Moab 50K (+/- 3.5 miles)

Brrrr! This is my friend Kristen and I about to embark on our craziest run ever. We went to Moab Utah earlier this month for a 50K trail run. So how far is 50K? Roughly 32 miles. Unless of course, you are the course setters who can't measure (more on that later). The start was at 8:30am in the canyons south of town. It was chilly so we donned our cold weather gear which we would hand off to Jim right before the start or stuff in our packs as we warmed up. There was also a 10 & 20 mile option that day, making for approximately 250 runners toeing up for a mass start. The air buzzed with excitement and shivered with nerves mixed with goosebumps. We had done quite a bit of prerace preparation; course mapping, aid station and cut off times recorded, pace expectations - we were ready! However, knowing full well that we would not stand a chance at winning we brought along a camera to document our journey. Our goal was to finish strong and finish together. No man (or woman) was to be left behind!

The course was typical Moab...Jeep road, slick rock and sand. Just follow the yellow brick...Opps! I mean fluorescent green dots and yellow ribbons. With a lack of vegetation, much of the course was marked with biodegradable paint dots and arrows on the rocks. Above, was the beginning of the first big ascent. The slick rock was covered with a thin sandy film, truly making it slick.

Kristen coming out of the shadowy canyon and posing in her true flair! Basking in the moments of light before delving back into the shadowy brisk air was truly a treat that morning.

Sometimes we just had to stop and take in the beauty that surrounded us. A natural amphitheatre in the making.

Finally, to the top of the first climb! Sunny skies and a brief downhill stint would warm our blood and make our tummies rumble. Knowing the first aid station was close, we ran like the wind to the table of salty potato chips and pretzels that awaited us. Staffed by the local Jeep club, the aid station (not pictured) offered snacks, drinks and a warm camp fire. The volunteers had spent the night in this remote location to ensure a rest stop for weary runners. They were all bundled in down jackets and beanie caps, as we ran through in thin shorts and sleeveless shirts. They checked off our numbers as we munched and gulped our calorie laden goods. Then we were off for more adventure!

The jeep road turned into a narrow trail following closely along the cliff of numerous canyons. In this picture, if you look to the bottom, you can see the Hunter Canyon trail. We would soon descend from our current location, follow a road and then run up the single track below. The views were spectacular, but we were only able to get a few pictures because remember - We had cut off times to beat!

There were times that we questioned the course marker's logic - like here. Look at the trail and follow it to the little green arrow on the rock at the edge of the cliff......

Was it confusing to the other runners that we would be turning? Did the course marker suspect that we might be so weary that we might continue straight and fall hundreds of feet? Well, better safe than sorry; but sometimes the trail is just obvious.

Many miles and over a thousand feet in elevation later, this was our view. We had climbed from the valley floor below along an old jeep road. I am not sure which was more breath taking: the view or the climb. The geology is amazing in Utah. Natural swirls of rock that can only be appreciated from high above make any climb worth the sweat and burning muscles. The aid station prior to this climb was in our opinions (and others we encountered) poorly stocked. The lack of food did little to prepare one's body for such a steep endeavor. Fortunately, Kristen and I had carried our own goodies. While some may have criticized the added weight of our small packs laden with extra gels, energy bars and gooey chews; others were thankful. At the top of this section, we encountered another runner with whom we had chatted with earlier in the run. She was zapped, bonking from a lack of calories she had only a single water bottle that she carried and was relying on the aid stations for her food needs. We stopped and offered her an energy bar and a couple of gel packs. She was grateful and mumbled thanks as she stuffed her mouth with chewy goodnesses. However, I would later question our good intentions as she went on to pass us with new found energy and we would not see her again until the end.

