Water and Woods

Remembering my grandpa

2010-09-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

My grandpa was not the easiest man to get along with.
In fact, he could be a bit of a curmudgeon.
But we loved him for it.
Grandpa Gordon was fiercely opinionated, political, independent, and a bit anti-social. When he moved into University House in Wallingford after the death of my grandma, my mother encouraged him to join groups or try some new activities. “Holly, I am not a joiner,” he firmly told her.
By chance, my good friend Dan’s grandparents happened to live right next door to him at the senior living community. When Dan’s grandpa heard about the connection, he remarked to Dan, “Gordon Roberts? He’s not someone I’d have wanted to run into in a dark alley in his younger days.” Yep, I told Dan. That’s my grandpa.
But the gruff exterior merely masked a loving, strong man who learned to rely on himself early in life. I first began to really understand my grandpa in high school, when I chose him as my interview subject for an oral history project.
I’d never talked to my grandpa at length about his life before. When my sister, cousins and I spent summer weeks at their beach house on Appletree Lane, Grandma June played hostess. We sat with her at the dining room table, sipping Russian tea, eating bran muffins, and talking all about our lives. Grandpa retreated to his study upstairs. We accepted his solitary ways. Grandma was the social one; Grandpa was not.
But through hours of interviewing, I came to understand why he was the way he was. He’d left home in Wisconsin at age 13 because of an unhappy family life, and caught a freight train out to Seattle. As a young teenager, he found his own place downtown and a job to support himself. By necessity, he became tough.
At age 18, my grandpa married my grandmother, who he’d met in junior high school in Wisconsin. She took a job in Seattle supporting the war effort and he enlisted for the U.S. Marines.
The military branch seemed an odd choice, as my grandpa couldn’t swim and was terrified of the water. But, as he later explained, the Marines were the best. He wanted to be the best.
Though my grandpa was supposed to swim the long length of a pool to pass the Marines’ entry test, his swim instructor gave up on him and let him get away with just the short length. That was good enough for an assignment in the Pacific during World War II, where thankfully the worst injury he encountered was a crab bite.
During the war, my grandpa decided he wanted to obtain his high school diploma, go to college, and become a teacher. After taking the GED exam, he was instructed to carry his results by train to the test processing office. Don’t peek, they told him. Of course he did. The score was so high, it buoyed him with the confidence that he could do anything he wanted.
And he did. He went to college and became a community college high school math teacher. The profession suited him. On family camping trips to Kalaloch on the Washington coast, he made his four children count logging trucks by prime numbers. He loved mathematics, and he loved teaching.

The teaching track made both my grandpa and grandma – also a teacher – staunch supporters of education. They attended every graduation in our family, even flying down to Stanford for my scorching hot graduation day. They supported all of their grandchildren financially during school. Growing up, I never doubted the importance of a college degree.
If there was one thing my grandpa really understood, it was finances. Though he and my grandma made modest salaries as teachers, his skill in investing earned them a comfortable retirement. My grandpa shared financial planning tips with any of us who acted eager to listen. Though he treated himself with a Lexus and a waterfront home, my grandpa remained a child of the Depression, clipping coupons and washing out his plastic bags.
My grandpa also never hesitated to share his opinions. A staunch Democrat, he railed against conservatives and their agenda. He loved to debate, even on topics that would affect him very little, such as the replacement of the Alaskan Way Viaduct. Up until recent months, when his energy lagged, my grandpa often sent me emails on news topics. He told me, “look for story in A19,” even though I’d long ago switched to reading the paper online.
He remarked often how happy it made him that I’d become interested in politics. Some of the causes I care about – abortion rights and women’s rights – were the ones Grandma June fought so hard for, he told me. He said, with tears in his eyes, that I was carrying on her legacy.
He also didn’t care much for religion. When we said the pledge of allegiance at any event, he omitted the phrase “under God,” and then told anyone willing to listen about how that part was never a part of the original pledge, and was added by politicians in the 50s.
My grandpa became an atheist, he told me, after my grandma gave birth to a stillborn baby girl. No god would wish that upon someone, he said. After his diagnosis with esophageal cancer two years ago, I asked him if he thought he’d see my grandma after he died. She’d passed away five years ago of Parkinson’s.
Of course not, he responded. Heaven is something people make up to make themselves feel better about dying.

The doctors gave him less than a year to live. He beat the predictions, surviving a full two. It hurt to watch his pain at the end. Esophageal cancer is a nasty disease. Eating and swallowing becomes so unbearable, patients often die of starvation.
In my last real conversation with him, just a week ago, he could barely eat and talked in a low croak. But his mind was still there. An intellectual till the end, he wanted to discuss the life of Girl With the Dragon Tattoo author Stieg Larsson.
His body’s eventual inability to function frustrated him greatly. My grandpa worried about how much he hadn’t gotten done. There were books to sort, files to go through, genealogy research to complete. We told him not to worry. He did.
Last night, hours before he died, he scribbled out a note. It was about his Comcast bill. My grandpa, responsible till the end.

White River

2010-08-05T17:58:00.000-07:00

The photo (by Glenn Tachiyama, taken at mile 16.9 at Corral Pass) says it all. White River is a must for any Pacific Northwest trail runner!

One year later

2010-05-04T18:05:00.000-07:00

One year ago, I was laid off from the Puget Sound Business Journal.
And what a past year it has been.
I decided to write this blog entry after I ran into a fellow former employee at the gym and we mused about an Essential Bakery reunion -- the spot we'd all met up at right after the lay offs. We both said, wow, has it really been a year already?
It has been, by far, the most interesting, unusual, and unstable career year since I left journalism graduate school in 2002. For the most part, that's a very good thing.
I'd been at the PSBJ seven years, which was about two years too long. I'm someone who craves variety and new challenges, and it really was time to do something new.
Something new ended up being a completely different industry. After a summer of running, biking, and simply enjoying a break from the office routine...

...I joined a small, fast growing board game company in Fremont. My connection with them had nothing to do with any board game industry experience. I row with a documentary filmmaker who shares office space (and a business partnership) with the board game company's CEO. When I stopped by to talk about future writing work for a documentary film project, the CEO and I re-connected. I'd interviewed him for the newspaper four or five years earlier, when the company was just beginning. If there's one gift the PSBJ gave me, it was a wide network of contacts. When you interview people in the Seattle business community for seven straight years, you meet a lot of new people.
I ended up signing on to write board game questions and temporarily fill in for their PR head, who was gone on maternity leave. For the next four months, I saw firsthand the creative, chaotic, and occasionally dysfunctional nature of a board game company. I traveled to New York to hang with board game partners Daryl Hannah and Hilary Shepard, who created a game together while bored on vacation in the Caribbean. The best part of the entire four months was helping create a Saturday Night Live game from scratch. Sitting in Lorne Michaels' office with the SNL writing team was a very, very cool moment.

The photo above is Daryl Hannnah being interviewed on the TODAY show in NYC

Once the PR head returned in early December, my full time gig ended. I continued to write board game questions on a contract basis (I know far too much about the MGM movie library) and started exploring other writing opportunities.
Trying to write what I really want to write has been amazingly energizing. It's easy to become complacent when you are tied to a job with benefits and regular paychecks.
Once you don't have that, it's time to experiment.
I'm working on a nonfiction book proposal on the psychology of extreme endurance athletics. I want to answer the question of, what drives people to do these things?
I'm working with an agent in New York who is interested in the idea but continues to suggest slightly different angles, so we've been going back and forth with a longer and longer book proposal.
Right now, I'm gathering more information for the science side of the book. (I also want to feature individual athletes with interesting stories, but I already much more detail for that side of the book.)
This week, I've been interviewing scientists on various aspects of endurance sports psychology. I talked to a researcher who studied hamsters given the choice of alcohol or water. 80 percent of the time, they chose alcohol -- until they were given a wheel and the chance to run. At that point, they abandoned the alcohol and began running all day. I find the addiction element of extreme endurance sports very interesting, and plan to write a future blog entry on that topic.

I'm getting the chance to try out freelance writing. I'll be writing a feature story about a local climber for a summer issue of the Seattle Times' Sunday Magazine, Pacific Northwest. I'm traveling to the TransRockies Run in August to cover the week-long stage race, which takes place in the Colorado Rockies. I'm pitching new ideas constantly. It's a welcome change of pace from business writing.

When I'm not working on my own projects, I'm blogging for the Washington News Council each week on media issues. (see www.wanewscouncil.org/blog/) The nonprofit received a Gates grant to embark upon new initiatives, and director John Hamer decided they should have more of an online presence. We launched the blog recently and are continuing to develop it. This week, I'm contacting journalists who have moved into other careers to see how they are enjoying their new paths, and whether they miss the newsroom. So far, the findings have been really interesting.
I'm also taking on corporate writing gigs to pay the bills and stretch my writing mind in a new angle. I just finished a case study for a Bellevue tech firm and I'm seeking out other similar jobs. Case studies, in many ways, aren't all that different from writing an article.
To this day, I'm completely uncertain about whether I can swing this financially. My father, who has been publishing books for 10 years, said he thought he'd be able to answer that question a year into his career as a novelist. Yet a decade later, he still doesn't know. My former editor compared the creative life to crossing a stream by jumping from one rock to the next and just hoping you find another one to land on.
If you're someone who craves security and predictability, this is definitely not a life for you. It's uncertain. But it's also very, very interesting.

Orcas Island and Life in General

2010-02-07T15:42:00.000-08:00

After quite the hiatus, Caroline and I returned to the trails this weekend for the Orcas Island 50K. The last ultra we actually raced together was Lost Lake 50K way back in June. As we tell Lost Lake race director Alvin, we are still haunted by that run. (In a nice way. Anyone who wants a challenge should sign up for that race this year!) We were coming off a streak of four ultras in two months (mainly because I was newly unemployed and actually had the time and energy), and we were tired and burned out before we even started the race. Add to that the course (tougher than any 50K I've done), and we were exhausted by race end.
I hung up the ultra hat and spent the rest of the summer rowing, while Caroline managed to complete her first 100 mile race, Cascade Crest. (And I'm still impressed by that feat!) I paced her for the last half of it. We reunited for a super casual Poker Run in Sisters in October, during which we took photos and breaks whenever we felt like it. I returned to the road to run the Seattle Marathon. And then we both went into a two month winter hibernation.

Poker Run: Good times in Sisters, Oregon

The year before, we'd taken the winter off and suffered through the mountain climbs of Orcas in early February. Next year, we vowed, we'd do regular long runs in the winter. Apparently we aren't the best at sticking to our ultra vows. We've put running on the back burner.
For both of us, the last two months have been unusually stressful and hectic on the career front. Caroline is an architect at Mithun, and she currently is managing a project in the San Francisco Bay Area. The job means she's been on an airplane every week. On the weekends, she tries to spend time with her boyfriend, Eric, and his three small children.
I've been embracing a number of writing projects in the last few months. After agonizing over the decision, I turned down a solid, full time job offer in early January. The move was risky, as I'm not sure whether any of the projects I'm working on will pan out. I'm putting together a book proposal, working on the early stages of a documentary film project, and applying for a Gates grant to work on a journalism project about family homelessness. It's quite possible that none will result in a paycheck. But I'm so happy to finally be working on writing projects that I care about, I decided to gamble. My father recently sent me a stat from the New Yorker that says you have to earn 2.5 times as much working for someone to achieve the same satisfaction as you do working for yourself. While it didn't say how they came about calculating that figure, I have no doubt that it's true in my case. I've never liked having someone telling me what to do, and there is not a single thing I miss about a boss or an office. Well, except for coffee breaks with my coworkers.
Aside from working on long term, more ambitious projects, I've also been finishing a contract project for a board game company. The gig, which is nearing completion, involves writing thousands of questions for a MGM movie trivia game and a Saturday Night Live game. It's been great work, but amazingly time consuming. It's made a definite dent in my weekend trail running time.
So Caroline and I signed up for Orcas with full awareness that we should have done a few more long runs over the past few months, yet confidence that we could slog our way through the course regardless. It's tough to say no to Orcas. The San Juan Islands are one of the most beautiful places on the planet. My parents live up there, guaranteeing a great pre-race meal and beds to sleep on. The Orcas race director, James, inevitably designs creative, steep, and interesting courses. Most of our friends in the ultra community were running it, and we always look forward to catching up with them. Prepared or not, we couldn't bail.
On the short drive to Camp Moran on Saturday morning, we decided that we'd try the early start for once. Most ultras offer the option, but as middle of the pack runners, we'd never taken it. But we figured the day would be more relaxing that way, and since we were already there, why not?
We were actually 15 minutes late to the early start, meaning we took off completely by ourselves. We ran solo for almost the entire day. We loved it. Neither Caroline nor I have ever enjoyed running in a huge pack of people, particularly on a narrow trail where someone is always passing or being passed. A group of two or three runners together is just about perfect. We ran through moss covered enchanted forests, climbed up Mt Constitution, and took in spectacular views of the islands and water. We enjoyed spring-like conditions, with sunny skies and temperatures nearing 60. Amazing for early February.

