR0UhVRkC5VN8uxBfM7vT0bBssSo9pBaRoywpl1sCa7tSqVzL9PFWwtb5As9yfU8PFBT0cdQOvuimtfGmxA79Wdy3INLHU/s400/IMG_8609.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Tuesday morning, Rob got up and ran in the freezing cold at 6am, and then we all headed into Albuquerque. We spent over 8 hours at the RV dealership, where they attempted to fix 7 of the major things wrong with the RV, and managed to fix only 2. One of the two things they fixed was the water heater (which it turned out, wasn't actually broken), so that was an asset. The other thing they fixed (a stove burner that wouldn't ignite) stopped working again the next day. I'm not exactly impressed with Winnebago, or the dealership. I haven't been part of RV life for long enough to know whether or not this kind of thing is just par for the course, but I am of the mind set that they should just give us a new fucking van, that actually works.<br />
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After spending a shitty day at the dealership getting mostly nothing accomplished, we left Albuquerque with very little idea of where to go. We drove around forever. I said, look, here's what I want. I want to sleep in a place where I can get up in the morning and run, since I just lost a day of my life at the RV dealership. We ended up right back at the Jemez Falls campground, although we could have arrived in half the time it took us if we'd just headed straight there.<br />
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Rob drew me a sketch of the trail he had run that morning and described some of its major features, noting intersections where I could potentially get lost. Then I got up early on Wednesday and headed out to run.<br />
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The first couple of miles were rocky, steep, and slow going for me. I felt terrible-- exhausted and honest to goodness dizzy. I hadn't thought I would need food before or during this run, but I resorted to my emergency Clif bar and ate the whole thing. Gradually, the fogginess surrounding my head lifted.<br />
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After I crossed Highway 4, the trail smoothed out a bit on the other side. I was feeling much happier and went farther up this smooth section than I originally intended. Finally, I turned around to head back to the campground.<br />
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I stayed extra alert to make sure I would not to get lured off trail by any of the numerous, intersecting ATV or cross country ski tracks. Eyes on the prize, trail number 137.<br />
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Nonetheless, I found myself descending on a trail I <i>knew</i> I had not gone up. Shit. How had this happened? I was following the trail blazes and the signs for trail number 137. I pulled out the Spot tracker (which I almost hadn't even brought with me because I didn't think it was possible to get lost out here), and sure enough, I was going parallel to the trail I had ascended.<br />
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I stood there for a minute trying to figure out what to do. I was probably only a mile away from Highway 4, and I could actually hear cars going by on it every once and a while. I was moving downhill, which was the right direction. Did I really need to bushwack through the forest to get back on the real 137? Or go back <i>up</i> and try to find the intersection where I had diverted? I decided to take my chances and keep descending on whatever trail I was on. Eventually I'd hit the highway, right?<br />
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Right. I don't know how it happened, but all of a sudden I was staring at a wooden trail marker that was labeled 137, and my GPS points once again matched the route I'd taken up. Crisis averted. I sighed with relief when I made it to Highway 4, and I decided to run back to the campground on the road. I didn't want anymore chances of getting lost (I knew there were a couple of tricky intersections on the trail ahead), and my legs and mind were both too fried to deal with the rocks on that section of the trail. I moved at a pretty good clip on Highway 4, thinking, <i>you know what? Road running is just fine</i>, and I was very relieved when I pulled into the campground and saw Rob and Will again. Rob said he had also gone off trail (although on the way up) at the same section where I'd had trouble, so at least I didn't feel like such an idiot.<br />
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I took a quick, water-conserving, semi-warm shower in the RV, and fixed breakfast and coffee for Will and me (well, the coffee was just for me) while Rob ran. (This trading off of running and childcare is a recurrent theme of the trip, as well as our lives). Then we headed out for a very long and winding drive west through New Mexico.<br />
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Rob had said that a friend of his recommended visiting <a href="https://www.nps.gov/chcu/index.htm" target="_blank">Chaco Canyon</a>, and I was thrilled to hear that. I definitely wanted to go to Chaco Canyon, but it seemed like the kind of thing I would enjoy and everyone else would grudgingly endure. This way, I wasn't the one who suggested it, so if we got there and the others were bored, it wasn't my fault. Huzzah!<br />
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Chaco Canyon is a very long way from anything, and part of the road at the end should really be labeled "FOUR-WHEEL DRIVE ONLY," yet there we were, driving the RV on it. Eventually we arrived, got a campsite (be sure to reserve a site though, if you will be there on a weekend), and headed out to see the park. Chaco is the site of an ancient cultural center that flourished around 1,000 years ago. The people who lived there were the ancestors of many Southwestern Native American groups, such as the Navajo.<br />
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We drove and hiked around the park, during the astonishingly terrible late-afternoon heat, visiting the remnants of many buildings where ancient people had once lived. Will worked diligently on earning his second Junior Ranger badge of the trip.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock art. Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVzbn2xxtbMzzT6bVx4dzQVDmAzB4SXDeuiOnZDhiPdc6Tg0vVFk_MCnD0ngLwIFgJAVbrc-2NIqn9RczzaI2fFhBVa9c5-4Fth9wkbhiyYY9jq6QeauqG4mFtgKkIWVRBiRv-uquE10/s1600/DSC00709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUVzbn2xxtbMzzT6bVx4dzQVDmAzB4SXDeuiOnZDhiPdc6Tg0vVFk_MCnD0ngLwIFgJAVbrc-2NIqn9RczzaI2fFhBVa9c5-4Fth9wkbhiyYY9jq6QeauqG4mFtgKkIWVRBiRv-uquE10/s400/DSC00709.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdw0VhBe6ttmzx6PuUyVjqPDnRm5h57m_dh7yOfj75Z4BuSQtPUjhXrXhfHLR7SUWdtcvTNg54LCyA291enQ0MCbn0OpNlnS2nQdIxelTH6XnFp54VY8xN5kFTlJzGDaykE1U8cCMuQA/s1600/DSC00727.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdw0VhBe6ttmzx6PuUyVjqPDnRm5h57m_dh7yOfj75Z4BuSQtPUjhXrXhfHLR7SUWdtcvTNg54LCyA291enQ0MCbn0OpNlnS2nQdIxelTH6XnFp54VY8xN5kFTlJzGDaykE1U8cCMuQA/s400/DSC00727.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd3JCx556dZy7715Lyi4Zh-3FqP95S0LUAujk5RvsDuwoPmDLhGyg5Jg39moVWvlNtiLJ5g9PBLuwgNH3qas8wSkCIGskGIxj86k4sUrOYxaxvk_42swQNtG2syMyV98Bnf1v3D15_yI/s1600/DSC00734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd3JCx556dZy7715Lyi4Zh-3FqP95S0LUAujk5RvsDuwoPmDLhGyg5Jg39moVWvlNtiLJ5g9PBLuwgNH3qas8wSkCIGskGIxj86k4sUrOYxaxvk_42swQNtG2syMyV98Bnf1v3D15_yI/s400/DSC00734.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was hot. This is the desert. Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdWArVJPhaMvw0tQ_J0NDg6PraatGcPCImZ7pZLVX3UOX7wyRZA_QuEPnSgKzFwjLhzMdNSgLYBc-S-dSUHwEzKRqrJMp0Y1b5-qm-VIwBXOeXYD7Off3qipkQ6PZP5UlSgl-qISzibo/s1600/DSC00739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdWArVJPhaMvw0tQ_J0NDg6PraatGcPCImZ7pZLVX3UOX7wyRZA_QuEPnSgKzFwjLhzMdNSgLYBc-S-dSUHwEzKRqrJMp0Y1b5-qm-VIwBXOeXYD7Off3qipkQ6PZP5UlSgl-qISzibo/s400/DSC00739.