The top of the climb placed us onto a wide open plateau. Here you can see the snow capped La Sal mountains miles away. We had to pick up our pace with not much time to stop and record the beauty. For miles back we (and many others equipped with GPS devices) realized that they had mismeasured the course. Remember, I mentioned that at the beginning of this story. The aid station that was to be at mile 8.8 was at 9.9. We thought perhaps it was because mile 8.8 was on the side of a cliff which we had to sit on our butts and scoot down the rocks, obviously not a good place to set up a food table and let people gather. Ok, honest mistake. Only it got worse. The aid station that was to be at mile 10.5 was at nearly 14!!! That's over 3 miles off! With this new found knowledge, we had to quickly recalculate our pace in order to make the cut off times. Many people were upset by this grossly large miscalculation on the course setter's part and the fact that they didn't inform anyone or move the the cut off times / mileage points. With the day and age of technology that we live in, many found this to be inexcusable. If we as runners were able to figure this out why couldn't the race directors? What was more confusing is that they claimed this to be a qualifying race for another and did not recognize their mistakes making the the minutes per mile way off. In essence, the 20 milers ran over 23 but their times were posted for only 20 and the 50k was over 3 miles too long as well... reflecting a very slow pace. Oh Well!! Life is what it is and how you deal with it is what separates you from the others.

At first, I admit I was upset. Having to recalculate our pace while on the run was not my idea of fun; however we had decided that we were in this for the experience and not to win. So enjoying our experience is what we did!

After the wide open agoraphobic plateau, we crammed ourselves through a claustrophobic slot canyon. Here Kristen is descending into the slot, which we had to turn sideways and shimmy our way through. I guess the course setter figured if you can make it this far you aren't too big to get through the crack.

Not pictured are the steep traverses that we had to hang on to ropes to get across (our hands were too full to get pictures). Also was an aid station staffed by two people with a Hummer - I didn't know Hummers actually went off road! Creeks that we hopped across, sandy washes the seeped into our shoes, rocks that tried their best to trip our staggering feet and short climbs that took our breath away on the ascent then pounded our knees and quads on the descent: there were many miles not captured on film but they will forever live in our minds, hearts and muscles!

Towards the end we were still in high spirits. Kristen with her classic trail flair, smiling despite blisters on both feet. The mighty Colorado river flowed calmly through the canyon below and washed away the trials and tribulations of the miles before.

FINI - It's not a pretty finishing photo but it's the reality of it all. Kristen with her hands on her hips, resting tired arms that swung away the miles and me in the background reaching for boiled potatoes and salt. Food was all we could think of the last miles. Not sure of what we might be able to eat, we wanted something. The finish hosted a post race BBQ with cheeseburgers, pasta salad and lots of other goodies. However, there wasn't a beer to be found! I guess "real" racers don't chase the miles away with beers... or at least not in front of the finish.

We accomplished our goal - we finished strong and together!

After heading back to Kristen's hotel room for a shower, Jim and I grabbed a light dinner and hit the road for home. He had to work the following morning, so we could not stay the night. After a 3 hour drive home, I thought I might need a crowbar to pry myself out of the truck. I spent the next day sleeping in and treating myself to a lengthy massage in the afternoon. I recovered well.

Kristen and I have already been discussing our next crazy endeavor. Although, we don't know when or where we will meet up again to log miles and memories along the trails.

On a side note: Jim was the most wonderful support crew a girl could ask for! He drove me to Moab the night before the race and spoke words of encouragement to Kristen and I over dinner that night. He carried our extra clothes back to the truck after the start promised to be there at the end.

In the meantime, he had brought his mountain bike and decided to surprise us and meet us along the trail. Well, he ended up following our trail and after meeting up with the crew at the first aid station he realized he wouldn't be able intercept our path. Instead he turned around and set off on an adventure of his own. In his words, he "got wonderfully lost." It was Moab, a mountain biker's dream. He hopped the slick rock and wheelied through the canyons. One handed wheelies are his fortay and a sight to be admired by men on 4-wheelers that were struggling to just make it through the canyon.

He was at the end as he had promised. Capturing our less than "photo finish" and bringing warm clothes to our tired bodies. Patiently waiting while we devoured our greasy cheeseburgers and driving us back to the hotel. Offering congratulations the entire time to Kristen, while I took the world's longest shower. He drove back home, without complaint, late in the night while I rambled on and on about my run. He listened and listened for hours, until we were home and I collapsed into bed. Jim was and is the best support crew I've ever had... Thank you!