Caroline and I on Mt. Constitution. Photo thanks to Glenn Tachiyama, who shivered up there to get great runner pics!

The race unfolded with just two small hiccups. About halfway through, we came to an intersection with no marker in the forest. A very fast guy was passing us, and he seemed confident that we should go to the right. So we followed and ran along the lake to a self-service water stop just before the Mt. Constitution climb. At the finish, we learned that we were actually supposed to go left (the longer way around the lake), meaning we cut off about a mile or so from the entire run. Oops! Oh well. I felt I still got more miles than my body really needed, though our 6:24 finish time should probably be a little longer! We can look forward to that extra mile next year.
The second hitch came right after the aid station atop the mountain, with about one-quarter of the race left to go. My glute muscle seized up. I'm guessing the cold air up top had something to do with it. For the first time ever in an ultra, I considered dropping, because the pain was so intense and I worried about damaging it. For about 30 minutes of slow downhill running, alternating with walking, I was in total pain. I told Caroline to feel free to ditch me and run ahead, and she said, "Are you kidding? After what you saw me like in Cascade Crest? There's no way I'm leaving you." What a friend, right?
As we dropped in elevation, the temperature warmed quickly, and my glute stopped cramping. We ran the rest of the race easily and crossed the finish line together. The entire day was one of the most fun and enjoyable ultras we've ever done together. I am eternally grateful for having met such a compatible, quality running partner and friend.
One of our many conversations in the woods that day was our plans for this year. We decided we want to climb Mt. Rainier, do the Transrockies stage race as a team, and run a 100K. Caroline is also doing her first Ironman with her boyfriend in June, but I'm going to pass on that one. My other hobby, rowing, does not really leave a lot of time for two more sports!
At the Orcas after-party, our friend Matt Hart suggested we try Where's Waldo in Oregon as our first 100K. That sounded like the perfect plan (it's late summer, after Caroline's Ironman, which gives us plenty of time to ramp up the miles) until I received an email from the Miwok 100K race director this afternoon. She said that since I'm second on the wait list, and they'll likely take 10, I'm pretty much a sure thing for entry. In early May. Yikes! Sunday long runs, anyone??

Enchantments Loop Run

2009-09-22T14:58:00.000-07:00

In the last month and a half, I've lucked out with two equally amazing -- yet very distinctive -- visits to the Enchantments.
In August, I teamed up with ultra running friend Matt Hart (also a personal coach, see his blog at www.coachingendurance.com) and his visiting nephew for a two day, one night backpacking trip. The entire time, Matt and I couldn't help but scheme for a return outing where we'd ditch the heavy packs and travel light.
This time around, Matt couldn't fit the jaunt into his work schedule, so I made plans to do the Enchantments ultra-style with another running friend, Tonya. We met while running a good part of the North Face 50K together in June, and we knew we'd be compatible long run partners.
Unlike my first backpacking trip, Tonya and I traveled super light, with just running packs and a handheld water bottle for each of us. We knew the Enchantments were loaded with rivers and lakes at every turn, allowing us to pump with our handy, compact MSR filter whenever we needed to. We forgot the emergency medical kit but did remember head lamps and light rain shells. (Neither were needed, thankfully!)
We decided to park at the Snow Lake trailhead and run the eight miles of road (four paved, four dirt logging) to the Stuart Lake trailhead first thing in the day to get the grind over with. Eight miles all uphill kicked off the day with an abrupt start. We were thankful for the climb, though, because we were barely staying warm at 8 am in tank tops and shorts. Even though the temperature would hit 80s later on in the afternoon, mornings are now noticeably autumn-esque.

The road part took just an hour and a half, and then we spent the next eight and a half hours on 20 miles of rugged, technical trails. As Tonya said at the end, "wow, we just ran a 10 hour marathon." We knew the day would be long from the get go. Ultra stars Scott Jurek and Krissy Moehl (the sorts who win races) had done the same loop in seven hours a month earlier, so we figured mere mortal pace would be about nine or 10.

Much of the middle part of the Enchantments loop -- particularly crazy steep Aasgard Pass -- features bouldering, straight ups and downs, and technical dancing on rocks that makes consistent running a real challenge. My legs look like a battlefield from a fall during one downhill running segment over a rock field.

I still can't decide how I'd rather experience the Enchantments. I loved traveling light and zipping past the slow, plodding hikers yesterday. (One man, upon hearing our route plan, told us, "Evergreen Hospital is the other way.") But I also felt we sped through a simply magical place almost too fast...and camping by Perfection Lake, among mountain goats and meandering streams, was an experience like none other. I didn't envy the woman with the overloaded pack struggling up Aasgard yesterday, but I did think her luggage (which included wine and butter for the fish she and her husband planned to catch that night) would make for a pretty sweet evening.
I sit at the computer now with very sore, slightly wounded legs, but I know I'll get back to the Enchantments again soon. I've heard wonderful things about the fall colors in October up there....

Cascade Crest 100

2009-08-31T19:30:00.001-07:00

Keechelus Ridge Aid Station, around 3 a.m. Charles, Caroline and I.

Linda, Caroline, Jamie and I running down from Thorpe Mountain Lookout. Photo thanks to Glenn Tachiyama.

Last weekend, I ran the hardest race I've ever done -- and I only completed half of it.
It wasn't the hardest physically by any means. Though I ran 50 miles, I did it at a far slower pace than I'm capable of actually racing. But as a mental challenge, this proved harder than any other running event I've been in.
I signed on to pace my good friend and running companion, Caroline, for the last 50 miles of a 100 mile mountain trail race called Cascade Crest.

Many 100 mile runners enlist pacers to help them reach the finish line after they reach the point of incredible fatigue. A pacer provides motivation, moral support, and rational thinking at times when they may not be capable. Cascade Crest runners start at 10 a.m. on a Saturday, and many don't finish until late afternoon on Sunday. That is a lot of hours in the woods.
I originally planned to run just the last quarter of the race with Caroline, and leave the third quarter for another running friend. I'm not a night person, and the last section would put me on the trails in the early morning, and not in the middle of the night. Also, I hadn't ran 50 miles since White River 2008, and hadn't done any long runs since June. I figured Caroline would be better equipped to conquer Cascade Crest if two pacers split the distance.
But over a conversation in the sunshine at the Harbor Steps last week, Caroline convinced me that I should run with her for the entire second half. We ran our first ultra together (White River, 2007) and have done almost every other trail race together since. We know each other's strengths and weaknesses. She felt our partnership would help her to the finish line.
So Saturday evening, as the sun dropped below the horizon, I drove out to the Hyak aid station to wait for Caroline. We guessed she'd be there around 11 PM, but planned for me to arrive at 9, just in case. The challenging terrain put her and another running friend, Charles, a little behind schedule, so I ended up hanging at Hyak until 1 a.m. As I grew more sleepy, the scene seemed increasingly surreal, as the aid station is decked out with Christmas lights, an enormous lit up plastic snowman, and helpers decked out in Mrs. Claus outfits. I tried to keep warm and awake with coffee, and my friend Rich (who was helping to organize the entire event) attempted to keep me pumped up for the run. (Conversation: Rich: Are you excited to start running? Me: (yawning) No. Rich: Have I told you yet how warm and soft the sleeping bag is that I'm about to crawl into? Me: I hate you.)
Caroline and Charles finally arrived, and after a quick food break, we hit the road, armed with flashlights and headlamps. I was immediately concerned by how slow they were moving and how out of it they seemed. We spent the next 14 miles on a dirt logging road, and I tried to come up with new tactics and motivation to keep them moving. Everything from, "this road is so flat right now and perfect for running" to "let's just try to run to that big tree" to "you guys are keeping such a good pace right now!" Caroline asked me again and again to, "Tell me a story, Heidi." I did my best to entertain.
We were moving so slow at times, I began wondering how I could possibly drag the two of them through a full 50 miles. The wind picked up on the logging road ridge, and I started to shiver, even with a long sleeve and rain shell. A few 100 mile veterans had promised me that the nighttime running was a magical, beautiful experience. I thought it would never end.
Things turned for the better once we hit the Kachess Lake Aid Station. We could see early glimpses of dawn, and the hint of light seemed to wake up both Caroline and Charles. Once we hit the "Trail from Hell," (which, for the record, does not deserve the nickname, as it's absolutely gorgeous -- just a bit rock, root, and log strewn), Caroline finally realized that she needed to kick it up a gear if she was going to finish the race before the cut-off. I wasn't sure how close we really were to missing the 32 hour limit, but I didn't bother to figure it out, since her alarm -- false or not -- seemed to finally give her some fire.
Caroline and I left Charles on the "Trail From Hell" because of her renewed motivation. She hated to leave him behind, but felt like she needed to keep pushing it.
For the rest of the race, we were a team of two. Before each aid station, she told me what she needed. While I collected all the goods and re-filled our bottles, she kept on going. Then, I ran carrying everything to catch up to her on the trail.
The last quarter of the race was the toughest either of us has experienced in trail running, and for very different reasons.
Caroline, who had already run 75 miles at that point -- more than she ever had in her life -- came close to breaking point. She was throwing up every 45 minutes or so. She never cried, but constantly whimpered with pain. Every now and then, the whimpering stopped, and she seemed back to her normal self, and then she started to hurt again. When we reached a climb, the pain noises grew louder, and I told her, "just remember how good you are climbing. Just like a mountain goat. Right up this hill."
For me, those miles were incredibly hard because I was worried about taking care of her and keeping her moving. I tried to figure out new ideas of what she could eat and keep down, but nothing -- not even saltines -- worked. I made her keep eating and drinking, though, because I knew that she couldn't finish if she had no calories inside her.
I talked to her constantly, telling her that I knew she was strong and needed to dig deeper than she ever had. Sometimes I'd tell her to look at the mountain vistas. I'd say, "look at how lucky you are to be running on this amazing trail. This is exactly the kind of trail you love to run on." I'd tell her, "your pace is so great. You are making such good time." When my legs hurt or I felt like the race would never end, I didn't say it. I never knew how incredibly exhausting 14 hours and 30 minutes of pure optimism could be.
Caroline finished Cascade Crest 100 in 29 hours and 44 minutes, well under the cut-off. She ran the second half faster than the first, which is definitely a Heidi running specialty. She ran through enormous pain. I pushed her really hard those 50 miles, but I knew she could handle it. She never once wanted to quit, and I never doubted she'd finish. When I asked her to try to do something, she did it. Caroline is one stubborn, tough athlete.

