Meghan's Blog

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June 27, 2006

"How Has One Place You've Traveled..."

"...Changed Your Life?"

The question was placed seemingly haphazardly on the Yahoo email login page earlier today, mixed in with ads and other clickables. I don't even know why it was there. The question vanished just after I read it, replaced with another advert of some sort.

I had all afternoon to ponder this thought, while I was contorting myself into small corners of my wet basement with rags, trying in vain to dry what might become a mildewy, moldy mess without further intervention (Enter the huge fan lent to me from the guys who have now realized that, if they don't help me fix this problem, they might receive a big bill in the mail.). I have made progress, though, and all is not a lost cause at this point. But now I have digressed.

After such pondering, I came to the conclusion that I think the very point of travel specifically, and adventuring in general, is to incite life change. Such incited life change may be small and insignificant: my immediate family and I have all spent varying lengths of time in East Africa where Swahili is spoken; resultingly, our family uses the Swahili word for "Bless you" when someone sneezes. On the other hand, resulting life change may be more grandiose: I spent two collegiate summers in this area of Wyoming and Montana and I loved my time here; I credit those experiences with my strong desire and successful effort to return to this area to work now. Additionally, I think that such life change occurs both consciously and unconsciously.

I could make this blog entry exceedingly boring to everyone but myself if I were to list ways in which I have changed as a result of each place I've traveled. I won't torment you all. Instead, I will pick the summer after I graduated from college when my friend and I spent three months traveling in Alaska.

A few weeks after graduation, I climbed in my Dodge Neon somewhere in the cheese country of the Midwest, drove it across the United States, picked up my friend M in Seattle, and began driving north. Our intentions were quite simple: we had pooled together our earthly savings of $2100; with that, we would drive to Alaska, live out of my Dodge Neon (she didn't have a car), play until three quarters of our money was depleted, then drive back home.

Our first night together, we sat at a picnic table in a campground in the middle of British Columbia. The June evening was long, and we swatted mosquitoes while drinking cheap wine, and the daylight refused to completely wane. I can still feel the electric charge of anticipation that night. The world was at our fingertips, with seemingly no constraints of time, money, or other responsibility to limit us.

We had a great summer. We backpacked and hiked all over Alaska. We layed for hours in blueberry patches, gorging ourselves like bears and staining our fingers and lips blue. We ran on trails passing through scenery so gorgeous it could make you cry. We sat for hours upon days inside our tent, waiting for the rain and snow to wane. We got drunk in funny little bars where you could count on the ratio of men to women being all of them to the two of us and the likelihood of us ever having to buy our own beers very small. We saw more bears than I will probably ever see in the collective rest of my life. We had a car accident (The Dodge Neon survived. It was retired a few years ago, after a long, fruitful, and adventurous life of its own.). We felt the pressure of the end-of-the-summer and the jobs we both were starting in September. We talked quiety and sadly on the long journey southward back to the continental United States. In the end, I'm quite sure that we decided we had done everything, and more, that we had dreamed of doing.

In that traveling experience, I felt that world-at-my-fingertips feeling that spurs us all to dream on. Not just the intangible feeling that I should do that, sometime, somewhere, someday. But I felt it in that fingernails-dirty, dig-down-deep tangible feeling of doing what I dream of, right now, right here. And now, it's hard to imagine life without that feeling. If life is not at our fingertips, if new opportunities do not await us around each little corner of our lives, if we do not have the ability to tangibly fulfill our dreams, then who are we, really?

I pose the same question to all of you then, how has one place you've traveled changed your life?

Posted by Meghan at 6:54 PM | Comments (3)

June 26, 2006

"Neat Crap, Come and Get It!"

I need a sign that says something like this. It appears as if I'm having a redneck garage sale in my yard. Most of the contents of my basement are now laying in my yard. Two tents, two sleeping bags, sleeping pad, camp stove, ski boots, random assorted boxes both empty and full, power tools and their storage containers. The more delicate items that used to be in the basement are layed out on my kitchen counters. Why, you ask? It seems that my basement has flooded.

Somewhere in the comings and goings of the day, running errands, doing chores in the house and yard, I noticed a peculiar sound coming from my basement. The noise sounded a little too much like a sump pump running for me to ignore it, and, sure enough, it was. A pipe broke, and sprayed water all over the basement, all over everything I own down there, puddled water about 3 inches deep on the floor, and the sump pump was unable to keep up. I think I discovered it early, but any water spraying from a pipe on the basement ceiling is too much.

Most of what was down there will be fine. Stuff will dry out. I lost several rolls of photos that weren't being stored in a watertight container. They were photos of a trip I took with friends to Copper Canyon in Mexico and a trip I took to Padre Island National Seashore in Texas. The negatives are ruined for sure, but the prints will be salvagable, albeit permanently warped and messy looking. After summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro years ago, I received a certificate. Something blue bled onto the certificate, making it partially unreadable. The worst thing that got wet was a significant quantity of photography equipment, two cameras and three lenses, that I recently inherited from my dad, who was a talented photographer. The equipment is worth a lot of money, but it means more to me in its sentimental value. Inside of one camera is a partially exposed roll of film, the last photos that my Dad took on the Galapagos Islands in Ecuador before he died. Tomorrow I'm taking the camera to a camera shop where they can remove the film in a dark room and try to salvage it. We'll see what happens.