The Ancient Old Beast

This our Ancient Old Beast .... a.k.a. Dinah. She turned 15 this past June and is still raising hell! Jim found her in a barn in Wisconsin while doing Peregrine Falcon research. She was so small that she fit in his coat pocket. While she never did grow up to be a big cat (only about 7.5 lbs. in her prime), she has the attitude of a tiger. During her lifetime, Jim has taken her on all sorts of adventures. She's gone canoeing, back country camping, skiing and an occasional swim. When she would hike with Jim she would perch atop his pack and balance flawlessly. Now as she grows older, her balance waivers and she has become slightly frail. She no longer leaves the house on weekend excursions. She sits in the window upon her heated bed and stares out at the falling snow, blowing leaves and other neighborhood cats.




Dinah never was an outdoor cat left free to roam the streets and terrorize the birds. When she would go outside she would be on a leash with a bell. However, one evening in her youth she was outside perched on the railing when Jim heard a crash. Rushing to the door thinking that she had fallen, he came upon a shocking sight. Dinah had managed to catch a bat! The bat was swooping near the porch light feeding on the bugs swirling in the air when out of nowhere came a cat on a leash. She caught the bat an had it pinned to the deck. Apparently, a leash and a bell wasn't enough to save the bat. Another time in the wee hours of the morning Jim was awoke by a terrible commotion in the kitchen. He turned on the light to find Dinah in a brawl with a raccoon! See, the house Jim had bought had a dog door. Dinah wasn't big enough to push through it so Jim hadn't boarded it up yet. That raccoon got more than he bargained for on his midnight forage for the kitchen trash. Dinah has put a dog in the ER by ripping his ear nearly off his head and slashed a good number of others. We were worried when we got married that she might do the same to Aspen.




Unfortunately, in May of 2007 Dinah was diagnosed with renal failure and was given only 6-12 months to live. She was loosing what little weight she had and was becoming withdrawn, not even getting up to greet Jim at the door after work. We got married and moved in the dog with little resistance. She would still growl and hiss, forcing Aspen to move and establishing who's house this was. Dinah began vomiting constantly and stopped cleaning herself. Without keeping her food down, her weight plummeted until she looked like a fur bag of bones. It doesn't help when she only has her front teeth and nothing to chew efficiently with. We thought for sure her days were numbered. She had never cared for canned food or the idea of softening her dried food with water. I tried everything to get her to eat more and vomit less. Finally, I found something that she not only would eat but could keep down. These disgusting whole canned mackerals. Yuck! The smell is repulsive and the look is worse. Yet, in love of the old beast I stifled my gag reflex and smashed them up with little bits of dry kibble twice a day. She began gaining weight and cleaning herself once more. Now she hasn't thrown up in months with the exception of a hairball or two and is feistier than ever. She has learned to beg and scream until we fix them for her. We are glad to see her playing and romping to the door when we come home. Too bad for the dogs though, because with this new found energy she often goes out of her way to smack them in the nose and show them who's boss.




Just last week while walking on my postal route, I ran into Dinah's vet. We didn't take her in for her "tooth" cleaning or for her geriatric check up this summer (why? so they could tell us again she was dying?) so he asked how she was doing. When I told him of the changes we made to her diet and about her "rebound" in health he mentioned a study he had just recently read. He said the diets high in Omega 3 fats from cold water fish can dilate the blah-blah-blah and help with the kidney functions. Thus, reversing the effects of renal failure. Interesting how I stumbled upon this when others were getting paid to study it.




Meanwhile, this is our old cat. Dinah...a.k.a. Beans...a.k.a. the Bingus... and lots of other crazy little names depending on the day. As for now she's doing well despite her qualifications for AARP and Social Security. She's accepted that the dogs are not going away but she doesn't have to like them either. She is the ruler of the roost.




MEOW on!

Our Son - STOWN EVEREST!!!