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe3iRaid1HV6RZe8IxV_n4znTNWC8OgnEZbhSRJyf0CTO2PnwSEYc3P7jW-NSYCtCIphxv7FwB6JWOlQIesWLNfvWXhGwtnlEr-nPv4xuYDsgzXOlGNPiKuM1JF712I10yV_iOYwPXsQ/s1600/DSC00753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXe3iRaid1HV6RZe8IxV_n4znTNWC8OgnEZbhSRJyf0CTO2PnwSEYc3P7jW-NSYCtCIphxv7FwB6JWOlQIesWLNfvWXhGwtnlEr-nPv4xuYDsgzXOlGNPiKuM1JF712I10yV_iOYwPXsQ/s400/DSC00753.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm0XpD9FuqjpeO9p-wstAX7Televd5XWVVLwDct3JkGsrQ9x7VqAmVj8Pa6zlJV7GypTveYBXRkda94mXjMGZWu8IHeYPYfRfQdHjt44vCn8vczN2o4YVou1D1K-1yRCfmDaLwHK-sME/s1600/DSC00761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm0XpD9FuqjpeO9p-wstAX7Televd5XWVVLwDct3JkGsrQ9x7VqAmVj8Pa6zlJV7GypTveYBXRkda94mXjMGZWu8IHeYPYfRfQdHjt44vCn8vczN2o4YVou1D1K-1yRCfmDaLwHK-sME/s400/DSC00761.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1NzovuTZ1sDYOfInpwBXlGhLbjNVUtxIt8oh1RfuaOdA-iovklzmZumHlcacJgAjQsZYX896sgKnwRvJvDxxGySCgCLFHqSB6MqGTo3F9wl5VQg-0NzAAPMr8BtgEiLg7fncLfzBAko/s1600/IMG_1851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1NzovuTZ1sDYOfInpwBXlGhLbjNVUtxIt8oh1RfuaOdA-iovklzmZumHlcacJgAjQsZYX896sgKnwRvJvDxxGySCgCLFHqSB6MqGTo3F9wl5VQg-0NzAAPMr8BtgEiLg7fncLfzBAko/s400/IMG_1851.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Campsite. Photo by Rob.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQowNmNQ89mk21o2Rf1dAoARWkF5UNMpMPNAfqAUAFfTiMiX4wrKvnlfWWc3WUqadUhS-DayDkMg_zBEMopE-67CDiA1LKLtbYDlejGG4DyPlNxBFO2JyXRKFTGE9H6DsBUdkrH_fDYQ/s1600/IMG_8676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQowNmNQ89mk21o2Rf1dAoARWkF5UNMpMPNAfqAUAFfTiMiX4wrKvnlfWWc3WUqadUhS-DayDkMg_zBEMopE-67CDiA1LKLtbYDlejGG4DyPlNxBFO2JyXRKFTGE9H6DsBUdkrH_fDYQ/s400/IMG_8676.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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The heat and sun really go to us (or at least, it got to me), and we were definitely ready for the evening cool down to arrive. When we got up the next morning, Will was still exhausted. We drove from the campground to the Pueblo Alto parking lot, where Rob took off on a run, and I stayed with Will while he crawled back into bed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVurkEgmfksmrrDs0FMVFxuol-xDwmZwCWg0SqADEgLq_r5ekHwXhrJtqMLMm6zO0d2apC-ZzbldK8nhPyYCS3dSZf6vgrSafajy5s-OyyQAgqnFKBPf6v_2R6c2u3LW7_Ay2X_02hNE/s1600/DSC00767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSVurkEgmfksmrrDs0FMVFxuol-xDwmZwCWg0SqADEgLq_r5ekHwXhrJtqMLMm6zO0d2apC-ZzbldK8nhPyYCS3dSZf6vgrSafajy5s-OyyQAgqnFKBPf6v_2R6c2u3LW7_Ay2X_02hNE/s400/DSC00767.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB80JoFujvJwMBhF-zJScAoHbFcrkEkOmXos2Z-THoWb5FkQNCCdipvSGzzq83IA8W5Z28lHCTnnNyaBU1x5x3N0aM2gaXmOCEWQOlbDhvD6QnxjH3hYUF0h2Q8xS0C1_Qxwk5Ne7Htbc/s1600/DSC00769.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB80JoFujvJwMBhF-zJScAoHbFcrkEkOmXos2Z-THoWb5FkQNCCdipvSGzzq83IA8W5Z28lHCTnnNyaBU1x5x3N0aM2gaXmOCEWQOlbDhvD6QnxjH3hYUF0h2Q8xS0C1_Qxwk5Ne7Htbc/s400/DSC00769.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob</td></tr>
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After some more sight seeing in the park, Will completed his booklet and earned his Junior Ranger badge. Then it was time to go. I suggested that my run for the day could be on the rugged dirt road out of the park, while Rob and Will drove. Secretly, I wondered if I would be able to run it faster than they could drive.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing like running in the desert at high noon. Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyeftbyh61cIclw3mtuinWCcW_8jsSaP23OptSLvmN-Uto-890SRaVMgPq0Y9Koy9TRIIbafkOp5T8rUCXGvs7cPASHSpzYGt0v78v1ddl0LiYD1d6rBDIA765nrDRSCf_ot5kHnC-sU/s1600/IMG_1859.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJyeftbyh61cIclw3mtuinWCcW_8jsSaP23OptSLvmN-Uto-890SRaVMgPq0Y9Koy9TRIIbafkOp5T8rUCXGvs7cPASHSpzYGt0v78v1ddl0LiYD1d6rBDIA765nrDRSCf_ot5kHnC-sU/s400/IMG_1859.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fun fact: this day was actually our 15th wedding anniversary. Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHd58eZ7TVjUtP-I0O1_ivXZZFVwKf7XN50DXfYG-rLgE_LGDCDLYAjXDcLc-X-rPxZJmyfR8FkEIdTMOEQZBpOYVggKy5hFvyEOeUhH6mHrFtnfVVtJPiApwaiVi_n86kX2Vq8pNRST4/s1600/IMG_8674.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHd58eZ7TVjUtP-I0O1_ivXZZFVwKf7XN50DXfYG-rLgE_LGDCDLYAjXDcLc-X-rPxZJmyfR8FkEIdTMOEQZBpOYVggKy5hFvyEOeUhH6mHrFtnfVVtJPiApwaiVi_n86kX2Vq8pNRST4/s400/IMG_8674.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I managed the run (not quite as fast as the van, but not too far off), although I'd never been so dehydrated in my life. They don't call this the desert for nothing.<br />
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After a quick RV shower along the side of the road, we headed out for the Four Corners, "on the way" to Durango. It was kind of a long trip and reminded me of Old Faithful in the sense that it is one of those iconic things that you feel like you need to do, but is really kind of <i>meh</i> when you get down to it. Rob thought it was cool though, and I bought a Christmas ornament and refrigerator magnet from a really nice Navajo lady.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaWJi0EGr9RrWk9HseD8uJ_jDQ7BPsSADfzSW_oG5Rbul7WZFQBHqxYKQVoCed27LqNWCVUDHQpwB13m9OOPOrxCP6FdNt7mHVach19biAjF6yDNIZvyfHQe-uvdqWI2H6hZFesMCcx0/s1600/IMG_8680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaWJi0EGr9RrWk9HseD8uJ_jDQ7BPsSADfzSW_oG5Rbul7WZFQBHqxYKQVoCed27LqNWCVUDHQpwB13m9OOPOrxCP6FdNt7mHVach19biAjF6yDNIZvyfHQe-uvdqWI2H6hZFesMCcx0/s400/IMG_8680.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving past Shiprock, NM</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjhd08udCxU4gDWx-kmoyBWi0wZ-f2c9ZJUlOXUXHJwycqWnzz7ibiWBXTfzNEOEzRzYTCjeKEoCzjX7OAQ3Ie5XIJ3zXyq5-GSVxOm0SuvE_3HPXlBfiVZHXw9qg9m-oeZF6QSUkmEY/s1600/IMG_8681.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjhd08udCxU4gDWx-kmoyBWi0wZ-f2c9ZJUlOXUXHJwycqWnzz7ibiWBXTfzNEOEzRzYTCjeKEoCzjX7OAQ3Ie5XIJ3zXyq5-GSVxOm0SuvE_3HPXlBfiVZHXw9qg9m-oeZF6QSUkmEY/s400/IMG_8681.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You pay like 10 bucks to get in and then you stand in line forever with dozens of tourists who have selfie sticks, and when you finally get to the spot, there is a sign that says 3 PHOTO MAXIMUM, and everybody behind you impatiently groans because you take 5 whole seconds, but then when it is their turn they feel entitled to spend 10 whole minutes there.</td></tr>
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We needed to keep moving. It was already late in the afternoon on Thursday, and Hardrock 100 started at 6:00 on Friday morning. We were still hours away from Silverton, and we didn't have a clear plan of where we were going to stay. It was time to get this show on the road.</div>
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Thanks for reading.</div>
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Stay tuned for Part 3!</div>
Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-68439347281159169712016-07-19T09:38:00.001-06:002016-07-20T00:16:42.639-06:00The Trip 2016: Everything is Ultra (Part 1, Great Sand Dunes)I had always (and by "always," I mean the 2 years since we've lived in Colorado) wanted to visit Telluride, Silverton, and Ouray. The photos I'd seen of the area were heartbreakingly beautiful (mountains, wildflowers, waterfalls, streams!), and I suppose most of my dim knowledge of these things came from footage of the <a href="http://hardrock100.com/index.php" target="_blank">Hardrock 100</a>-- the ionic and brutal footrace in the San Juans that takes place every July. Up until we moved to Colorado though, I'd never known anyone who had actually participated in Hardrock. I mean, it has over 30,000 feet of elevation gain (that's more climbing than Mt. Everest), and you could spend many years applying to get in without ever actually being selected (1500 people seek entry each year, but there are only about 200 slots). <br />