I ran today. It was hot. The trail was dusty. I got really dirty. It was great. Unoriginal enough? Oh, I ran 8 miles easy.

Last winter, I wrote a blog entry about a pink sports bra I have that zips in the front, and whose zipper is broken. After a run wherein I spent much time making sure the zipper stayed up last winter, I put it in the bottom of a drawer to make it a cross-training sports bra. Today I rediscovered it and got excited to wear it out running. I think it's a cute sports bra, hence my excitement. I did, and it had the same unzipping problem. I was trail running, so luckily not a lot of people saw me struggling with the zipper.

Posted by Meghan at 8:39 PM | Comments (2)

June 24, 2006

Not the Queen of the Mountain

Not even close.

I spent my morning chugging very slowly up the famous Beartooth Highway in the Beartooth Run. The course is 8.2 miles long and goes up 3 very, very long switchbacks, starting at something like 7100 feet and ending at something like 9300 feet. You can actually see a photo of the course at the above link. It was an amazing experience for the race's location. It was a humbling experience for the effort it takes to get up this thing.

I've never done a hill climb. I didn't really know how to pace myself. I overheard a man at the starting line say that his pace on this course is 1:45 min/mile slower than his marathon pace on a flat, low elevation course. I drove the course beforehand, so I sort of knew what I was getting into. I recognized a few women who I've raced against and beat this summer, so I thought it might be smart to stay ahead of them. Finally, I didn't want to go out too fast and die a dreadful death near the top. Rather, I prefered to begin conservatively, and speed up near the top if I was feeling good.

I have never been to the Beartooth Mountains of Montana, even though they are only about 2 hours from my house. This place is one of the most beautiful areas I have ever seen in all my travels. It's outstanding, and I will be going back there soon. The race starts at the entrance to a National Forest Service campground, in the bottom of a gorgeous U-shaped, galcier-carved canyon, and climbs it's way up the side of a mountain. There's not really that much to describe about the course aside from this. Notable things were slight changes in the grade of the road every now and again, as well as the misplacement of I think all of the mile markers. It was a perfect morning for racing, crisp and clear. I could occasionally hear the whumping of a helicopter in the mountains around us. This area is known for its heli-skiing, and I've read that snow was so good this winter and it's lasting so long this summer, that people are still heli-skiing the Beartooths. At one point in my drive back home, I even saw one guy cutting turns on a snowfield, kicking up some foul slush that must pass for snow. Oh, what snow -lovers will do for one last run!

I didn't run very well. I didn't feel bad, per se. I think that, compared to my fitness on flat road courses, I perform much worse when a course is very hilly or on a trail. I guess I know this about myself, I've learned it before. I was re-reminded of this when women that I've previously beat this summer dissappeared up the hill in front of me. I guess this is a little strange to me because I like running in hills, I run them almost everyday, and I often run on some sort of off-road surface. After those few moments of feeling bad about being left in the dust, I just decided to have fun and enjoy the view. I worked hard, I was definitely tired by the end, and the quick altitude change made me feel all lightheaded and giddy. It was hard to say if I kept up a steady pace all the way through, as the mile markers were definitely skewed, but I tried to. Here and there, I picked off people all throughout the race. The only people who passed me were a group of 3 running together at the halfway point. I tried to go with them, but their plan must have been to speed up halfway through, and I couldn't do it.

At the moment, I have no idea how I placed. All I know is that I ran something like 1:18, and that the finish line was significantly busier with people that when I usually arrive at finish lines. I think 72 minutes won for women on this same course 2 years ago (Last year's course was in a different location, as this road was closed for almost a year due to a huge landslide.). I'll be interested to see what won this year.

It was chilly up on top! Apparently there was some sort of bag drop that I didn't know about (I didn't mention that I was almost late for the race, and so I didn't pay much attention to such details.) Some people were donning hats, mittens, pants, and fleece jackets. Me, I was huddling behind a car out of the wind in my sweaty clothes. Some old man offered me some clothes, but he wasn't the kind of person who I'd want to borrow clothes from. Then, a few minutes later, when the old man was still standing nearby, a cute boy offered the same. I turned him down, too, but only because the old man was watching to see what I'd do. There was supposed to be a bus returning us to the starting line, but apparently it was only making 1 trip after everyone had completed the course. I eventually got cold enough that I decided to run back to the starting line. Going downhill into a growing breeze wasn't too comfortable either, but it was better than standing around doing nothing. So, 8.2 miles back downhill. Not only are my calves and hip flexors sufficiently dead from climbing uphill, but now my quads are trashed from going back downhill. Want to know something else? I beat the bus back down.

Posted by Meghan at 3:01 PM | Comments (4)

June 22, 2006

On Location in Grand Central Station

Lately, I've felt like I've been having a sort of extended out-of-body experience. As if I have been moving through life, watching myself do things, but not actively participating in them. Perhaps that isn't quite right. Maybe it's more like I'm still in my body, but I view the world and my day-to-day existence through a fuzz that masks all the details and fineries that make up life. I guess I don't really know how to describe it, but I do know that I've felt a little off-center. Before I let it get the best of me, I decided today was the day to do something about it.