Charles, for the record, also toughed out his first 100. He finished before the cut-off, covering the last quarter of the course on his own.
Pacing was not a fun experience. It was, however, incredibly rewarding to help someone achieve their goal. I would only do it again for as good of a friend as Caroline.
As for running 100 miles myself? I can't say I'm bitten by the bug just yet. I saw a lot of pure misery out there, and I really did not enjoy running through the nighttime. I like to sleep. A lot.
Perhaps I'll change my mind down the road, but I'm not mailing in any application anytime soon. For the moment, I'm satisfied to sign up for a couple of 50Ks this fall.
So, just for the record, here are three lies that ultra runners tell. Perhaps this is done in an effort to recruit new members. Or perhaps this is because finishing a 100 miler seems a bit like childbirth (or so I'm told), where everyone seems to forget their personal hell after receiving their finisher's buckle. But as a journalist, I feel I need to put forth some cold, harsh reality.

The un-truths I heard many, many times before pacing Cascade Crest:
1. Running at 2 AM is really, really fun.
2. Everyone who sees or somehow participates in a 100 miler really, really wants to go sign up for one. You will want to sign up for one.
3. Pacing is the best thing EVER. You will want to sign up for this job as often as possible.
But there is one truth: this was an experience unlike any other. And I'm glad Caroline and I could share it together.

The Enchantments: The Prettiest Place in the Whole Wide World

2009-08-10T14:33:00.000-07:00

Above photos: Matt Hart, Me, and Josh Hart. Morning run from Perfection Lake to Prusik Pass. Photos thanks to Matt Hart.

For years, I've heard friends talk about hiking trips to a fairytale land just a few hours away from Seattle called the Enchantments. It's been on my "must see" list for ages, so when my ultra runner friend Matt Hart (see http://www.coachingendurance.com) started talking about a weekend trip out there with his 17-year-old visiting nephew, it didn't take much for me to jump on the idea.
Matt originally planned the trip to start with a 4 a.m. Friday departure, enabling us to take full advantage of the weekend and nab a coveted Enchantments camping permit at the Leavenworth Ranger Station. Unless you've planned in advance and booked your trip in February, you have to show up for a lottery at 7:35 a.m. the day your hike begins. They only give out a few passes, so if too many people arrive, they do a random draw. Based on the popularity of the Enchantments, we knew we may have to resort to a Plan B and camp out elsewhere.
Plans shifted when I decided it would be unwise to take off my first Friday of employment. Then, nephew Josh "accidentally" fell asleep at his girlfriend's house Thursday night, and due to a dead cell phone battery, did not respond to his uncle's frantic phone calls or texts.
Though Matt didn't appreciate a night worrying about the whereabouts of the teenager in his care, the flake-out meant I could join, as the trip shifted to Saturday morning. We later learned that 15 parties showed up for the Friday lottery in Leavenworth. On Saturday, we were one of just a handful, and we landed a pass (Disclaimer: This is not meant as any encouragement to Josh to pull that one again.)
We pulled out of Seattle just before 5, with Matt and I fully fueled with coffee and Josh conked out in the back seat. 17-year-olds, it seems, can sleep anywhere and for many, many hours.
Once we'd obtained our coveted camping permit, we dropped off Matt's mountain bike at the Snow Lake trailhead, where we planned to end our journey. We then drove to the trailhead that leads to Aasgard -- a slightly shorter but gnarlier route up to the Enchantments. We planned to walk out Sunday on the less steep Snow Lake trail, and then let Matt mountain bike eight miles up a dirt road to our car. (I did not volunteer for this job.)
Since Matt and I are both trail runners, traveling with heavy packs and camping gear was a somewhat new experience that led to massively sore shoulders. We both decided we have somewhat of a love-hate relationship with backpacking. It's a whole lot slower and more cumbersome than scampering through mountain trails with a handheld water bottle, but camping in the wilderness kind of makes it worth it. Particularly in an area as enchanting as the Enchantments.
We powered up the steep Aasgard Pass route, with Josh keeping pace even in heavy hiking boots. (Matt and I wore trail running shoes. I'm not convinced anyone ever needs full hiking boots, as the trail shoes worked fine on the most rugged of rocks. Josh is swapping his boots for Montrails on his next hiking adventure with the uncle this week.) The route just kept getting more and more scenic. Turquoise tinted Colchuck lake, the dramatic, sheer rising rock of Dragontail, and then finally the valley of the Enchantments.
There's just no other way to describe the Enchantments than a fantasy land. Lakes, meandering streams, grassy meadows and wandering mountain goats make you feel as though you've stepped into a Disney film. I grew up hiking with my family every summer and have done so all over the world as an adult, and I can honestly say I've never seen a spot as scenic as The Enchantments.
We pitched our tents in the middle of the Enchantments, taking about 20 billion tries to set up Matt's new ultra light weight bivvy. I blame it on low blood sugar and frozen limbs. Or perhaps just poor tent design and instructions.
Though the sun shone on us all day long, a crazy wind whipped up come evening. To make it worse, Matt and I soaked our feet and calves in the glacial water of the lake, making our injury-prone runners' feet feel better, but giving me the permanent chills.
We finally put our camp together and Matt and Josh ingested mega-sodium freeze dried meals, which would later keep Matt up all night with a stomach ache. We decided to do quick evening hike up the base of Prusik Peak. On the way, we discovered an even better campsite that was sheltered from the wind and on the shore of a lake that would see the morning sunrise. I advocated for moving camp, and Matt and Josh were game. Once we had our new, slightly warmer home set up, we indulged in Matt's version of hot chocolate: the healthy stuff, Cliff Recovery, so we could all feel confident that we'd gotten our Vitamin C intake for the day.
Josh slept solid for hours that night, while Matt and I stared out at a brilliant full moon and stars because neither of us could. Matt's insomnia was due to the aforementioned sodium blitz, and mine was because I'd gone into cold mode, and once I get there, there's just no coming back. I ended up shivering all night, despite wearing a fleece hoodie, Matt's down jacket, a wool hat, and being in a sleeping bag and my own cozy little bivvy. Yeah, I don't get it either.
Since we barely went to sleep, Matt and I were up for an early dawn run through the meadows surrounding our campsite. It was one of those surreal runs, where you dance across stones perfectly placed in a meadow and wonder how you can possibly be in such a fantastical setting.
Thanks to Matt's new titanium french press, we drank strong, rich coffee back at our campsite, while Josh inhaled the rest of the sodium-laced freeze dried food. The saddest moment of the entire trip was when I spilled my second cup of coffee while trying to tape up my slightly ailing foot.
We hiked the rest of the way through the Enchantments and back out the Snow Lake trail, taking the last segment at a jog-walk pace. Josh managed to collect just one blister in his combat boots and complained not a single time. Apparently the Harts are a pretty hardcore breed.
When we popped out at the trailhead, it was already late in the day, and I told Matt I should just try to hitchhike rather than make him bike up a mountain for eight miles in the late afternoon sun. Thankfully, a pair of fellow male hikers were game to give me a lift and collect our car back at the other trailhead, expediting our leave back to Seattle.
Matt and I envision rallying a group of ultra friends for a follow-up come September or October, and this time running the rugged 20 mile loop with very little gear in a single shot. By then, the trees will be turning golden, and the Enchantments may be even more enchanting, as impossible as that now sounds.
Video below thanks to Matt.

The de-motivated distance runner

2009-07-31T08:22:00.000-07:00

Above photo: Not Running!

This Sunday, I'm bagging on a 30 mile mountain training run once again.
This seems to be my pattern this summer when it comes to ultra running. I know some runners stay at it year-round and motivation never seems to wane. I tend to go in streaks, ranging from enormous enthusiasm to total complacency.
In late April, after being laid off, I started racking up the miles with vigor. I entered races every other weekend and did long training runs in the middle of a weekday. I'd never had that much time to run long before, and I embraced it. Also, the weather throughout May and June was just perfect. Lows in the 50s, highs in the 70s, and sunny just about every day. Who could NOT run?
When July rolled around, my distance running died way down. I attribute it to a combination of factors. For one, it's been a really hot summer, and I just don't enjoy long runs in the heat. I'd rather bike or row or swim, or just kick it at the beach. I've been good for the hour-long early morning Carkeek loop, but not up for the all-day trips to the real mountain trails.
Scheduling also messed up more than one running plan. Lasik surgery meant I couldn't stick to the annual tradition of running the White River 50 Miler. Weekend trips out of town bumped off a few other possible runs. It's also been amazing rowing weather -- so many mornings with completely flat water, and daylight at 5 AM. Some weeks I've been out almost every morning, thanks to four times a week practices with my team and outings in a double in a friend's boat out of Pocock. We get so many windy, dark rowing mornings once fall rolls around, I want to take advantage while I can.
I also find that my distance running motivation wanes when I don't have a fast approaching race. Since I haven't actually registered for anything since Lost Lake 50K back in June, I haven't been too concerned about ditching out on long runs.
Lastly, for some odd reason, my complete lack of mileage in the past month and a half somehow led to minor foot pain over the past week. I tried it out on a short Green Lake run yesterday yesterday, but I'm still feeling something. I'm pretty firm about not running at all if something hurts (it just makes recovery that much longer), so I'm taking at least a week off all together.
The last time I took a distance running hiatus was between the Seattle Marathon (in November) and the Orcas Island 50K (in February). The break was timed well with the dark, rainy season, though it did mean Orcas REALLY hurt. (For those who haven't done it, the course is quite evil. More than one "Are you kidding me?" hills.) I always wonder, is it better or worse for a distance runner's body to take breaks a couple of times a year? And do most runners do it, or am I rare?
I'm hoping the urge to run long returns in September. I'm going to sign up for the Cle Elum 50K and Baker Lake 50K and hope that gives me the motivation to run again. The weather will help as well. I know sunny, hot days make some people want to throw on their running shoes, but for me it's those overcast 50 to 60 degree days that get me stoked to run. True Seattleite, I guess!

Yup, it's hot. And yup, I don't like it.

2009-07-28T09:06:00.001-07:00

Every year when the mercury tops 90 in Seattle for those few rare days, we natives suffer.
And every year, all of the transplants now residing in our fair city say that we're weather wimps and should revel in extreme heat or cold. The typical comment goes, "Where I came from...." and then some explanation of how tough they are in Houston/Phoenix/Atlanta/insert name of equally undesirable city.
For all of you scoffing at the Seattle native's misery, let me explain. We who grew up here are much like a moss covered rock on the Olympic Peninsula. We spend most of our years sheltered from sunshine, surrounded by moist, mild air.
Most of us native Seattleites are avid outdoors people, perpetually hiking, biking, running, rowing, climbing, kayaking, or whatever other outside activity we can dream up. If we aren't outdoors people, we drink coffee and read books in musty, un-air conditioned neighborhood cafes. Most likely, we do both.
All this biking, running, and coffee drinking is best performed in temperatures ranging from 38 degrees to 72 degrees. Which is what the thermostat reads on almost every single day of the year in Seattle. We can spend our days in air conditioned malls and movie theaters, but face it, that's not what we love to do.
We also did not build a city with the infrastructure to deal with extreme heat or cold. When it snows (as seen in last December's storm), no snowplows clear the icy hills near our homes. When it tops 90, a second story bedroom in a typical Seattle craftsman house becomes a sauna.
When I spent a week in Iowa in August, we survived because we stayed indoors. We breathed air conditioning round the clock, achieving a dryness of skin akin to what one experiences on a 10 hour flight to Amsterdam. Maybe someone out there enjoys spending their summer sheltered in crisp, air conditioned buildings. We Seattle natives want to play outside.
So for all you transplants who complain that we complain, I say feel free to pack up and head back to Southern California or New England or whereever the heck you came from. It's too crowded here already. And let's face it, you're never going to change the fact that the vast majority of your neighbors, coworkers, and friends here in Seattle just really don't enjoy this heat.

(Disclaimer: this blog post may seem crankier than most. This is because I have barely slept since Thursday. For one, my west facing bedroom has become a 95 degree sauna. Also, my Lasik surgeon instructed me to not touch, clench or rub my eyes in my sleep, which has turned me into a paranoid, alert sleeper. If I do rub my eyes, he said, I could dislodge or wrinkle the flap of skin that was cut open and now covers my eye. Apparently, this has happened with patients in the past. He said they have fixed the mess-ups by re-smoothing the flap. Since the idea of the skin of my eyeball becoming all scrunched up is extremely unappealing, I am now paranoid and sleep deprived.)