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Over the winter, we found out that two of Rob's running friends got in. Not only that, but several big name runners (including Kilian Jornet and Anna Frost) would be returning to the race. Cheering on these people gave us the perfect excuse to take a trip to the San Juans in July. Also: in the meantime, <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/06/north-fork-50-life-is-hard-running-is.html" target="_blank">we bought an RV</a>. <br />
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In typical Ragfield fashion, we invested almost no time planning the trip. I attempted to do some light planning, by downloading a course map from the race website, but I soon discovered that there <i><b>is</b></i> no publicly available course map. It's not on the website. Rob didn't seem concerned, and was like, <i>meh, we'll wing it</i>, but all of this stressed me out immensely.<br />
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We left almost a week before the race, with the idea that we'd meander south and west through Colorado and New Mexico <i>in the van</i> before showing up at Silverton. <br />
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Our first stop was the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/grsa/index.htm" target="_blank">Great Sand Dunes National Park</a>. Yes, these are the tallest sand dunes in North America, and they are right here in Colorado, at the base of the Sangre de Cristo mountains.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2dOe-pT0NRq0On9Y4ub__jfD9OyXfdJmouh6dGH5FtOgK-zhGAfW7GCm3X-flhM-qZrSr0jd8stFb1LBcKXof8N6r5mIzRbxiriy_58X8u7cqy9LTM9wdGUv7xjqe0x4byHwOcnJPLo/s1600/DSC05455_HDR_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf2dOe-pT0NRq0On9Y4ub__jfD9OyXfdJmouh6dGH5FtOgK-zhGAfW7GCm3X-flhM-qZrSr0jd8stFb1LBcKXof8N6r5mIzRbxiriy_58X8u7cqy9LTM9wdGUv7xjqe0x4byHwOcnJPLo/s400/DSC05455_HDR_edit.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob. You can always tell which photos are Rob's, because they are way better than any of mine.</td></tr>
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Because we arrived on a Sunday evening, we didn't have too much trouble getting a campsite. There was a trail right by the campground, and Rob said if I wanted to run, I could go ahead and do that while he and Will made dinner. I jumped at the chance and headed out onto the trail. <br />
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At first, it was perfect and beautiful.<br />
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But within maybe only a quarter mile or so, the trail became covered with deadfall and bordered a stream. Mosquitoes were rampant. I had to slow down to maneuver the fallen trees, and the mosquitoes took the opportunity to swarm into my ears and nose and eyes, and to suck my blood from every square inch of exposed skin. It was so terrible that I turned around and decided there had to be a better way. <br />
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I ran towards the dunes for a while and then ended up heading over to a rutted out, sandy jeep road, for a few miles. Not the best run of my life, but I knew on this trip, I'd have to take what I could get.<br />
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Unfortunately, after my run when I attempted to take a shower in the RV, we discovered that the water heater wasn't working, and we couldn't figure out why. Nothing like taking a cold shower as the sun goes down and the temperature drops 30 degrees. To say that I was annoyed would have been an understatement.<br />
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We did our best to look at the stars that night, but the mosquitoes were intent on biting us through our clothes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fqrRKMsdD3X0eJVeVI4n04acAUqG-YXS4Pio2LDmNIR40nimSUTlPbAkakDCP-xa5k-77CvDZE4qgrdDcS1hv9VqswE_3kiKn1uCy3L1eugiRKnaiVgaVys1IMoeWaMTvub8r9kOoWU/s1600/DSC05471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-fqrRKMsdD3X0eJVeVI4n04acAUqG-YXS4Pio2LDmNIR40nimSUTlPbAkakDCP-xa5k-77CvDZE4qgrdDcS1hv9VqswE_3kiKn1uCy3L1eugiRKnaiVgaVys1IMoeWaMTvub8r9kOoWU/s400/DSC05471.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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The next morning (Monday), Rob left to go run on the Mosca Pass Trail while I helped Will pursue a Junior Ranger badge. William was highly motivated to do this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I know it's not really Jakku, but I'm going to pretend it's Jakku."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndOBKG-HHSva5dHXmCL-QJ_AqAt0oXtktpkxcHWEgA3MuKHem1SMeprmdV315Oe1aCMnBJKkIo8CrJqkStkWuUyvJ1o2mjFxRTPhZLF17FDXrYmE63mdNAqyjCVOHrPMtYEqkaRYQo_M/s1600/IMG_1822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhndOBKG-HHSva5dHXmCL-QJ_AqAt0oXtktpkxcHWEgA3MuKHem1SMeprmdV315Oe1aCMnBJKkIo8CrJqkStkWuUyvJ1o2mjFxRTPhZLF17FDXrYmE63mdNAqyjCVOHrPMtYEqkaRYQo_M/s400/IMG_1822.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob.</td></tr>
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Rob returned from his run around lunchtime, and he was pretty enthused. He seemed to think that I would like the trail, and he told me that if I wanted to, I could go for it. Cold shower be damned, I knew I <i>had</i> to keep running on this trip whenever I had the chance. Hot, tired, and hungry, I set out for Mosca Pass. It was all uphill and rocky. It was also very windy. Especially in the places where the trail was narrow and steep, I wondered why on earth Rob would have thought I would even mildly enjoy this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It definitely felt like I was in the wilderness. Although I did see a couple of other hikers on the trail, there were a few times I got paranoid about bears and clapped my hands and sang a little so I wouldn't surprise one too much if it was out there.</td></tr>
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The uphill didn't bother me nearly as much as the rocks, so when the trail got more buffed out in a meadow-looking area, I was much happier.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still uphill at 9,000ft elevation, but yay for no more rocks to trip over!</td></tr>
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When I reached the top of Mosca Pass (at 9,750ft elevation), I felt somewhat victorious because so many of my recent wilderness runs (i.e., those in the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_2007356533"></span>Never Summer Mountains<span id="goog_2007356534"></span></a>) had resulted in me getting lost and not actually making it to my destination. But here I was, at Mosca Pass. I paused to survey my surroundings and proceeded to get eaten alive by mosquitoes. One of them even photobombed the selfie I took. It was clear that I needed to keep moving. All that was left for me to do was to turn around and head downhill. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mosca</i> means <i>fly</i> in Spanish, but it might as well mean <i>mosquito</i>.</td></tr>
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I did my best to stay upright during the rocky sections and enjoy the view.<br />
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When I made it back to Rob and Will in the camper, I took another brief and miserably cold shower (although since it was 90 degrees out, this shower wasn't nearly as miserable as the day before), and then we all hit the road.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I drove the RV for 19 whole miles on the highway. This included dodging a gopher, going downhill, negotiating a curve, and making a sudden left turn into a wide gravel area when Will announced he had to go to the bathroom, <i>now</i>.</td></tr>
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<i>Stay tuned for Part 2.</i><br />
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Thanks for reading.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-7676274749339007652016-07-12T07:30:00.000-06:002016-07-12T07:30:10.018-06:00Dear William (83 months)Dear William,<br />