Stown is a typical 12 1/2 year old boy, always goofing off for the camera! He's the most wonderful son a parent could hope for and has such a vivid imagination. An incredibly intelligent kid who can converse with adults then turn around and do something so childlike you want to pull your hair out. He's tall, taking after his mother, so there are times you forget he's only a kid. He's very responsible for his age and therefore is given quite a bit of rope to hang himself if he chooses. Stown lives with his father in Lakewood California and comes here to visit us for holidays and summer vacation. Jim and I love having him here and showing him all the outdoor activities that Colorado has to offer. This past summer we went camping in the high country outside of Silverton for a couple of nights to escape the craziness of town over the 4th of July weekend.

Stown was a trooper! He carried all his own gear - tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, clothes and water. Jim and I split up the cookware and food. Remembering that Stown lives basically at sea level and we were hiking up over 12,000 feet, we didn't want to make it miserable for the kid. We hiked slow, taking rest breaks and snacking along the way. We made our way up the mountain in a slow but steady pace, until we came to a place to break camp just before a nasty wind and rain storm blew in. We all huddled into Stown's tent to pass the time playing "Pass the Pigs". After the storm moved on we went out to explore, play and collect snow to melt for water.


Stown was impressed with the amount of snow still around in July. After an early dinner, he build a Snow Goddess. Decorating her with wild flowers and a grass skirt, she stood strong against the night. Like a protector, she watched over our camp while we slept, then began to melt away in the morning sun.

On the last day, we headed back to the truck where we had left our snowboarding gear. Jim hiked up to a long chute to get a good steep run in. Stown, the dogs and I stayed low to catch more shorter runs. As Stown laced up Doug stood guard, then would follow him down the mountain loping through the snow until they both crashed.

Stown had a great summer in 2008. We also went to the Grand Canyon and spend time with friends in Big Bear Lake California. Stown took kayak lessons here in Durango on the Animas river for two weeks and got his first job. He worked for a local Old West Photography studio, where he would dress up and pass out fliers on the sidewalk. While Jim and I worked during the day, Stown was free to "roam" town. He had a pass to the local rec. center, his bike and his cell phone. He was responsible for keeping in touch with us and being at one of our offices at certain times of the day. Stown made sure he was never late to work and was always accountable for his where abouts. We are fortunate that Durango is such a kid friendly town and everything is connected by a beautiful bike path. Stown has thought about the idea of moving here to live with us. He is his own person and we respect his choices. He has experienced more freedom and responsibility during his visits here than he does back in the city in California. Stown is fast becoming a young man and growing into himself. He will soon make choices that we as parents may not agree with but need to try to understand and be supportive of. It is our job to give him guidance and provide him with the means necessary to make educated decisions, not crucify him for making what we may see as the wrong choice.

Unfortunately, our situation it seems to be the story of the country mouse and the city mouse. Each place has something to offer, it is just deciding which you like better. As for Jim and I, we will always be country mice.

Our Local 5 Minutes of Fame

Photo Courtesy of Durango Herald 23 Sept. 2008

Jim, Doug, Aspen and I ran the Animas Mountain Mug Run on Sunday 22 Sept. and our picture appeared in the local paper the next day. I guess the photographer liked the dawgs! The run is the last in a summer long series here in Durango. They are all trail runs of varing lengths and all dog friendly. It's nice in a town where dogs are so much a part of the lifestyle that they allow them in these events. Doug and Aspen are sporting their fancy new bandanas they were given that morning. Jim and I received handmade ceramic coffee mugs created by a local artist. Doug, our labrador, was almost 8 months old at the time of the run. This was his first official event and was all excited by the commotion. Aspen, our golden retriever, is a seasoned veteran and remained calm and steady. Doug is growing everyday and is dwarfing our dear Aspen in size, yet she remains the alfa of the backyard. Aspen will be three in February and Doug will be 9 months old tomorrow. They get along splendidly and despite all the new dogs that have moved in the neighboring yards recently, they remain relatively speachless. It's nice to know that our dogs aren't the barky ones of the neighborhood.

Happy Trails!