I can SEE!

2009-07-25T13:14:00.000-07:00

The first photo above is me on a neighborhood walk the same day of Lasik, reading street signs for the first time since junior high school. The second photo are the uber-creepy goggles they want you to wear so you won't rub your eyes at night.

Last night, I soaked in the sunset view of Elliott Bay from my friend's Belltown condo. "I am so amazed by how I can see that ferry," I said. My friends both responded, "yeah, it's a beautiful view," and I said, "No, I'm just excited by how well I can see!"
I haven't been able to read street signs and see objects in the distance so well since junior high school. To suddenly be given the gift to do so, after some 16 years of contacts wearing, still leaves me in awe.
I went through Lasik surgery on Thursday, and I found the experience both fascinating and slightly creepy. I'd spent the previous five weeks suffering through glasses wearing so my eyes had the chance to re-shape themselves and become surgery ready. (Apparently wearing rigid contact lenses for so long alters the shape of one's eyes.) I say suffering because 1) I've never worn glasses in my life and find them incredibly awkward for all the athletic activities I partake in, and 2) the glasses I own are so outdated, it meant five weeks of seeing very very badly. After I took a vision test at the Lasik clinic, the eye doctor told me I really should not even be driving in my glasses, the prescription was so outdated.
So I was more than ready by the time the actual day of Lasik arrived. For those ever contemplating going through it, the actual procedure is quite short and almost pain-free. Here's a blow by blow:
The doctor wiped the area around my eye and eyelid with iodine, gave me a Valium, and put in drops to numb the eyes. Then they had me lay down on a doctor's table, and I felt almost like I was about to get a massage because they put a foam roller under my knees to make it more comfortable.
The only actually painful moment was when the doctor put in the clamps that keep the eyes open. He had to make the clamps quite large because I'd chosen Option B, a slightly older technology that uses a blade to open the flap of your eye. Option A, where they use a laser to open the flap, is more expensive, and since the result is the same, I opted for the blade.
When the doctor cut the eye open, I heard a noise similar to a dentist drill and felt a vibrating sensation. Then, my vision disappeared all together for a moment. The complete darkness was the most alarming part, as you can only hope that that it's temporary! Moments later, the vision returned, and I saw a red laser dot. The doctor held my head in his hands and said I needed to work to be as still as possible and keep my eye totally focused on the laser.
I must have not been doing the greatest job, because he kept saying, "You're wandering, Heidi. Focus!" I hadn't realized that the way I'd stayed super relaxed in medical settings in the past was to close my eyes and distance myself from the situation. With Lasik, that wasn't an option.
When the laser started to reshape my eye, I heard a popping noise (similar to small fireworks) and smelled burning. That stench, which I didn't know about in advance, was also quite creepy. After the noise stopped, the doctor used an instrument to replace the flap back over my eye and smooth it out.
The valium is supposed to help you sleep for hours after surgery, but I slept maybe an hour at tops. Perhaps I shouldn't have had so much coffee that morning? It didn't help that the awful goggles they give you to sleep with (they don't want you to accidentally touch your eyes) made it so I had to lay on my back, which is a position I never naturally sleep in.
I ended up spending the rest of the day watching "Terms of Endearment" on the couch with my eyes closed half of the time. It's not a movie that requires rapt attention for comprehension. By evening, I felt so normal that I went for a walk around my neighborhood, marveling at the ability to read every street sign.
The next day, I visited my eye doctor on Queen Anne and took the regular vision chart test. I was already at 20/25, and he said it should be perfect by the time he sees me next week.
My up-close vision is still improving. It was quite challenging to look at a computer or read a newspaper right after surgery -- which is the reverse of my pre-vision surgery, as I didn't need glasses for reading. It's steadily getting better, though, and should also perfect over the next week.
I've already abandoned the goggles (the eye doctor told me he'd rather I sleep, as it's an essential component of the healing, and to just remember to not rub my eyes when I wake up.) I also went back to crew practice this morning, since he gave me the okay. He said "just don't clench your face at all," so during the entire row I just kept repeating "relax face" to myself, which I figure should improve my overall rowing form anyhow. A relaxed rower is a better rower!
The timing of the surgery was not ideal, as I'd hoped to be running the White River 50 mile race today, which is one of my absolute favorite trail races due to the spectacular scenery and views of Mt. Rainier. But my eyes weren't ready for surgery as early as he'd originally anticipated, and I didn't want to wait another week because I'm starting work once August starts. Right now, I don't have to spend any time on a computer if I don't want to.
I look at the Lasik as an incredible 30th birthday gift to myself, and something made possible by a good chunk of severance pay from my prior job. It's funny how something like a layoff takes you in unexpected directions! From my experiences so far, I highly recommend Lasik to anyone who might consider it. I had an astigmatism and changed prescriptions in the last five years, and I was still a candidate, so you might be too!

Seabrook

2009-07-20T15:51:00.000-07:00

Last year, I visited the new vacation community Seabrook to interview the developer and write an article for the Puget Sound Business Journal about the concept and how it was faring through the down economy. (See: http://seattle.bizjournals.com/seattle/stories/2008/12/29/focus11.html)
I loved the idea of Seabrook from the start. The community, dreamed up by developer Casey Roloff, is based on the idea of new urbanism -- an idea pioneered by the planned community of Seaside, Florida. With new urbanism, people can park their cars and not use them for days, because the towns encourage walking and biking. Ideally, all needs and amenities are within a five to 10 minute stroll. Though this vision has yet to be fully completed at Seaside (the only merchants to set up shop in the town so far are a restaurant and grocery store), Roloff is hopeful that as more homes are completed, the businesses will come.
For some, Seaside may seem almost too cutsey -- it resembles a movie set, with picture perfect houses, sidewalks, and lawns. But I appreciated to attention paid to neighborhood gathering areas, from the playfields to the fire pits.
And more importantly, the setting is spectacular. Seaside perches on a cliff above the Pacific Ocean, with a trail providing easy access to the beach. Smooth sand stretches for miles, and there's none of the tacky development that surrounds other Washington coastal communities like Ocean Shores.
My family decided to try out Seabrook for a five-day vacation last week. We've been taking an annual family trip in which my parents rent a house for all of us. Last year, we went to Kauai, and this time around we decided to stay a bit closer to home.
The house we rented in Seabrook included three bedrooms in the main house (for my mom and dad, sister and brother-in-law, and niece and nephew) and a separate carriage house out back that I stayed in.
We cooked most of our meals, and thanks to my mom's wonderful culinary skills, we ate fabulously. We also ate largely gluten-free, as she was diagnosed with celiac disease about five years ago. I never miss wheat when eating with her, and she made fabulous ranger cookies (an oatmeal-cereal type cookie) and carrot cake with cream cheese frosting that were gluten free. We also were treated to salmon, chicken with fresh mozarella and pesto, and fresh berries from Skagit County, where my parents live. Not to mention great wine every night.
We spent most of the time close to our Seabrook house, playing in the community and on the beach. We rode bikes, threw frisbees, and jumped waves. My two-year-old niece, Selena, and four-year-old nephew, Mateo, loved the ocean. (Though Selena had quite enough of the cold water after being knocked down and completely drenched by a wave during her first steps into the sea)
I managed a couple of runs during the trip. The first day, I decided to run on the beach, which was great until the fog swept in. It was so thick, I could barely see a few feet in front of my place. Forget figuring out where the beach trail back to the road was. I ended up following a beach river back to the shore and climbing up some rocks to find my way back home. I've never felt that blind when running before!
I also ran a trail in the Quinault rain forest. My family picked a 1.6 mile loop trail (a good length for little kids to hike) and I figured I'd run until they were done. I thought I'd lap them a couple of times, but I didn't factor just how slow the two-year-old hiking pace is. It ended up taking them one and a half hours to do the loop, thanks to many pit stops, so I ran it almost five times. The other people walking the trail were like, "again??" by the third and fourth times I passed them. I hadn't really prepared for a real run, and was kicking myself for wearing pants. (It was sunny and mid-day warm)
After our hike, we had lunch at the Lake Quinault Lodge, which has an amazing lawn and view of the lake and a very old-style feel inside the lodge, a la "The Shining." The food was mediocre at best (they gave my gluten-free mom Gorgonzola cheese on her salad after she specifically told them she couldn't have it because it's made with wheat) but we didn't have high expectations.
On our last day, we ate birthday dessert for my 30th at Seabrook's own Front Street Cafe. Blackberry cobbler, creme brulee, and brownie sundae....yum! All in all, a great trip, and a wonderful spot for any family vacation. We are already musing about the idea of trying to do it next week with all of our cousins, aunts and uncles. There are currently 10 young children or babies in the family, so we'd be quite a crew.

The new journalism

2009-07-12T14:32:00.000-07:00

Still a fan of the printed word, but embracing new journalism as well

A couple of years ago, my father started teaching environmental journalism up at Western Washington University in Bellingham.
It's a second career for him, and it came at a time when traditional journalism began struggling to find itself. A lifelong reporter, my father now must instruct students on how to prepare for a career in an industry in turmoil. For now, he feels confident telling them that there will always be need for critical thinkers and writers, regardless of what form journalism takes.
It's an interesting time to choose journalism as a career, as newspapers across the country shrink staff sizes or close all together. I spent the last eight years as a reporter, but after being part of a round of layoffs in late April, I'm not certain I'll work in conventional print journalism again.
My former classmates from my graduate journalism program at Stanford haven't stayed on a strict journalism path either. Far from it. One is in nursing school, another plans to attend medical school, and a third is in cooking school. One tried law school. Yet another is on maternity leave from her newspaper job and debating if she'll go back.
I am confident, however, that there remains some truth in my father's words. I think the public will continue to benefit from professionals who gather and examine information. And I believe journalism taught me and my former classmates to be curious, critical thinkers, regardless of what professions we all end up in.
It will be interesting to see what shape journalism takes in coming years, as it will no doubt keep evolving. I've heard some prominent business leaders predict the total end of print media in the next 10 years, and I think it could come even sooner.
Several of my friends now read their news on Amazon's Kindle. While I still subscribe to the local daily, I can't think of anyone else my own age who does the same. And even though I still like to read a physical paper, I'm gravitating more and more toward online news.
I'm just as likely to find out about local news on neighborhood blogs like MyBallard.com as traditional news sources. I first heard about Michael Jackson's death on Facebook. In the last few months, I've become a believer in Twitter as a tool for following news and sporting events. I love being able to type "tdf" in the search function and receive immediate Tour de France updates from race observers, journalists covering the event, and the athletes themselves.
I don't think journalism is a dying industry, but it's definitely a rapidly changing one.

Distance rowing

2009-07-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

Photos above all from the 115 mile Corvallis to Portland Row several years ago, in a quad with George (stroke), Nate (3), Me (2), and Mark (bow). You can see from the last picture how much overhang there is when you put a quad on a Suburban. In one photo, we're rafting up with other shells to go through the Locks at Willamette Falls.