Today you are 83 months old!<br />
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When we started off this month, we were on a camping trip in Gould, CO. You and I did the nature trail hike at Ranger Lakes again (we had done it together last year too).<br />
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You have continued playing baseball!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Rob</td></tr>
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You got inspired while watching Bob Ross on Netflix.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy little trees</td></tr>
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We took a very quick (yet long) trip back to IL when your great grandfather (daddy's grandpa) passed away. We picked up Cousin Tom in Boulder and he rode with us in the RV. You liked having him to talk to while we drove.<br />
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You continued running this month. It was one of the most profoundly sublime experiences of your life thus far to go to a Towers Time Trial on Thursday evening and run with run a little ways with daddy and his friends. At first it was very hard and you cried during the uphill. So we stopped and you and I hiked most of the time that they ran the 3 miles up the hill. We waited for them and then ran down the last mile together. You loved that so much.<br />
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You also ran a kid's race on the 4th of July. At first you were really excited, but right before the race started you got scared and wanted daddy to run with you. I was waiting at the finish line and didn't see you until near the end. You were red-lining it and nearly crying.<br />
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When you finished you collapsed into my arms, sobbing. I don't know why. I think it was because you were pushing it so hard that emotion just overcame you. I carried you to the grass and you asked me, "Did I win?" My heart sank. You had not won. You started the race waaaaaaay in the back of the pack, and even though a lot of the kids running were several years older than you, you caught up with them and picked them off one by one during the race. But still, there were about 20 kids or so ahead of you at of you at the finish. I told you that you were not the winner, and you said, "Did I get second or third then?" Oh dear. I told you that you had done very well and finished near the front of the pack (it was true, there were tons of kids in that race). You remained very glum until daddy's friend Steve (who had just run something like a 15 minute 5K with the elite runners) ran races with you and cheered you up with his antics.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdcWwQE3t6zQ3l09e6B5yxZLvefHm73xc9T-jJj7HFt_-2dt8MgYb1yZbwW0CjPyyLukcxTRgsu2hM-etmq_xMSNYJaDD9t1mBf0NYeRuMUxsFG9u-Z5TlCt-RjIUroiSYQDXwNg3OMo/s1600/Screen+Shot+2016-07-08+at+9.34.38+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUdcWwQE3t6zQ3l09e6B5yxZLvefHm73xc9T-jJj7HFt_-2dt8MgYb1yZbwW0CjPyyLukcxTRgsu2hM-etmq_xMSNYJaDD9t1mBf0NYeRuMUxsFG9u-Z5TlCt-RjIUroiSYQDXwNg3OMo/s400/Screen+Shot+2016-07-08+at+9.34.38+AM.png" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Rob. Steve is your fave. Also, when you saw this statue, you said, "I know that lady. She lives in You Nork."</td></tr>
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That evening we went to the fireworks at City Park.<br />
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This month you climbed Arthur's Rock with your dad while I got to run for several hours at Lory State Park. You loved it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photos by Rob</td></tr>
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I got my hair cut this month, and at first you didn't like it because it made me look less like Wonder Woman. But then you cheered up when you realized it made me look <i>more</i> like Joy from Inside Out. You said you think I should dye it blue.<br />
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You finished off the month with a 30-hour playdate with your BFF Liam. You two started playing in the morning, played all day, requested to have a slumber party that night, and then you went swimming with his family the next day. After only about 2 hours apart, Liam came to your baseball game that night. You just love Liam so much. And I love watching the two of you play and seeing how sweet you are together. You told me that before you went to sleep on the night of your slumber party, you asked Liam, "Do you love me?" and he told you, "Yes, I do." And you said, "Good, I love you too." I hope you two always stay that sweet.<br />
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Stay tuned for next month: You turn 7!!<br />
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Love you always,<br />
Mama<br />
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<br />Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-79395303392146546622016-07-06T22:44:00.000-06:002016-07-06T22:44:47.984-06:00June 2016 Miles: Train, Race, Beer (but not necessarily in that order) and getting lost in the Never Summer MountainsI don't often tweet my daily runs, nor do I accept friend requests on Strava (sorry: it's not you, it's me), but I assure you, I do train. And even though I like to do things under the radar, or on my own terms, I guess I still blog about it from time to time. So here we are.<br />
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The big event for June was the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/06/north-fork-50-life-is-hard-running-is.html" target="_blank">North Fork 50</a>, which took place right at the beginning of the month. This race was huge for me, an even huger deal than I realized when going into it. I'd never done a race with this much vertical or on trails that were this difficult. I'd also never run 50 miles so slowly, or so near to the back of the pack. It was weird and amazing and even though it was hard, I never panicked and I never threw up. Even when they were out of Coke at the last aid station (and Coke was all I wanted), I went with the flow, and drank some beer, and finished happy. This race included an entirely different set of things to be proud about, compared to the previous 11 ultras I've done.<br />
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After North Fork, I took 3 days off from running and then got back at it. Oh it was hard. Nothing hurt, per se. And although I was tired, it was something deeper than that. Bone marrow level exhaustion. Sleep didn't seem to help it. And I wasn't particularly sad, but I found myself spiraling into a vortex of post-ultra depression and intense feelings of self-worthlessness.<br />
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There was nothing to do but keep running. The weekend after the race, we took a camping trip to State Forest State Park near Gould, CO (one of our favorite places) in the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/06/dear-william-82-months.html" target="_blank">new RV</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-KifE3zFVhSaeigEE5xzBR2Pa7Co4RQS4u7xO2akmHync-O_o0VNFxosSPS0d-QafRUDPImMIEKRmTnONoWa64EFLC8tbLRNpJ1KHGh9l2UCpf2JuYuGscKoXSxcNEW0RDm3kZwOPfA/s1600/IMG_8288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-KifE3zFVhSaeigEE5xzBR2Pa7Co4RQS4u7xO2akmHync-O_o0VNFxosSPS0d-QafRUDPImMIEKRmTnONoWa64EFLC8tbLRNpJ1KHGh9l2UCpf2JuYuGscKoXSxcNEW0RDm3kZwOPfA/s400/IMG_8288.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I practiced driving a little bit.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRWQ2C3b3jfkbhSWNjQQ8kfFhUAXdxNpoxOi4BbjCtc4MvltPtaUZWBcb6EXS-wD4G0ErjnKlO5KI-zh-95ObscDgKd9fz03U_EZIEy3ibQ1WL1kalDZxGsU7kU7vFZYk2492yckqMvs/s1600/IMG_8266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqRWQ2C3b3jfkbhSWNjQQ8kfFhUAXdxNpoxOi4BbjCtc4MvltPtaUZWBcb6EXS-wD4G0ErjnKlO5KI-zh-95ObscDgKd9fz03U_EZIEy3ibQ1WL1kalDZxGsU7kU7vFZYk2492yckqMvs/s400/IMG_8266.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, I love this place.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Campfires have got to be just about my absolute favorite thing in the whole world.</td></tr>
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Rob got Saturday to run (actually he ran a race in Laramie "on the way" to Gould, but that is a whole 'nother story), and I woke up very early on Sunday morning to run. I had it in my head to try to make it to Clear Lake, which I had attempted once last summer and not been able to find. But I had a better understanding of the area now and was confident I would make it this time.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heck yeah, I'm going to Clear Lake.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you see that sign? It means that Clear Lake is straight ahead.</td></tr>
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I did not make it to Clear Lake. After running uphill for 5 miles, I was convinced that I had gone past the turn off for Clear Lake trail. I had thought it would only be about 6 miles from my starting point to Clear Lake, and after the turn off for Clear Lake trail, it was at least 2 more miles to the lake. If I'd already gone 5 miles and hadn't seen the turn off, then I <i>must</i> have gone past it. So I turned around and ran downhill, scanning for the turn off.<br />
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I never found it. I got back to the junction with Kelly Lake trail, feeling a bit disgruntled. I decided to go on Kelly Lake trail for a while, just to see what it was like. I knew I would not go all the way to Kelly Lake, because it was much farther away.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZIRUsqKwzz9LyMBhAgCQolCriBeNnlFvo0rsPIIkiMe1RQ5IhwoLYvVMh2s4bcf_2umPHD4N05YPfAbtYDqtKb3W10E-oyFww1i6jQ4s-m7Qq3EG2KYvETpF3D9DAlhAsnvAhRwbQew/s1600/IMG_8265.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZIRUsqKwzz9LyMBhAgCQolCriBeNnlFvo0rsPIIkiMe1RQ5IhwoLYvVMh2s4bcf_2umPHD4N05YPfAbtYDqtKb3W10E-oyFww1i6jQ4s-m7Qq3EG2KYvETpF3D9DAlhAsnvAhRwbQew/s400/IMG_8265.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kelly Lake Trail.</td></tr>
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The first mile or so of Kelly Lake Trail was completely deforested and exposed. I could see trees up ahead and kept going towards them. It was nicer running in the forest, but there were tons of downed trees. I mean, really massive trees that you couldn't get over, and you had to divert around them. It made the going really, really slow.<br />
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Eventually, I ran into snow, but it was only on the side of the trail at that elevation (probably somewhere between 9,000 and 10,000 feet).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Tct3uSXxrn3r2eiBMeRQInm77iKAOkCHCUO8MjfxeSS_XaFCXQXFWxIIjYpLWgmQTWEUsZMOoU_jTAUHOMW_ooxtQP6HdHZUDSmkLxZzeax0UfqgleKqoYTJEbbV2l1XH9jOyWBPG6g/s1600/IMG_8263.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Tct3uSXxrn3r2eiBMeRQInm77iKAOkCHCUO8MjfxeSS_XaFCXQXFWxIIjYpLWgmQTWEUsZMOoU_jTAUHOMW_ooxtQP6HdHZUDSmkLxZzeax0UfqgleKqoYTJEbbV2l1XH9jOyWBPG6g/s400/IMG_8263.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Oh and also there were stream crossings. Some of them were nice enough to have logs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eTKKt4STSwGeVZdjpP4BlRecFUT1nA28vBkqMJihAbH6Y7P-E4tMK5cvf9ZHZgjaU8-QoIIEDbAOpnJ6850TjiFzOCl5MXZIjzFyW0RVxTimbUIGyO3uBdAB02H3-eeIFxBGiauctJc/s1600/IMG_8291.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5eTKKt4STSwGeVZdjpP4BlRecFUT1nA28vBkqMJihAbH6Y7P-E4tMK5cvf9ZHZgjaU8-QoIIEDbAOpnJ6850TjiFzOCl5MXZIjzFyW0RVxTimbUIGyO3uBdAB02H3-eeIFxBGiauctJc/s400/IMG_8291.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I decided to turn around when I'd had enough of these downed trees whose width was taller than my height. I retraced the streams and kept going downhill. I thought, "Hm, the trail seems different than it did on the way up." I kept running and noticed some landmarks I definitely had not seen before. I became concerned.<br />
<br />
I became <i>really</i> concerned when all of a sudden the trail disappeared and I was knee deep in a swamp. <i>What on earth had happened</i>? I didn't remember there being multiple trails on the way up. Just the one trail. I didn't panic but turned around and retraced my steps back the way I came and made it to the last stream crossing. I had definitely been here before. Now, to find the correct way down.<br />
<br />
Still, there was just the one trail. Nothing else that even looked like a trail. So I went down it. And again, it disappeared and I ended up knee deep in the swamp.<br />
<br />
<i>What was going on</i>?<br />
<br />
At this point, I was very glad I had Rob's spot tracker with me. I pulled it out of my pack and tried to remember how to use it. I found a screen with my tracks on it, and this was extremely helpful. I could see that I was <i>parallel </i>to the trail I had come up several miles earlier. But looking out at the landscape, I could not see that trail anywhere. It wouldn't have been apparent to me if I hadn't had the spot tracker. So I held out the device and just walked through the swamp in the direction of my previous tracks.<br />
<br />
I didn't even know that Colorado had swamps, although I assume the deforestation in the area is what caused it. And I also had to assume that there aren't poisonous snakes in Colorado swamps, because otherwise, I would never have had the wherewithal to walk through it.<br />
<br />
At last, I got back to the real, actual trail. HALLELUJAH. I was saved.<br />
<br />
I guess I could have gone back up it to try to investigate what had happened and how I had ended up going the wrong way on the the way down. But I didn't want to mess with this precarious safety. I had found the trail, I just needed to hang onto it and not introduce any more risk into the run. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8-4F9CMIi34RJ6sZyXH14Ji-cA7ZiAzGrw2L90756amHOJrvDAJvfUh2gWVXmcaP2N6B1kfc3fyMScx0DYE2b_L0gRLgeXf5VFhf_zq9rkmpKftOw5GeT8P25iqLQ2kmdOX25lRzsHs/s1600/IMG_8271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8-4F9CMIi34RJ6sZyXH14Ji-cA7ZiAzGrw2L90756amHOJrvDAJvfUh2gWVXmcaP2N6B1kfc3fyMScx0DYE2b_L0gRLgeXf5VFhf_zq9rkmpKftOw5GeT8P25iqLQ2kmdOX25lRzsHs/s400/IMG_8271.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I still have no idea what happened. Whatever it was, was incredibly stupid of me. I am so glad I had the Delorme with me, because without it, I am honestly not sure how I would have found my way back down to the campsite.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1FBQKTB-w3FgSQhdbsqcvjj9o-jHd8-gxP6wDOanpTMQztFJuIrWtjnCOjjEwOtiUcKw1GAP-iWNAS-lzmvPHDMaafNBzNEwg_Hh86BZf_LG4s2mxKSILocW9iDOZVcGRGxEUhsmpqI/s1600/IMG_8293.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1FBQKTB-w3FgSQhdbsqcvjj9o-jHd8-gxP6wDOanpTMQztFJuIrWtjnCOjjEwOtiUcKw1GAP-iWNAS-lzmvPHDMaafNBzNEwg_Hh86BZf_LG4s2mxKSILocW9iDOZVcGRGxEUhsmpqI/s400/IMG_8293.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heck yeah, shower and coffee and making it back alive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This run was crazy and a failure in many ways (i.e., not making it to my Clear Lake, getting lost in the wilderness), but I think it was the exact thing I needed. Alone in the Never Summer Mountains. Finding my way. On some trails that were as technical as hell. And perhaps most importantly, the run was 12.7 miles long. It was just one week after the North Fork 50, and I'd managed to go that far. I know it doesn't sound like much, but often I struggle to do a double digit run after an ultra. Sometimes, it can take me months. And here I had done it, mission accomplished.</div>