Last weekend, I found myself in the rare position of being an armchair athlete and rooting on all of my friends who were racing. Instead of going to bed early and eating carefully planned pre-race meals such as fish and rice, I had the chance to sit back and track everyone at U.S. Rowing Regionals in Vancouver, the Rock and Roll Marathon in Seattle, and Western States 100 in Squaw Valley.
It was the first time I became a true believer in Twitter. I'd never gotten into the site, and created an account only because we were encouraged to when I was working as a reporter. (I'm still not up to speed on actually posting regularly, however...will have to work on that one.) By following the Twitter updates, I could see moment to moment what was happening in each given race. It's not the same as actually being a spectator, but it was pretty sweet to be able to monitor three geographically distinct events at the same time.
I didn't actually compete at any of the events because I'd originally saved the weekend for Rowing Regionals. (Truth be told, I wouldn't have really wanted to be a participant at either running event either. The Rock and Roll crowds and pavement pounding aren't enticing, and Western States still seems a bit crazy and a lot above my league.)
I opted out of Regionals for the first time in years because I just wasn't excited enough about a few sprint races to put in the money and travel time required for the event. As I've converted more and more into a distance athlete, I think I've slowed down even more of my fast twitch muscles. While I can sprint, I can't say I really love it.
I wish I could race long distance year round with rowing. As it is, rowers sprint through the spring and summer and then move into distance season in the fall. The local exception is a group of open water distance fanatics called Sound Rowers (www.soundrowers.org), who I think of as the rowing version of the ultra runner. Long distance, low frill races in beautiful surroundings. I'd easily give up the sprint season for Sound Rower races if I had my own boat -- something you need to bring along to these events. Alas, distance rowing is not as equipment-free (or cheap) as running through the woods.
One day, I'd like to attempt a major distance row, be it from Alaska to Seattle or across the Atlantic or Pacific Ocean. The longest row I've attempted so far was the 115 mile Corvallis to Portland Row, which is held every June in Oregon. The first year, I rowed in a quad with three men, and the second year, my friend Robin and I competed in a women's double.
I dug up an old piece I wrote about Corvallis to Portland (or CPR) the first year I entered it, and found some old photos. I included the story in the text below, for those who are curious about the world of distance rowing.

Rowing from Corvallis to Portland

In the pre-dawn glow of 4:30 a.m. on the Willamette River, my crew and I joined a steady chain of rowers carrying shells down the steep riverside bank to the Oregon State University dock. Few conversations broke the early morning calm on this rural stretch of the Willamette. Unlike the typical party-like atmosphere at a crew regatta, this event brought few spectators, no vendors, and a field of just 51 competitors.

The staggered start sent off the presumed slowest crafts first, meaning my quad (composed of three men and myself) shoved off toward the end of the chain. As we rowed past the timekeeper standing on the shore, we heard, “Green Lake, you are on the clock.” We’d begun the first of 115 miles to Portland. Our reward, upon completion: pizza, beer, and a medal etched with “Nulli Complorantor,” or “No Whiners.”

The creator of the Corvallis to Portland Row -- Tiff Wood, a notorious pain addict and legendary rower -- recognized the insanity of rowing 13 hours without stopping when he first dreamed up the event a decade ago. Unlike an upright sport like running, rowing requires a somewhat unnatural seated body position that wreaks havoc on backs, wrists, hands and bottoms. As a result, the race is broken into five legs with 45 minute pit stops by the side of the river. For our quad, the legs could be as long as almost four hours or as short as just over an hour. On the second day, the clock is stopped as the fleet of boats travel together through the locks at Willamette Falls. Once the last lock opens, crews race the final leg to the finish line in Portland.

Our bowman, Mark, was in charge of looking over his shoulder to navigate the twists and turns of the river. The job required a steady barking of “port!” or “starboard” to our stroke, George, who turned the rudder with his right foot. Mark, a dentist and a comedian, handled the bow job with ease and provided much-needed good humor throughout the journey.

I sat in two seat in front of Mark, saddled with the all-important duty of reading aloud from the hazard sheet taped to our three seat’s back. The hazard sheet contained such mystifying directions as “steer toward the blue green house near the house with the two trees,” as if trees are a rare occurrence on a river winding through northwest Oregon. One hazard warned of debris near “Canadian Bar,” and it was miles past the actual hazard point that Mark and I finally realized we should be looking for a sand bar, and not a beer joint. On the second day, rain caused the duct taped hazard sheet to blow right off the back of three seat and into the river. As the rest of my crew looked nervously at the signs reading “Warning: Falls not survivable,” I swore to them that I remembered reading the locks were on the west side of the river. Thankfully, I was right.

Our stern pair, 50-year-old George Naden and 37-year-old Nate Clement, were the silent and steady duo of the boat. George, also a dentist from Seattle, stroked for the University of Washington crew back in the 1970’s, and, being one of the more sensible members of our crew, no doubt wondered how he’d managed to be talked into this one. Nate had taken the time to scope out winner Rainer Storb’s strategies before the race. After learning of the two to three hour weekend rows Storb and his partner, Todd Silver, undertook to practice, our crew managed to fit in not one long practice row. Fittingly for the underprepared, we were swiftly overtaken by Storb and Silver during the very first leg.

“I thought you guys would be faster,” Storb told me in after-race reflection, when we’d solidified our tenth out of 18 finish. Oh, and so did we, Rainer.

If we could give ourselves any kudos in preparation, it would be in the equipment realm. Since we couldn’t find a boat trailer to transport our quad from Seattle to Corvallis, Mark made a Home Depot stop and created a wooden roof top rack that enabled his Suburban to carry the 40-foot boat. Each of us wore some form of gloves to shield our hands from blisters, and we cut up an old camping pad of Mark’s to create seat pads. Even so, the old wooden seats in our quad caused severe butt problems for Mark and I through the latter half of the race. Pain didn’t escape the stern pair either, as George dealt with increasingly sore wrist joints and Nate’s back pain became so severe that at one point he considered laying down and crying.

Even Mark, the perpetual jokester, felt the pain.

“I’m having a personal moment,” he announced at one point during the second leg.

So is CPR the most painful rowing competition Wood has ever put his body through? “A 2000 meter erg piece can hurt a lot,” Wood mused. He paused. “This is by far the longest kind of hurt.”

Wood decided to create the event after moving to Portland. The Willamette River, unlike most bodies of water, seemed unusually suited to ultra long distance rowing. While marathon distance rowing events (26.2 miles) occur around the U.S. and Europeans regularly row in multi-day endurance competitions in boats designed for open water and waves, Wood could find no ultra rowing race using regular rowing shells. The Willamette boasts over 100 miles of calm river water.

During their regular post practice Starbucks social sessions, Wood and fellow rowers Steve Jensen, Lori Jensen, Anita Bigelow, Bill Byrd, Ted Katauskas and Skip Klarquist began talking about the possibility of rowing from Corvallis to Portland. Since several skeptics said it couldn’t be done without running aground and damaging the crew shells, Wood tracked down an Oregon State University coach who took his crew on the same route back in the 1960s. The coach assured Wood the race was possible.

In May of 1999, seven boats embarked on the first annual Corvallis to Portland Row. Since the organizers still doubted the safety of the course, the shells regrouped on the water every 45 minutes. Though the two quads, or four-man boats, and three doubles rowed the entire 115 miles unscathed, both eights hit logs in Salem and damaged their boats. Race organizers, who accompanied the fleet in a small motorboat, had a cell phone but didn’t remember to turn it on. The eights, out of sight distance from the rescue ship, had to wait an hour and a half for help to arrive. The race organizers managed to fix the eights and send the crews on their way, but if the rowers had been in serious trouble, it would have been near impossible to fit everyone into a tiny motorboat. Wood decided to ban eights from all future CPRs, reasoning the boats are too large to be easily maneuverable and a safe rescue, if need be, wasn’t guaranteed.

Allowing eights into the race wasn’t the only mistake Wood and fellow CPR organizers made that first year. Since rowers cover just 32 miles the second day, the entire fleet slept in and launched boats around 9 a.m. By the time the rowers covered the first 20 miles and passed through the four locks at Willamette Falls at noon, recreational boaters were out in full force to take advantage of a sunny Sunday.

“We were in pleasure boat hell,” Wood said.

For the next 12 miles, the boats battled constant flooding from power boat wakes. Two boats gave up and abandoned the race at Lake Oswego, just miles from the finish. One quad buckled in the middle because of the water weight, and a rower in an eight couldn’t row for the last portion of the race after his seat was swept away by a wave. CPR rowers vowed never to sleep in on the second day again.

The second year of CPR brought further trial and error, as organizers decided to hold the race in September. By that time of year, water level on the Willamette was so low that every shell ran aground and was damaged at some point. All boats finished, but most were on their second fin. Wood decided to forever more hold the race in the springtime.

This year’s CPR provided less drama, as just one double managed to crash – and twice, no less. Moments after embarking on the second leg, Brad Crawford and Bryan Dean hit a log and flipped the boat. When a group of river paddlers tried to help the pair extricate the double from the snag, the side of the boat became permanently damaged. Knocked out of the race for the day, Crawford and Dean found a replacement double for sale on craigslist. Back in the saddle on Sunday, the pair managed to collide with a fishing boat and flip their new double. This time, Crawford and Dean righted the undamaged shell and rowed to the finish line.

Though seven years of CPR have gone by now, mysteries remain. Young University of Oregon rowers are blown away by 50-year-old and even 70-year-old men. Wood speculates that like many distance events, CPR is a sport for the older and the disciplined. Storb, head of the transplantation biology program at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, calls CPR a challenge to his mental abilities. Yet even the old wise one makes mistakes. This year, Storb and Silver dropped from first place in the first leg to third in the second, in part because Storb felt ill after drinking four cups of hot chocolate at the pit stop.

“It was a little depressing that our performance was so uneven,” Storb admitted. Still, the hot chocolate error didn’t cost the duo too much, as they regained their crown and finished just two minutes off last year’s time, which was a CPR course record.

Another puzzler of CPR is that quads should be the fastest boats on the river, yet doubles, such as the Storb-Silver combination, seem to win. Wood speculates that quad rowers pre-select themselves as the slower bunch because those who are less prepared want a faster, and therefore easier, boat. The theory rang true for our quad, at least.

Quads also have the disadvantage of having more people for whom something can go wrong. Whereas Storb and Silver stopped every half hour, took a swig of water and ended their rest break in less than a minute, our breaks were not as regular and tended to stretch out. By the time all four were done peeing (off the side of the boat; a challenge I mastered during this race), changing clothes, taping up body parts, eating power bars, fixing boat parts and drinking water, we wasted a good chunk of time. Wood, who rowed CPR this year in a four, may return to his single.

“On a race this long, everyone starts to deteriorate at some point, and no one deteriorates at the same rate,” Wood said. “It’s hard to mesh the physiological problems of four people.”

But doesn’t he grow lonely or bored during all those miles in a single? After all, Storb readily admits to preferring the company and conversation potential in doubles.

“I never talk in boats,” Wood said. “I’m too busy rowing hard.”

CPR has its momentary pleasures. The sunrise on the Willamette, the circling blue herons and eagles, and the massage table and barbecue dinner at the first night’s pit stop. After staring at the hazard sheet on Nate’s back for 13 hours, which falsely promised champagne at the finish line dock, I had to make do with a microbrew.

Sometimes, Wood imagines what CPR might become.

“I’d love to see it get so big that the river is littered with boats for 50 miles,” Wood said. “Then I think about logistics.”

With CPR, logistics are dock space, and the ability to get boats in and out of the water at pit stops in a short amount of time. This year was the first year CPR organizers brought in an inflatable docks at Champoeg Park, and Wood envisions more inflatables. Growth potential is there, as after all, CPR started as the dream of a small group of rowers, and this year drew 51 people.

“I’d love to see it become the Boston Marathon of rowing,” Wood said.