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We ended up going back to Gould the following weekend. Rob and a friend were running a race in Steamboat Springs, and then a bunch of people were meeting at State Forest State Park to camp after that. Rob was planning on running with a friend to do some course reconnaissance for the Never Summer 100K on Sunday morning.</div>
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We got to Gould early Saturday afternoon. It was probably close to 90 degrees and cloudless at 9,000ft elevation. Heck yeah, heat training. Clear Lake: here I come.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshM5-t-n-hforTVCvdOxRD2fpRrE7vwtNaSqlBtw_vc2TBh7_VpK4qY2S7Ft4R8zSkwognCDN_TqkiKE1p4CpIlHPa9yBz7qL3Wm490jiVniHANdLFqcphhjR3BF_PoD07MutYIQDMR4/s1600/IMG_8339.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgshM5-t-n-hforTVCvdOxRD2fpRrE7vwtNaSqlBtw_vc2TBh7_VpK4qY2S7Ft4R8zSkwognCDN_TqkiKE1p4CpIlHPa9yBz7qL3Wm490jiVniHANdLFqcphhjR3BF_PoD07MutYIQDMR4/s400/IMG_8339.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I got to run with a new friend for the first mile or so, and that was great. But then she turned around and I was on my own. </div>
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I had studied the map more carefully and realized that last time I had underestimated the distance to Clear Lake. So this time at the 5 mile mark, I kept going. At the 5.1 mile mark, I found the trail to Clear Lake.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPW2LXPO51p4NS8IaNg5fAHWce2It9bvrDPgtgc7GOt5uP5oq99-4hhhC_cfI32YyADQkGL8yfVpu5_N4eMx72sKJphXBVW33PJJobSj9rjR4ybg2tirgGpSYlJ1o-U9ilyxyZYowatQw/s1600/IMG_8342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPW2LXPO51p4NS8IaNg5fAHWce2It9bvrDPgtgc7GOt5uP5oq99-4hhhC_cfI32YyADQkGL8yfVpu5_N4eMx72sKJphXBVW33PJJobSj9rjR4ybg2tirgGpSYlJ1o-U9ilyxyZYowatQw/s400/IMG_8342.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only I had kept going for 1/10th of a mile farther last time, I would have seen this sign! </td></tr>
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I thought I was totally golden now that I had actually found the trail to Clear Lake. Nothing would stop me now!! All I had to do was follow it and <i>bam</i>, I'd be there.</div>
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But holy hell, Clear Lake Trail was technical. As I attempted to run up it (my pace more of a slow crawl) I wondered why on earth Rob had not told me that this trail was way beyond my capabilities. I calculated the amount of daylight and water I had left. I still thought for sure I would make it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN-Uoc9TQFEcgN6UxkIjkhP5ANoMymFQFES16s5zvqn_Zumw4q6qHyUgjNmFQPdQNerDAQnoPxWDauGr3354T2Anvoop3bTWnGaHUNore2NQxlJU1aCNqvH4P-2BKPxtZnpFQLrGc5BI/s1600/IMG_8343.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN-Uoc9TQFEcgN6UxkIjkhP5ANoMymFQFES16s5zvqn_Zumw4q6qHyUgjNmFQPdQNerDAQnoPxWDauGr3354T2Anvoop3bTWnGaHUNore2NQxlJU1aCNqvH4P-2BKPxtZnpFQLrGc5BI/s400/IMG_8343.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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There had been downed trees and stream crossings on the Kelly Lake Trail the previous weekend, but both of these things seemed to be several orders of magnitude more extreme on the Clear Lake Trail.</div>
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Some of the streams were above my knees and were wide enough and rushing so fast it looked like they had honest-to-god rapids. I wondered if it was actually safe to try to cross them without a rope or something. I did my best to cross them as safely as possible (it turned out to be totally fine, I guess), and I also took advantage of the ice cold water to soak my body and cool down.</div>
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Eventually I came out to a sight that looked like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYfbt3d9zwRKwnXTcPql0Qa9rlNRP4TH6Vhpj8sp-wr88V0JkoWvtIyVV6bNp0J5mSSComFraWlmCfOVfsQCvFCBATjppfyd_MyyGoTD3JIq3vpb_6SKY8RkRWIPpSmik_sgPS1MpJfc/s1600/IMG_8344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVYfbt3d9zwRKwnXTcPql0Qa9rlNRP4TH6Vhpj8sp-wr88V0JkoWvtIyVV6bNp0J5mSSComFraWlmCfOVfsQCvFCBATjppfyd_MyyGoTD3JIq3vpb_6SKY8RkRWIPpSmik_sgPS1MpJfc/s400/IMG_8344.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8f_2i23KTY9tVcq59pQIF-N3-kCm6R3xaF49KE7IMbTEOhLhDl_8kLv4L7Pe6e9eZHuDWipQMsqLXpvlHZJ86vQ6yGM144z_OgLXa0H9vkavDk6ROgbtYu7iq2VhKTPriGN3ERscScLY/s1600/IMG_8369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8f_2i23KTY9tVcq59pQIF-N3-kCm6R3xaF49KE7IMbTEOhLhDl_8kLv4L7Pe6e9eZHuDWipQMsqLXpvlHZJ86vQ6yGM144z_OgLXa0H9vkavDk6ROgbtYu7iq2VhKTPriGN3ERscScLY/s400/IMG_8369.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The mountains were huge, wild, beautiful, and all around me. The trail was a mere suggestion at this point. A couple of times already, I'd had to guess what was the trail (as opposed to not-trail) after a stream crossing. Each time I eventually came out to something that looked like a trail and kept going.<br />
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Once I got to the mountains, I also got to snow (not pictured). I was now above 10,000 feet. The snow wasn't super difficult to maneuver through, but it was deep. There was really no way to tell where the trail was, because everything was covered in snow.<br />
<br />
I wasn't scared. But I mean...it was kind of overwhelming or awe inspiring and possibly even brought tears to my eyes to be so far out into the wilderness and all alone. I had gone 7.25 miles, and I knew Clear Lake couldn't be more than a quarter mile away. Okay, maybe a half a mile. Seriously, probably just beyond the ridge. Even though I couldn't see the trail, I reasoned, I am in deep snow. I can keep going up, and there is no way I can get lost because I will be able to see my footprints on the way down. I can follow them all the way back until I get to the trail.<br />
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I decided just to be safe, I'd see if I could bring up my GPS points on the Garmin and compare that with Rob's good map I'd brought with me. That would verify how close I was to the lake, and what was the most direct route to the lake. I messed around with the watch and came to a screen with GPS information. I got out the map. And according to these points, I was... on the <i>other</i> side of this mountain range?! No way. No possible way. I mean, I would have noticed it if I had climbed over the top of a mountain, descended to the other side, and then continued going for several miles. Something had to be wrong with the map, or the GPS points, or both.<br />
<br />
But still. If I actually <i>was</i> where these GPS points indicated, then I was in serious trouble.<br />
<br />
I turned around and began to go back down through the snow, making my way to the trail. I needed to get back to the campsite before dark, and before I ran out of water.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mJpsVwCVFBsaBcPnlyuH4331nI3R89GwIVw6XnlnBYPyfKo7Qgc_-cjz3il-6qAAeedwlNfB0tg0e7aNK2vfn6qAntnUuJ7fhb7RRCwzEGMWM1M7TQSG0C_G5D8QaRuO2rU086zKNNI/s1600/IMG_8347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_mJpsVwCVFBsaBcPnlyuH4331nI3R89GwIVw6XnlnBYPyfKo7Qgc_-cjz3il-6qAAeedwlNfB0tg0e7aNK2vfn6qAntnUuJ7fhb7RRCwzEGMWM1M7TQSG0C_G5D8QaRuO2rU086zKNNI/s400/IMG_8347.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were places where the stream and the trail were one and the same.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I picked my way back through the dodgy stream (i.e., river) crossings, steep spots, and multitudes of gigantic downed trees. At one point, I saw a trail blaze that had a marking of some kind of animal print, and I thought, <i>that's odd...I didn't see that on the way up</i>. Which sort of made sense because I wouldn't have seen that going in the opposite direction. I'm not sure how much time or distance passed, but I saw another of these, and it just started to bother me that there had been no trail blazes visible on the way up, but now here they were on the way down. Last week's misadventure on Kelly Lake Trail came back to haunt me and I thought, <i>good lord, am I on the right trail</i>? All the landmarks seemed familiar, so I really had no reason to doubt myself (other than the mysterious trail blazes), but I got out the spot tracker and looked at the screen that showed my path on the way up. Yep, nothing to worry about here. I was heading down the exact same way.<br />
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Eventually, I made it back to the intersection with the main trail--less disappointed about my failure to reach Clear Lake than I was amazed that I'd managed to stay upright on this technical-as-hell trail--and I knew it was just 5 relatively smooth downhill miles back to the campsite, Rob and Will, and all our friends.<br />
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My water situation wasn't great-- what little water I had left was so hot it was practically boiling. Whenever I took a drink, I made myself hold it in my mouth for as long as possible without swallowing, just to eke out as much hydration as I could from every tiny swallow. With a mile left to go, I let myself finish my meager reserve, and I coasted back to the campground in a fairly severe state of dehydration.<br />
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It had taken me 4 hours to cover 15 miles in the Never Summer Mountains, where I had ranged from blisteringly hot to knee deep in snow. I had drank about 65 ounces of fluid (only 20 of these were electrolyte) and consumed no calories aside from the 8 in my Nuun tablet. This had been incredibly stupid. And yet. I had stopped short of being even more stupid by trying to continue to Clear Lake which would have resulted in either getting lost, or running out of water far earlier on the way back down. <br />
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Our friends at the campsite practically cheered for me when they saw me come in, and even the gnarliest ultra runners expressed admiration that I'd been out there for so long in such intense heat. Rob's friend handed me a cold beer (it was a saison...4.5% ABV), which was the <i>exact</i> thing I needed at that moment, and I headed to the RV to shower. Rob made pearled cous cous on the stove, and then we roasted vegan hot dogs on the community campfire we'd all built.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSTpjUyS4u9wLkT-0fMs2rQ9FIAFZGD0UpkActwTQ9nFvOAJoxqxofVGsDVVIv9gA7kNJHOLdTmBPr1GR7yVxtwEVbjrjTAtLrjd2-eVEgGemaB5IsAUsDS6akZ2TTUxJqwRwRZXI8tA/s1600/IMG_8354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSTpjUyS4u9wLkT-0fMs2rQ9FIAFZGD0UpkActwTQ9nFvOAJoxqxofVGsDVVIv9gA7kNJHOLdTmBPr1GR7yVxtwEVbjrjTAtLrjd2-eVEgGemaB5IsAUsDS6akZ2TTUxJqwRwRZXI8tA/s400/IMG_8354.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bought vegan hot dogs before we left home but forgot to pack them. When we got to Steamboat Springs for Rob's race on Saturday, I thought, "They'll have vegan hot dogs in Steamboat Springs," and they did. </td></tr>
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Will and some of the other kids and our friends spent the evening running races around the campground. Then we made S'mores and looked at the stars, and we all stayed up way too late. It was the best night ever.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOve-tsJEFImnRxXYQmUm88fNSVz4P1bUVKjqkgptlRbrb2FiAMuzHEtxDNblfOqgBR91Avmtdd6e9PlT528dsxXAUrcyjPcJMwntby06LxqLExtW5ahByAX_EaY7YovuEVixrTa_jUc/s1600/IMG_8358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXOve-tsJEFImnRxXYQmUm88fNSVz4P1bUVKjqkgptlRbrb2FiAMuzHEtxDNblfOqgBR91Avmtdd6e9PlT528dsxXAUrcyjPcJMwntby06LxqLExtW5ahByAX_EaY7YovuEVixrTa_jUc/s400/IMG_8358.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicWfW83cqbDvQLDOon3bv-E8qmXzWFSgi6ntrADQ2QYOXP3JJsur7VMy7_oSAFf6pcZplUp8RCXohyphenhyphenIki1-DrCJzDZ46WYbQsRdM7ZkUprX5Lj69Nld6cem-ok1ljaGzjMHnRDmDMsTm8/s1600/IMG_8367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicWfW83cqbDvQLDOon3bv-E8qmXzWFSgi6ntrADQ2QYOXP3JJsur7VMy7_oSAFf6pcZplUp8RCXohyphenhyphenIki1-DrCJzDZ46WYbQsRdM7ZkUprX5Lj69Nld6cem-ok1ljaGzjMHnRDmDMsTm8/s400/IMG_8367.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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When we got home the next day, I looked at my data from the run and saw how agonizingly close I'd been to Clear Lake. But still, I can't feel to sad about it. I think I made the right call to turn around. I'd talked with a park ranger on Sunday morning, and I think he said that there had been two groups of hikers already lost on the Clear Lake Trail this season. It didn't sound like anybody had been able to make it all the way to the lake so far. I don't feel as bad, knowing that it is genuinely difficult. Maybe we'll go back sometime this summer, and I will finally get there.<br />
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Before the month of June ended, I got to have one more running adventure when ultraordinary pal <a href="https://twitter.com/angelmurf" target="_blank">@angelmurf </a>and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/runhozho74/" target="_blank">@runhozo74</a> both came to town! We met up at Horsetooth Mountain trailhead and ran for the beautiful views on Southridge trail. Our time went by so fast. Hope someday soon we can all meet again.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW67q_wjhLdUDtNmlkKdBijI9gCzWAcz1gMPOZJdCNrO9KDXZbOXTbF4U7hQWnXl76MO96vL1c4bIDECbkSVuhaUoswJMBe8kuAKJA02cFmP-ufHXQ3iQ9a4LupXoNO25Ja-be6jGXnk4/s1600/IMG_8374.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW67q_wjhLdUDtNmlkKdBijI9gCzWAcz1gMPOZJdCNrO9KDXZbOXTbF4U7hQWnXl76MO96vL1c4bIDECbkSVuhaUoswJMBe8kuAKJA02cFmP-ufHXQ3iQ9a4LupXoNO25Ja-be6jGXnk4/s400/IMG_8374.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3yzcQLSRxSomdTEh1bRcJxCq17jTfJf30fTSEAHqrbwpvxiB5pWO98tNoUgl6b1xmBtlJWHzfBjQjh0qhtxXbrkpVXPZ_E0bZ7YPO8tlc9Can8h22S_OD2Q7tNhV9Lb03LzdCdiF0-U/s1600/IMG_8377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-3yzcQLSRxSomdTEh1bRcJxCq17jTfJf30fTSEAHqrbwpvxiB5pWO98tNoUgl6b1xmBtlJWHzfBjQjh0qhtxXbrkpVXPZ_E0bZ7YPO8tlc9Can8h22S_OD2Q7tNhV9Lb03LzdCdiF0-U/s400/IMG_8377.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angela and I wear the same shoes.</td></tr>
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I finished up June with 161 miles, which gave me something like 879 for the year so far. I am way above what I was at this point last year, or even the year before. It feels so good not to be fighting injury, for the first time in forever. I'm going to hang onto this for as long as I can.</div>
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Thanks for reading.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I still don't like Strava. Honestly I think I'd just prefer an Excel spreadsheet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-mespHUXvSlGCuTS5a1u7GpcFZi7PGGHRK1951CGiM-ejsLDsCIDVURXrDCOLOKmHUjmjZUMsM5bjwba_TBVHho4L1REAS2iItgetyu3ag0FgI_TMHwDINTI5qU6j0th4iryBS_zE3U/s1600/IMG_8364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-mespHUXvSlGCuTS5a1u7GpcFZi7PGGHRK1951CGiM-ejsLDsCIDVURXrDCOLOKmHUjmjZUMsM5bjwba_TBVHho4L1REAS2iItgetyu3ag0FgI_TMHwDINTI5qU6j0th4iryBS_zE3U/s400/IMG_8364.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His and Hers Altras.</td></tr>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4066108016896383194.post-60039391697208596432016-06-13T16:12:00.000-06:002016-06-14T10:47:05.988-06:00Dear William (82 months)Dear William,<br />
Yesterday you were 82 months old!!<br />