Running and the numbers

2009-06-24T15:12:00.000-07:00

Caroline and I running at Lost Lake, blissfully unaware of how far we've gone. Photo thanks to Alvin Crain

In the middle of a 10 mile stretch between aid stations at Lost Lake last weekend, Caroline and I came across another runner. Dying for the watermelon we knew awaited us, we asked him if he had any idea if we were close to the next pit stop. He looked down at his GPS watch and told us exactly how many miles we had to go.
As we ran away from him, Caroline and I talked about whether we'd want a device that could tell us so definitively where we were in the middle of the woods. Both of us agreed that we'd pass on fancy gizmos for now. There's something about staring at numbers for hours that takes part of the joy out of trail running, we reasoned.
I was recently listening to a running podcast ("The Runners Roundtable," which I'd never heard before) in which runners were confessing to their slightly OCD habits. (Running around the block one extra time so they could finish a 5 mile run at exactly 5.00 miles on their watch, for instance.) I found the podcast interesting because I've carried the exact opposite mentality. The distances of my runs are usually a vague guess, and nowhere near the .00 precision.
I'm not a numbers person by nature. I've always gravitated toward language and the arts. (Thankfully, I attended a liberal arts college where getting a 600 or above on your math S.A.T. excused you from math class all together, meaning my last mathematics lesson was junior year of high school.)
At work, I kept a post-it-note on my computer with the equation for finding the percent of change from one number to the next, which was the only regular math I needed as a business journalist. That post-it-note is likely long gone now, and so is my memory of that equation.
As a runner, I've never embraced the data crunching that some people go through. I don't keep a running log. If someone asked me how many miles I run a week, I couldn't say. (Typical answer: "maybe a couple of hour-long runs during the week and one long one on the weekend? Whatever my body feels like.") Non-runners are most frequently just interested in the length of the actual races. ("How long is 50K? You're running 50 MILES? Or, from my grandma when I tell her how long a marathon is, "Heidi, I don't even like to DRIVE 26.2 miles!")
I wonder, are runners evenly split between those who track things and those who don't? And do ultra runners tend to care less about statistics because the courses we run are so different in elevation and technicality, they are impossible to compare to each other? (My road marathon times might be really similar, somewhere around 3:30. In the past month, I've run one 50K in just under five hours and another in a little under eight.)
My running partner Caroline hasn't succumbed yet to the GPS watch, but she is far more methodical than I am. She complies Excel spread sheets of our various races, noting things like elevation gain and aid station distances. I always learn something new from reading them! She's also slightly more likely than I to really study a course before running it. I usually just figure I'll be surprised by the scenery.
I don't think there's any right or wrong with methodology and running. It really is all about how your own mind works. I know I could never turn myself into a number cruncher, so I usually just go with what I feel.

Why I admire teachers

2009-06-22T09:23:00.000-07:00

My mom and her friend, at home in the schoolhouse

The school year is over, which means I get to see my mother for lunch this week.
She's a first grade teacher in the Anacortes district, and when school is in session, she puts in long hours in her classroom. Devoted to her job, she's not the type to jet when the dismissal bell rings. For the last day of class, she put together a slide show with photos of the children from throughout the year and a soundtrack of songs they'd sung together. That's the kind of effort she puts out on a regular basis.
I have huge respect for teachers because I come from a family filled with them and I know how much they carry their work into the rest of their lives. My grandpa taught college math and made his kids count logging trucks by prime numbers on summer camping trips to the ocean. My nurturing grandma taught first grade. Years later, when the Parkinson's began to affect her mind, she held conversations with her former students. The presence of children provided some sense of comfort.
My sister, a high school Spanish teacher, is on hiatus from her job right now to raise two (and soon to be three) children. I can vouch firsthand for her teaching skills, as she taught me to row in high school. I remember being surprised and impressed by the patience and clarity she adopted when stepping into the coaching role, as we typically argued constantly with each other during that phase of life. My brother-in-law, who has been teaching high school physics in Bothell, is moving into an assistant principal job next year, and I can't wait to see how he does in that role.
My father is the newest member of the family to step into teaching. He is a novelist (see www.williamdietrich.com to check out his latest historical fiction) and started teaching environmental journalism at Western Washington University a few years ago. He's enjoying the chance to work with young writers, and I can vouch for him as my editor from elementary school through college.
I feel my life has also been shaped by the teachers I've encountered in college and graduate school. As an English major, I encountered an eclectic bunch, ranging from the professor who wore a bow tie and suit every day, hung a "My Goodness My Guinness" poster in his office, and talked about listening to "Beowulf" on tape with his wife on drives to the coast. Another English teacher always spoke of walking as the best form of transport, as "that is the speed in which we see the world."
In journalism graduate school, my influences included an old school newspaper editor who believed so strongly in ethics. An old newspaper clipping of him in his office showed him running in the middle of a midwest snowstorm. Another teacher, an aging hippie with a house in Humboldt, encouraged us to ride freight trains with hobos and spend a year as a New York City cop. "No time for pedestrian journalism," he said. "You gotta rock and roll."
In my personal life, I've always been drawn to teachers. Many of the people I've dated have taught, either as their full-time career, or as coaches or instructors. I think I'll always admire the patience and heart that goes into teaching.

We need a vacation

2009-06-21T12:26:00.000-07:00

Caroline and I, pre and post race at the Lost Lake 50K plus some, Clayton Beach Park off Chuckanut Drive

It only took about five minutes of running up the first steep mountain trail yesterday before Caroline and I both said, "we need to give this a rest."
We showed at the start of the Lost Lake 50K on Saturday already feeling a little drained. We've run four ultras in the last two months, hitting one every other weekend -- McDonald Forest in Corvallis, Forest Park in Portland, North Face in Bellingham, and now Lost Lake, also in Bellingham. We both also ran Orcas in February and Chuckanut in March, and Caroline tacked on Sun Mountain in April. Amazingly, it didn't catch up to us until yesterday. But going into Lost Lake, we both felt pretty run down, with heavy legs.
I'm sure my body wasn't helped out by the fact that we've had our most intense crew practices of the year over the past month, as the team gears up for the regional competition. As a result, I haven't tapered before any of the ultras. On Wednesday morning, for instance, I stroked a quad and we raced 1000 meters back to back six times in a row. Unlike ultras, which produce long periods of drawn-out suffering, crew sprints are short bursts of pain. As a slow twitch person, the sprint workouts always manage to kill me. If I had it my way, fall head season (distance for rowing) would last all year long.
But since we'd felt so good for the past two months of ultra racing, with very little soreness or need for recovery, Caroline and I were convinced we'd be fine running Lost Lake this weekend. In reality, it was a slog.
Aside from going into it worn out and tired, we also managed to pick an extremely tough course. The race turned out to be 34 miles (more than a 50K, though we didn't learn this till part-way through), and the entire course was either straight up, straight down, or very technical trail. It included 8,200 feet of climbing. Laborious to say the least.
The morning started off with a bang when I woke up on my own at 5:50 AM and realized with a jolt that my alarm hadn't gone off twenty minutes earlier because the power in my condo building was out. What are the chances for that to happen on a race morning? I scrambled to throw things together before Caroline showed up at my doorstep at 6. When the power went back on right when she showed up, I scrambled again to heat water for my Starbucks Via coffee to go. (I know it's fashionable to turn up one's nose at such corporate things, but I give huge thumbs up to Via. Best instant coffee I've tried.)
It wasn't the most relaxing way to start race day, but I felt fortunate that I woke up at all, thanks to a body programmed to the uber early crew schedule. I also cheated by putting in contact lenses for the day, as I'm not supposed to wear them for the next month in preparation for Lasik surgery. The alternatives, however, seemed so unappealing (running blind or with glasses that are so old they give me a headache), and I figured one day back in contacts couldn't do too much damage. (When I'd asked the eye doctor about using them for the occasional trail race, he said, "oh sure, you can run for an hour with them when you need to race." Yeah, maybe a bit more than an hour....)
We pulled up to the start about 20 minutes before the race was scheduled to begin, and we were amazed to see almost no other cars in the parking lot. We'd never been to a race so small. We learned that about 10 or 15 runners had opted for the 7 AM early start (most ultras give this option to people who think they'll need more time to finish the course), which left just 10 of us lining up for the regular start -- five men and five women. Since I knew that one of the women (Ellen Parker) is super fast and had just taken second at the North Face 50K, I figured we stood a good shot at being close to or actually dead last.
When the race director sent us off and the rest of the pack took off at a good clip, Caroline and I quickly realized we would be running this race on our own. Indeed, we were by ourselves in the woods for most of the day. Since I wasn't trying to stay ahead of anyone or pass anyone on a regular basis, my competitive spirit evaporated pretty fast, and I switched gears toward a nice steady run in the woods with a friend.
We stayed together for almost the entire race, and we were both grateful, as we stopped a few times to question what turn to take. When second guessing a trail route, it's great to have someone else with you! Also, since neither of us felt at our strongest, it was super helpful to have the mental boost of someone else hurting along with you. We kept each other laughing through our grumpy moments.
It was also interesting experiencing parts of the Chuckanut and the North Face courses interspersed with brand new trails (to us, at least). It felt strange climbing Chinscraper and not seeing Glenn perched on the mountain side with his camera!
The course was classic, beautiful Washington woods, and the mild, cloudy day couldn't have been better running. I also loved the aid station food: watermelon hit the spot, and they brought these Smuckers peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from Costco, with the PB&J enclosed in these circular pouches of dough. They were great trail food.
The course was the most challenging of any 50K I've run. I'd finished North Face two weeks earlier in just under six hours, and it contains a good amount of climbing. We completed Lost Lake in seven hours, 45 minutes. I'm almost glad I didn't know that beforehand, or it would have been overwhelming to know that I had to run for almost eight hours.
My feet and ankles are sore today due to the high percentage of very technical, rock and roots covered trail. We also had to endure two 10 mile stretches from aid station to aid station, and those legs felt incredibly long. (Indeed, one took two hours and forty-five minutes, due to the amount of climbing and technical terrain. We were dying for that watermelon!)
Caroline and I are both ready for a few weeks off from the ultra scene. I don't plan on entering any races until White River in late July, and Caroline is gearing up for Cascade Crest in August. I think it's good to finally hit your threshhold, though, as it helps you figure out how hard you can really push. Lost Lake took us there.

Without a job

2009-06-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

(Photo Above: Barbara Logan, future nurse)

Attending a WorkSource job training session is a lot like sitting on a Metro bus. You see the full microcosm of society. (Though I should say, the WorkSource room ranked far higher in personal hygiene than the 358 down Aurora.)
In order to keep receiving Uncle Sam's unemployment checks, all jobless Washingtonians must attend a seminar about job hunting put on by the state-run employment center WorkSource. Since WorkSource is going crazy this year trying to keep up with the hoards of individuals being laid off, they only now scheduled me for the session, even though I was laid off in late April.
Thursday morning, I took a seat in a seminar classroom at North Seattle Community College, surrounded by a sampling of every type of job seeker out there. The girl I sat next to, dressed in a button up blouse and skirt, asked right away if she needed to be there because her former employer had already paid for a private career services company to help her find a new job. (Answer: yes, she had to stay)
Behind me sat a burly, middle aged tattoed guy who spoke up to tell the group leader that the only job he'd done his entire life was drive forklifts for the aviation industry. He wondered how he was supposed to apply for three jobs every week, as the state requests. "There's just nothing in my field right now," he said. "I could go to McDonalds and fill out a form to show you I'm looking for work, but that's pointless because I don't want that job." The group leader gently suggested to him that he think about seeking training for a new career. I could feel his frustration.
Another woman spoke up and said she'd spent years working for a garden and plant supply store. How was she supposed to figure out what to do next when coming from such a niche field? The leader responded that it sounded like she was well versed in customer service, and they'd talk about where to go with that in her one-on-one session.
I found WorkSource fascinating -- not because it assisted me personally, but because it gave me a glimpse of what's going on right now in our state's job market. Unemployment just hit 9.4 percent, and job loss numbers are fast approaching the recession of the early 1980s. At WorkSource, I saw victims of the hardest hit sectors. More than one person said they were bankers or architects.
I didn't take away a lot of new information for my own job hunt from WorkSource, mainly because I already knew about the web sites and resources they talked about. I became familiar with WorkSource and Washington State Employment Security as a journalist, as they were extremely helpful, valuable sources for data on job-related stories. (Such as this one I wrote last October, on mature workers being forced to hunt for work again after their retirement savings evaporated: http://seattle.bizjournals.com/seattle/stories/2008/10/27/story10.html)
I think WorkSource and the state are doing an admirable job at keeping up with unemployment demands right now, and I do believe they help people who truly need it. My former coworker Barbara went to her job training session and found out that she could take advantage of free schooling by moving from a proven declining industry (print journalism) to one that needs workers (nursing). After the session, Barbara signed up for community college science courses and armed herself with chemistry textbooks. She's enthusiastic about the idea of embarking on this new career, and even told me, "you should think about nursing school too, Heidi!" (As someone who does not like hospitals nor sick people, and who took just one college science class -- Chem Concepts, or "chemistry for poets," I don't think that's my calling. But thanks for the idea, Barbara.)
Right now, I'm simply thankful to have the gift of a summer away from an office to play outside and explore my own writing projects. Though it's a challenging time to be jobless, I also feel oddly fortunate to really be living a part of history. Right after I was laid off, my former coworker Steve talked to me about losing his job in the early 1980s. It's incredibly interesting to be part of, and see firsthand, a major economic turnpoint. I think if I felt stressed out about finances or about finding a job again, I would feel more anxious about where the job market is at. But at least for this moment, I'm just riding the path that my life is taking.