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This past month you watched your father race the Quad Rock 25.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-S79yPG_ETDZhlNjmBT9Y4nYzRBn7-Zse80OfyKnzaugyhQ3zYTfzBcuOth-GNdth3zsiU12udOyc1aboJWuiRXYKBJH_WnXGnZbkXEWAHNmgM7NoUmElL1Lnkv1cQt0PJUKa-r83bU/s1600/IMG_7925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7-S79yPG_ETDZhlNjmBT9Y4nYzRBn7-Zse80OfyKnzaugyhQ3zYTfzBcuOth-GNdth3zsiU12udOyc1aboJWuiRXYKBJH_WnXGnZbkXEWAHNmgM7NoUmElL1Lnkv1cQt0PJUKa-r83bU/s400/IMG_7925.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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You summited Horsetooth Mountain for the first time in your life. You were so brave! You didn't complain on the long hike up the trail, and you weren't even scared a little bit once we began the climbing. You just scrambled straight up the rock. You loved it. I was so proud of you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCNoR41hgHJlz7Ksm9hUY4Euy1lgjOoZal088BgzBeAWwKn6_rWN484J7rhyphenhyphen_DbeFs6kA6b2CJHAu9S1Gywg4SriGQUxQVwncTBIIj0abkD-Wfs5LrTYqCvVosJO2zTEKQ8nbJKiad50/s1600/IMG_8051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbCNoR41hgHJlz7Ksm9hUY4Euy1lgjOoZal088BgzBeAWwKn6_rWN484J7rhyphenhyphen_DbeFs6kA6b2CJHAu9S1Gywg4SriGQUxQVwncTBIIj0abkD-Wfs5LrTYqCvVosJO2zTEKQ8nbJKiad50/s400/IMG_8051.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Shortly after summiting Horsetooth Rock, you finished 1st grade!!<br />
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You decided that since it was summer vacation, you weren't going to wear a shirt anymore.</div>
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Except that you do still wear clothes so long as they are costumes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPx-3j0_56x0YUKk4v-GuTAz6TmQyzCkevrE2TZ4NIMeTfch1UxpmptKmBUt0sVWMo5DCm5pimjSyudvBaEom5ZoyoCANPor1vcHEHV0MeA1Mh3c4Rp-vVj6IoJ7AC8HPUgLwjV-Noz5o/s1600/IMG_8111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPx-3j0_56x0YUKk4v-GuTAz6TmQyzCkevrE2TZ4NIMeTfch1UxpmptKmBUt0sVWMo5DCm5pimjSyudvBaEom5ZoyoCANPor1vcHEHV0MeA1Mh3c4Rp-vVj6IoJ7AC8HPUgLwjV-Noz5o/s400/IMG_8111.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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And if they are baseball uniforms. You started playing baseball this month! You seem to like it. If you can hit the ball and kids behind you don't strike out, you will score a run for your team, because you can <i>run</i>. In fact, you scored the very first run for your team during your very first game. We were all very proud of you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPC3oYAvlRw_vfkCcZuMkp7SyAvnS2cmpB7cpJKtxIhEKrjDx1wfErtDsF_1dSV6Dc5bQh8guGQq1v1G2sysicbZWLFY75H0EU-5jatsDdyN96xjaLPHFMGx3BYBss7zeB6T_Szievg0/s1600/IMG_8079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlPC3oYAvlRw_vfkCcZuMkp7SyAvnS2cmpB7cpJKtxIhEKrjDx1wfErtDsF_1dSV6Dc5bQh8guGQq1v1G2sysicbZWLFY75H0EU-5jatsDdyN96xjaLPHFMGx3BYBss7zeB6T_Szievg0/s400/IMG_8079.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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In addition to baseball, you are also taking swimming lessons this summer, and you <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/05/dear-william-81-months.html" target="_blank">continue to train for The Barkley</a>. We got you a pair of proper trail running shoes-- your first pair of Salomons.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good outsoles are important for running on trails.</td></tr>
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Just after Memorial Day weekend, we loaded up the camping equipment and headed to New Mexico.</div>
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After one last night of tent camping, we traded in Daddy's station wagon and bought an RV.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saying goodbye to your dad's station wagon.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsARiTeiG5R1yc5WlZ_UN0G7Xw0OGZZl5ey5fpLzRP3PXhnRxjd0NTEj-x7UVD1cuJxgFjTh8E2a6gzImb2o7arwe1lcc0DzstIfW-ZI95ttFBAyAgf_wA_pdz7IlepuTTpuA248slE94/s1600/IMG_8156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsARiTeiG5R1yc5WlZ_UN0G7Xw0OGZZl5ey5fpLzRP3PXhnRxjd0NTEj-x7UVD1cuJxgFjTh8E2a6gzImb2o7arwe1lcc0DzstIfW-ZI95ttFBAyAgf_wA_pdz7IlepuTTpuA248slE94/s400/IMG_8156.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first night camping in the RV, on our way home from New Mexico. </td></tr>
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So far you love having the RV!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8r0icoTFgsrkzWX0v0exZDCFWyHVby_cx_E6ym_9jbqLJEoOOLeMN2nXNXLioXGLc1uXQXmb1weFkoQsDd3DmVo7xo6BjRA2T-LkPVlHAq8aUQqx__mPjR9xkvwQVR3pOpTlDYVCugM/s1600/IMG_8157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8r0icoTFgsrkzWX0v0exZDCFWyHVby_cx_E6ym_9jbqLJEoOOLeMN2nXNXLioXGLc1uXQXmb1weFkoQsDd3DmVo7xo6BjRA2T-LkPVlHAq8aUQqx__mPjR9xkvwQVR3pOpTlDYVCugM/s400/IMG_8157.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Shortly after we got home, we left again for another trip, where mama ran the <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2016/06/north-fork-50-life-is-hard-running-is.html" target="_blank">North Fork 50</a>. You and daddy drove around in the RV and met me at the aid stations. It was a long day for everybody! Having the camper made it a lot more comfortable.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCFWD5FmEYt4MlHNh_gNSA9S_4aiMld-NVBEjPKzCGXGNGiU6zdEsCOfGDXDp4ehqotIN_lCraJRFoMmLhMULsBgOwr8lcMdZCl-g3mb32aVTbxCfHcTPIYTp_xg_7Q1xmQV0U-pYUT0/s1600/IMG_8176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCFWD5FmEYt4MlHNh_gNSA9S_4aiMld-NVBEjPKzCGXGNGiU6zdEsCOfGDXDp4ehqotIN_lCraJRFoMmLhMULsBgOwr8lcMdZCl-g3mb32aVTbxCfHcTPIYTp_xg_7Q1xmQV0U-pYUT0/s400/IMG_8176.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daddy cooked us dinner the night before the race.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race vegan marshmallow roasting.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The morning after the race at our campsite. Photo by @ragfield.</td></tr>
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You also asked me to give you a haircut this month. You said you were tired of your hair looking wild, and you didn't want the neighbors to see you like that when you were outside jumping on your trampoline. You asked me to cut the back short but leave the top a little bit long. You were really pleased with the results. I told you I thought your new haircut made you look like a fourth grader.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNnwzdAJOAfY91D1PHBhz3BceBwkH5uts-dXfTMPeASpN2uWbvC8T4_slXLt3b2CP_N6LJZgpqSb8Vr2W4b3OqnnBDV-jFUGFEdx_PJkoGqlZGeQLif7UCoRxKFRXcQODk4pgL0qepOg/s1600/IMG_8196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWNnwzdAJOAfY91D1PHBhz3BceBwkH5uts-dXfTMPeASpN2uWbvC8T4_slXLt3b2CP_N6LJZgpqSb8Vr2W4b3OqnnBDV-jFUGFEdx_PJkoGqlZGeQLif7UCoRxKFRXcQODk4pgL0qepOg/s400/IMG_8196.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aren't you a handsome young man.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2nd grader, or 4th grader? In the doorway of the RV.</td></tr>
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We finished off the month with another camping trip to one of our favorite places in Colorado (and maybe the world)-- <a href="http://www.clothmother.com/2015/06/gould.html" target="_blank">State Forest State Park near Gould.</a> That's why I'm late writing this post. We just got home last night.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking at Ranger Lakes. Nokhu Crags in the background.</td></tr>
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William, I am so proud of you for being so brave and strong and kind. You will still stop what you are doing at certain intervals and come find me for a hug. Your only complaint about the new camper is that you sleep so far away from us, compared to how we used to camp, all sleeping close together. Whenever you have a bad dream at night though, whether at camping or at home, you always come in for a cuddle. You tell me every day that you think I am the best mom in the world and that daddy is the best dad. And I tell you that you are the best kid. You really are. I am so, so lucky to be your mom. Stay gold, Ponyboy.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">State Forest State Park. Photo by @ragfield</td></tr>
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Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11802460524219101589noreply@blogger.com3