Music

2009-06-13T12:45:00.001-07:00

Going camping with Selena, Mateo, and my mom

Before my niece and nephew would go to sleep last night, they both insisted that I sing a song to them of their choosing.
It's a nightly ritual my sister and brother-in-law started, and the standard playlist ranges from contemporary (Sebastian favors singing them U2 songs) to old school (hippie songs my mother sang to my sister and I, like "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream" and "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?")
Selena -- age two -- chose "My Favorite Things" from "The Sound of Music," which was no trouble. Mateo, however (who is four), decided to test my song memory by asking for "Over in Killarney." Old Irish lullabyes aren't regulars on my song list. After the performance, Mateo informed me, "you did okay, but you messed up some of the words." Love the honest critic.
After the kids finally went to bed, I started thinking about how key music is in my life, both in athletics and everywhere else. My ipod nano is truly one of those items I now could not live without. (Yes, Steve Jobs, you've hooked me.) When my last one was stolen a year ago, I bought a new one within a few days.
I love music for the gym and on runs, particularly long runs. I'm sold on the studies that show fast music can enhance athletic performance. It works for me. (Also, I'm loving the new studies pointing out all the benefits of caffeine in sports. Thanks for validating my coffee addiction.)
When bike commuting, I switch it up, going back and forth between playlists and podcasts. Though I know I shouldn't admit to biking with headphones, I love to.
I'm a huge fan of variety and welcome any suggestions for new exercise music and podcasts. Here's a current list of some of my favorite workout tunes and shows. Tell me what your own are!
20 Songs that get me moving:
1. Lazy Eye - Silversun Pickups
2. Waving Flag - K'naan
3. Keep the Car Running - The Arcade Fire
4. Flux - Bloc Party
5. Viva la Vida - Coldplay
6. Time to Pretend - MGMT
7. Somebody - Kings of Leon
8. Wishing Well - The Airborne Toxic Event
9. Hallelujah - The Helio Sequence
10. Apartment Story - The National
11. Galvanize - The Chemical Brothers
12. Wolves - Josh Ritter
13. All these things I've done - The Killers
14. I Know I'm Not Alone - Michael Franti
15. Bad - U2
16. Float On - Modest Mouse
17. Up Against the Wall - Peter Bjorn and John
18. Bitter Sweet Symphony - The Verve
19. Language City - Wolf Parade
20. Get on the Plane - The Myriad

Podcasts -
1. This American Life: Always changing, excellent content. The ones that stick with me the most are the truly disturbing and unique (like where the teenage boy set himself on fire, or an episode on a group of hackers who trick a West African Internet scammer into journeying hundreds of miles for money. The righteousness of the hackers comes into question when they tell the scammer that his mother is dead.)
2. Fresh Air - Love Terry Gross. The woman does her research and does not let interview subjects talk around the question.
3. Phedipidations - A running podcast by a likeable middle of the pack east coaster.
4. The Warren Report - Seattle movie buff Warren Etheredge interviews writers, directors and actors
5. The Sound of Young America - Another interview show with interesting artists.
6. KEXP Live Shows - Listening to concerts you wish you'd been at
7. NPR All Songs Considered - Another good music podcast.

Doing what you love

2009-06-11T20:18:00.000-07:00

No one can do what they love as well as a two-year-old.

This afternoon, I picked up the phone and told an editor that I was turning down the offer they'd given me to come write for their publication.
It wasn't an easy call to make.
Not because I worried about disappointing them, but because a job offer in this economy isn't something to take lightly. Particularly in print journalism, which hasn't exactly been a growth industry lately. (See the recent comical and slightly depressing video link of the Daily Show visiting the NY Times newsroom: http://www.techflash.com/venture/The_Daily_Shows_Jason_Jones_slams_the_newspaper_business__47803057.html
But the job offered to me seemed all too similar to the one I've had for the last seven years. I would cover business news. I would work one block away from my old office downtown. For some, that might seem comforting, but for me, it seemed almost depressing.
As I wrote in an earlier blog post, I never intended to cover business news, and I've always felt that I've had to feign interest for many business topics. Reading earnings reports or writing profiles on the fastest growing local companies were chores I completed because I had to, and not because I found them particularly exciting. For years, I've yearned to write about topics that have nothing to do with business, and I can't count how many times I pitched stories that editors turned down because they didn't have enough of a business angle.
Basically, I'm ready for change. The practical person might consider today's decision foolish, as I want to write and I'd like to stay in Seattle. And I know I'm taking a gamble. But as a single 29-year-old with no children and no one depending on me, I feel it's a good time to gamble. I want to find a job that isn't just a job, but something I'm truly excited about. I hope it's out there.

Friendships

2009-06-09T09:59:00.001-07:00

Hanna and I at Murphy's last winter

On Sunday morning, I'm meeting up with fellow ultra runner Kathleen Egan for a few laps of Discovery Park. I just met Kathleen up in Bellingham last Saturday, and it may have been fate. Kathleen's running partner decided to drop out of a five-day stage race in August called the Transrockies Run (http://transrockies.com/transrockiesrun/news). Ever since Matt Hart and Sean Meissner shared photos and stories of competing in that event together during a recent presentation at the downtown Seattle Mountain Hardware, I thought I'd love to attempt that one day. When Kathleen asked if I might want to jump in this summer to fill her former partner's spot, I was immediately intrigued.
If Kathleen and I decide to go for it, we'll likely quickly go from almost strangers to knowing one another very well. For safety reasons, race teams must stay within two minutes of each other during each day's race legs, which range from 15 to 25 miles over steep mountain terrain. We'll also stay in the same tent together every night. Ultra running makes for fast friendships!
I've become acquainted with a handful of runners lately, and it made me start thinking about how much our friendships evolve and change throughout life. We lose some friends. I think about the three people I considered my closest friends back when I started working for the Puget Sound Business Journal, and none are best friends today. One, my long term significant other at the time, remains a valued friend, but most certainly not a best friend. (Is that possible? I'm not sure we can stay really close to exes)
The second found himself a boyfriend and disappeared into a life of domesticity and couplehood -- a life he'd longed for, and I'm happy he now has. I miss his wit, sarcasm, and bitter east coast take on Seattle. He made me laugh.
I'm not sure where the third is. I've known her since we were five, but our lives have taken such different paths. I hope she knows no matter what, I'll always welcome her back as a friend. She's family.
Today, most of my friends are athletes, and I think that's because we share similar passions, spend our time in the same outdoor pursuits, and have the same positive outlook on life. I am unusually lucky in having a best girl friend who I've known since we were six-years-old, and who is just like a sister to me. Hanna is one of the very few people in my life I can tell absolutely anything to, and know she won't judge me. My other best friend is my biological sister, who has two young children and a third on the way, yet still makes time to talk to me every day. She is truly a model for me of how I hope to be when I'm a mother.
As I've grown older, I've also discovered that age matters less and less in friendships. Several of my good friends are my parents' age (though I should mention that my parents married at 18), and the gap in years is completely irrevelant. If anything, I appreciate the diverse experiences and wisdom they bring to our friendship.

More thoughts on looking like a runner

2009-06-07T12:32:00.000-07:00

While up in Bellingham for the North Face 50K this weekend, I thought more than once of a blog post by fellow ultra runner Devon Crosby-Helms, who is a great read at http://devoncrosbyhelms.com/. In her most recent post, Devon wrote about the ideas people have of what a runner should look like.
At every ultra I've run, I've received at least one comment about why my body either should or should not be well suited for ultras. I'm curious about whether everybody who runs hears that, or perhaps if it's because I'm unusually tall (5'11") for a female runner? And do male runners receive frequent comments on whether they do or do not look like ultra runners as well?
At the North Face, one runner told me that I look more like a competitive triathlete than a runner. (Answer: never run one, and I'm a truly lousy swimmer. Maybe it's the rowing you're seeing, though?) Another runner said my legs look more like fast, road runner legs than ultra legs. (Answer: I do more often run on roads, because I'm awful about scheduling the training trail runs. The extremely structured crew practice schedule leaves me reluctant to set an early alarm and join a group for out-of-city trail practice.)
I also receive at least one comment per ultra on having long legs. They run from the truly nice (at North Face, another runner said, "I wish I had those legs to run up this mountain!") to the just plain annoying. (While running down the long logging road at White River, a runner passing me said, "can't those long legs move any faster?" Um, no. I've run 40 miles already, am painfully pounding down a mountain, and if I could move any faster, believe me, I would.)
I do wonder why runners tell each other so frequently why they either look or do not look the part. I rarely mind, and I actually wonder if part of it that we athletes are inherently interested in the human body and how it functions in sport. I know that I myself am always fascinated to learn about the length of a Kenyan marathon champ's limbs, or the small frames most of the great hill climbing cyclists possess.

The North Face Endurance Challenge

2009-06-07T11:41:00.000-07:00

Saturday's North Face Endurance Challenge isn't your typical Northwest ultra. While most races exude a low-frills, low-cost vibe, the corporate-flavored North Face race brought extreme organization, a race fee that rivaled those for road marathons, and celebrity ultra runner Dean Karnazes hosting the whole event.
But the benefits of a slick company like North Face running the show were also evident. A goody bag running t-shirt and socks I'll actually use while running, for one, rather than the cotton handouts that head straight to Goodwill. A wide staggering of the multiple event starts cut back on crowds and meant no pre-race bathroom lines. (The Forest Park trail run in Portland the other weekend could borrow a bit from this, as the two porta potties for some 200 racers starting at the same time didn't prove the smoothest) The North Face course was extremely well marked, save for one turn from logging road to single track that a number of runners missed. Aid stations were plentiful and well stocked. (But did anyone else find it really hard to open those skinny, mini peanut butter power bars with sweaty, dirty fingers?)
My race morning started off with my friend Ondrej and I jamming to Silversun Pickups in his car at 5 AM. Since Ondrej just moved into a new apartment on Capitol Hill, he couldn't dig up a travel coffee mug, and instead brought a thermos with a pour cup. While a great device for those early morning backpacking campfires, it proved a little challenging on the road. We made a couple of coffee drinking pit stops where Ondrej poured his cup and blew furiously on the brew to cool it down and gulp it as fast as possible. Anything for caffeine.
It felt just plain odd to start the race without my usual running partner, Caroline, and more than one person asked "where's the girl you normally run with?" The girl was already running, as she signed up for the 50 miler as good training preparation for the Cascade Crest 100 miler she plans to do in August. Since I have no such ambitions this year, the more reasonable 50K start-time of 7 am won out over the 5 am 50 miler start. Much to Caroline's disappointment.
Thankfully, I made a few new running friends on the trail. Tonya, of the Owen-Alan-and co.-tattooed clan, and I ran together for about six miles early in the race. I'd never met her before but we're already planning on becoming Friday trail running buddies. (At least until I'm gainfully employed again, that is) Tonya is 29 like me, but already a mom and a cancer survivor. She is tough! Tonya ended up edging me in the race finish by 3 minutes to take first place in our age division. (We both lamented the fact that we'll soon be 30 and far less likely to win our age group for a very long time)
I ended up by myself for much of the middle of the race, and was happy to have my ipod to rock out to. While I need high-tempo workout songs for intense, short workouts at the gym, I can trail run to just about anything. I do find it occasionally, ironic, however, to be charging up a mountain pass while listening to a tortured breakup song like The Helio Sequence's "Lately." Highly doubt the artists have ever considered their music as background tunes for trail running!
I spent the last six miles or so with another brand new friend, David Hughes. David looked so strong, I kept telling him he could leave me in the dust and I wouldn't mind. But David said he really preferred the conversation, and he made the last part of the race fly by for me. When we hit the last 100 yards, he finally said, "okay, now we sprint!" and quickly out-kicked me to the finish.
North Face doled out awards post-race to the super speedy individuals who are able to win these things. (I'm always in awe of those athletes! So talented.) Dean Karnazes presented the medals, and during the entire ceremony, I couldn't stop thinking about how he can eat an entire pizza and cheesecake while running. That's more impressive than any of the Badwater/Western States/Relay/etc feats. Unlike the photo above, Dean kept his shirt on in Bellingham.
Here are a few of my own awards as well.
Most kickass woman:
Ellen Parker, who not only took first for the women in the 50K and 2nd overall, but just missed winning the whole darn thing and beating ALL the men by a couple of minutes! Dang!
Cutest finish:
Owen Connell and Allison Moore, who crossed the line after running 50 miles together and sealed it with a kiss.
Most dramatic finish:
Brock Gavery, complete with near puking, collapse on his back on the lawn, and proclamation of "worst 50 miles ever." Knowing Brock, he's probably already climbing Mt. Rainier today.
Oddest race detail:
Parking passes, to leave our cars on a lawn at a camp on a lake in the middle of nowhere. Do they expect a flood of North Face run imposters?
Best name for women who go really fast:
We should all call ourselves Alison, as this group apparently rocks at 50 milers.
Most humble kickass finisher:
Adam Hewey, who could only claim to winning "the old man division." (he is 40 and finished FIFTH in the 50 miler....I don't think that's old man status yet!)

Trail running

2009-06-05T08:39:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow morning, even though it's a Saturday, my alarm will go off around 4:30 AM. Before 5, my friend Ondrej and I will hit the road, ready (or not) to run for six or seven hours on steep mountain trails near Bellingham.
It always seems a ridiculous sport when I describe it to people, but I've completely fallen in love with ultra running over the last year and a half. Pre-dawn wakeup calls and all. As a relative newbie to the sport, I thought I'd explain what it is about running trails for hours on end that becomes so endearing.
I fell into ultra running lately, but I've been an athlete my entire life. I grew up playing soccer, and then in high school, started playing tennis and learned how to row. I didn't start running (aside from sprinting to run down a ball) until college, and it wasn't until post-college that I found myself not on a sports team for the first time. I missed the regularity of practices, the camaraderie, and the competition. I didn't want to exercise just for the sake of working out, as I'd always worked toward some sort of goal or game. And so I fell back into rowing, training four times a week to race with a competitive crew team.
I kept up the running as great cardio training for crew. Then, several years ago, the then-receptionist at my work mentioned that she planned to run the Vancouver marathon. Though I didn't know her well, I told her that I'd always wanted to finish a marathon, and asked if she needed a training partner. Mindy and I ran Vancouver together, and I became hooked.
My path into ultra running was also unintended. I happened to be perusing the Seattle Running Co. web site one day at work and came across the page advertising the White River 50 Mile run, which takes runners up and down two mountains. It sounded just crazy enough to be really interesting. I tried to recruit my road marathon friends, and they all told me there was no chance.
Since I'd never run on a trail before (unless you count Discovery Park), I figured I should attempt a run before White River. I joined the Seattle Running Co. group one Sunday at Cougar Mountain, and by pure fate and good fortune, an equally unexperienced trail runner -- Caroline Ly -- was also with the group for the first time, and planned to sign up for White River. We made a pact to stick together during the entire White River race, and we've run almost every ultra since.
Now, as I prepare to race the North Face 50K tomorrow, I think about what hooked me on ulta running. In some ways, it's an odd fit for me, since I've always been drawn to team sports. Caroline can't run White River this year because she'll be supporting her bike racer boyfriend, and I can't imagine running that many hours without someone to talk to the entire time. I'm definitely a people person.
But there's plenty associated with ultra running that fits me perfectly. Like rowing, it allows you to experience nature in a way most people never have the chance to do. When running through lush, moss-covered forests or on rugged mountain vistas, I constantly remind myself of how fortunate I am to be surrounded by such beauty.
I also absolutely love the ultra running community. Most of my friends are athletes, and I've been part of the soccer, tennis, and rowing crowds. All are quality groups, no doubt. But there's something about the ultra group that inspires a complete absence of ego. The top finishers often seem just as humble, down to earth, and friendly as the middle and back of the pack runners. It's a fringe sport with little glory, and I believe most people are in it because they want to challenge themselves and love the outsdoors, and not because they need to run others into the ground. I still remember Brian Morrison taking the time to explain to Caroline and I the nuts and bolts of White River on that first training run at Cougar Mountain. His generosity of time and effort is just typical of the ultra community.
I doubt I'll ever be a top ultra runner, and I'll never completely devote myself to the sport. I love rowing and tennis too much to spend all of my time running. But I'm also equally confident that I'm just begining to discover all that trail running has to offer. I'm already thinking of the Grand Canyon rim to rim to rim, Cascade Crest, and the hundreds of others trails waiting for me.

(The above photo is from White River 2008, taken by photographer extraordinaire Glenn Tachiyama. I have not yet figured out how to add a photo caption. :) )

On the bike

2009-06-03T09:30:00.001-07:00

The bike lanes are in rush hour mode these days. It happens every year when the daylight hours stretch longer and the sun finally shines upon us.
I must admit, there's a part of me that loves the solitary misery of bike commuting in dark, February rain, without any concern for the aggressive male bikers who seem to emerge every summer and treat bike commuting like a road race. Perhaps I sat next to my former colleague Steve W. for too long, as there's no better bike ride for Steve than one on a cold winter day. A newspaper photographer captured a photo of him once biking across the I-90 bridge in pounding rain. Steve loves it all.
But while I selfishly love a bike lane all to myself, the environmentalist in me always thrills at the thought of more people hopping on their bikes to get to work. I think anyone who tried bike commuting for more than a few days would never return to their car or bus. It's just too darn nice to bask in the freedom from traffic jams, bus schedules, and fellow commuters. My most miserable commutes occurred when I succumbed to bad weather and hopped a tediously slow, overly packed bus with more than one smelly or coughing fellow commuter.
So what will it take to get more people to try bike commuting? I think it's all about the wallet. I never would have attempted to bike to work if parking in my former building downtown didn't cost $15 a day. Government needs to make single car commuting so incredibly expensive, people have no choice but to look to alternate methods. I like the strategy employed by London, where cars pay a toll for entering downtown at certain points of day.
Beyond the financial element, I think people just need to give themselves time to become accustomed to bike commuting. It's quite daunting at first to ride with traffic on downtown streets, but it grows easier with time, as you gain confidence and develop biking skills. Once you follow a particular route for a while, you learn each and every pothole and point where you're apt to get nailed by a driver turning into you. After a few foul weather rides, you figure out exactly what clothes you need to keep you warm and dry on the wettest, coldest winter day. Each year during the dark season, I add one more light to my collection. My current favorite is the mounted helmet light, which allows me to shoot a ray of directly directly toward a driver by simply turning my head.
Now that I don't work downtown, I don't need to commute every day, but I'm still hopping on my bike regularly to go places. I miss it if I stay away for too long. My next job may be in Fremont, which would be a laughably simple and short bike commute. I may have to tack on some Magnolia loops after work just to get my fill.

Ocean rowing

2009-05-31T19:04:00.000-07:00

What would it take to row across the Atlantic?
Well, a boat for one thing. Time. A good chunk of money. A rowing partner who you wouldn't want to throw overboard, or vice versa. And a lot of guts.
I just finished reading Julie Angus' "Rowboat in a Hurricane," an account of rowing from Portugal to Costa Rica in 2005 with her now husband, Colin. The Canadian couple have turned their round-the-world travels into a sort of business by writing books and promoting active lifestyles. (See their web site, http://www.angusadventures.com)
"Rowboat in a Hurricane" is worth a read, even for those who have never picked up a pair of oars, because Julie is a good and honest writer. That's often not the case in the slew of books written by athletes and adventurers who have great stories to tell but not the writing skills to do it effectively. My favorite sports reads more often come from journalists on the outside looking in, such as David Halberstam's "The Amateurs" or Michael Lewis' "The Blind Side."
But Julie Angus weaves an interesting, frank tale of life on a tiny rowboat for months on end. The couple survived three hurricanes, even though they timed the voyage to avoid storm season. (They had the misfortune of planning the trip for 2005, a year that produced Katrina and was one of the worst hurricane years on record) They also avoided near-collisions with more than one large freighter.
Most of the discomforts associated with rowing for months on end weren't dangerous but nonetheless difficult. The couple stopped wearing clothes because the salt-encrusted garments gave them wounds. They developed wrist problems from constantly feathering the oar blades. (In rowing, that's when you turn the blade sideways to carry it above the water after a stroke) When they finally reached St. Lucia (a pit stop on the way to Costa Rica, after over 100 days of rowing), they could barely walk, as their legs had grown unaccustomed to movement beyond the small steps they took on the tiny boat.
So did reading this make me want to attempt something similar? An enthusiastic yes! (Though I harbor no illusions that the trip would always be enjoyable. At times, I'd surely wish I'd never started.) In many ways, I feel this is the best time of my life to attempt something so crazy. I'm young, in good shape, and I don't yet have children to worry about.
I'd also like to attempt a shorter distance rowing trip first. My friends Robin and Sue took their open water double from Ketchikan to Anacortes in the summer of 2007, as documented on the web site "backwardsfromketchikan.org) Unlike the Anguses, Robin and Sue could camp on a beach each night, meaning they didn't need an ocean shell with a sleeping compartment. My friend Pete has already mused about trying that trip next June, and I may hold him to it!

Into the great world of blogging

2009-05-30T20:25:00.000-07:00

While eating yam tacos with friends on Agua Verde's deck this afternoon, I decided that I should venture into the great world of blogging. It's been a month since I wrote my last newspaper article, and I think I am just now beginning to suffer some withdrawal from writing on a daily basis. Hence, time to put pen to paper. (Or fingers to keyboard)
I'm starting this blog in a time of transition. I'm selling my condo, looking for a job, and even figuring out what gym to join. (Though the latter decision isn't exactly the most critical!) Though change can be unsettling, it's also refreshing.
I spent the last seven years as a business reporter in downtown Seattle. It was a job I fell into out of graduate school. I applied for summer internships in Seattle (home) and the Bay Area (grad school home, and where my then-boyfriend was living) and happened to find a spot with the Puget Sound Business Journal. My Stanford roommates laughed because I typically skipped the business section of the paper. I've always gravitated toward language and arts, and never business. If someone were to look at all the clips I accumulated during the PSBJ years, they'd likely be able to tell. I was the one writing about the stay at home dads and the guy who rows to work, and not the banking crisis.
Now, after being part of a round of layoffs one month earlier, I'm re-assessing what I really want to do. I can't say I miss being in an office, and I can't say I miss business reporting. I do love writing, however, and I hope that whatever I end up doing involves that. I'd love to find a job that I feel really passionate about. I don't feel I ever got there with business reporting.
For now, I'm taking time to breathe. Most of us fall into this career rat race where we never have a moment to stop and figure out what we really want. Unemployment, even when unexpected, can be a great gift in that respect.
I'm not quite sure what I'll do with this blog, but I'm guessing it will be a mix of career, writing, ultra running, rowing, tennis and other musings. I love reading other people's blogs -- particularly the adventures of other ultra runners, as I feel I'm just discovering this fascinating, odd, and impressive niche community. (And I do mean odd in a good way....as in, WOW, I can't believe they can do that!) Anyhow, hope you enjoy reading, and blogging suggestions or comments are most welcome.