*Warning: Do as I say, not as I did. In grizzly bear country, one should run in open areas where visibility is good. If running in enclosed areas with little visibility, one should run in groups of 2 or more, carry pepper spray intended for bears, and make noise. Probably the best thing to do is to not even run in areas with poor visibility as the majority of people who get attacked by grizzly bears are those who have surprised them suddenly.*

I went trail running this afternoon on a beautiful trail that wound among lodgepole pine trees, huge boulders that fell off the cliff above it, and freezing-cold creeks still full of snow-melt water. This infrequently used trail was a single-track mixture of grass, gravel, and downed pine needles. I started out from the trailhead, and immediately I felt tired. I hoped that I would shortly come around, and I did. As soon as I was away from the trailhead and the din of humanity, and instead surrounded by only natural noises, I felt energized. My stride grew longer and my footsteps lighter, and I felt great as I did it.

I played little games with myself as I ran. I tried to make as little noise as possible. The quietest trail substrate is grass. Lightfooted types can move almost silently over grass, with but the tiniest of rustles. Next is pine needles. They themselves don't make noise, rather they muffle the noise of your foot striking the ground. Each footfall is a barely audible "whump" and, with an effort, you can run so quietly on pine needles as well. The gravel is the loudest. Pounding one's foot against the ground illicits noise produced by the gravel pieces moving against each other. The noise is noticeable, kind of scratchy, and, if you concentrate hard enough, you can almost feel that scratchy feeling trace itself through your body.

I played a second game. I watched my shadow. In the later afternoon light, my shadow had grown narrow and tall. As I ran, I tested different movements of my arms and knees, and watched how my shadow reacted. My running economy, or lack thereof, was readily noticeable, as were options on how to run with greater efficiency.

Aside from monitoring myself, there was so much else out there to observe. Near the trailhead, near humanity, I listened to the persistent call of the magpie. They sit in trees around trailheads and picnic areas, awaiting human handouts or leftovers. Their attitudes exude a near-arrogance that I'd find a turn-off among our species. With them, it's comical. Further in, as I tried to run silently, I heard a woodpecker working somewhere up high in the lodgepoles. Down on the forest floor, the bird's noise arrived in a bold, repetitive echo. There was a herd of elk upon the green hillside to my left. Some people call this area The Nursery, and it's where many female elk go to calve. They have somehow convinced themselves that this place is safe from predators. I did not inform the elk of the 2 coyotes that crossed the trail in front of me a bit later. Coyotes here are different. I guess I expected them to be bigger with more fur up here in the mountains where food is plentiful and the air has a frequent chill. However, in comparison to Texas coyotes, they are rather small. These 2 coyotes were shy. They crossed only 30 or 40 yards in front of me, and when I arrived there, they were gone, completely gone. The last thing to note was the blooming clover trailside. Yesterday, as I drove through the park during work, I watched a grizzly roll in a field of clover, and I wondered why exactly clover felt so good. Today I thought that perhaps that grizzly loved the smell of clover, that's what drew me in today. The scent of blooming clover is heavenly, soft, peaceful, sweet.

Also, while I was out there today, I found peace. I arrived back at the trailhead after 8 miles feeling happy and comfortable, centered and focused, more like me. Thus, this evening I'm writing from on location, at my own grand central station.

EDIT: This just in. Pathetic, don't you think? Yes, I'm aware that I'm writing this from my laptop, from my living room, from inside my house. Wanna bet that I'm going to take my dog for a walk in my national park this evening while most of the rest of America watches prime time TV? Come on people, step away from the electronic gadgetry. You can do it.

Posted by Meghan at 7:38 PM | Comments (3)

June 20, 2006

No Real Reason to Write

I don't really have a reason to write a blog entry today. Today is a rest day, from running at least. I did manage to do the core and strength work that I skipped yesterday due to lack of time. That's about all the exercise I'm going to get today.

I also don't really have a reason to write about Father's Day, either. The holiday was a really tough day for me. I have no father figures left in my life, and for some strange reason, this occurred to me last night as abruptly as I imagine it would feel to run into a brick wall. My maternal grandfather died years ago, when I was old enough to remember him, but when I was too young to have acquired many memories of him. My paternal grandfather died at the end of 2004 after a short, abrupt, and surprising illness. I knew him all throughout my childhood and adult life, and my memories of him are many. And now my father is gone as well.

Oh well, I guess there isn't much I can do. These are the facts, and they aren't going to change. What will have to change is my attitude towards the facts. I know I won't be down and out for long, and pardon my short indulgence in sadness for the moment.

Posted by Meghan at 7:49 PM | Comments (5)

June 19, 2006

Noteworthy

I'm always surprised when my tiny corner of the world makes it to the national news. We've made it to that level at least two times in the last week or so. If you're interested in a glimpse of what I do in a day-to-day context, this isn't exactly it. These are what I would call out-of-the-ordinary experiences that do happen from time-to-time. However, they are representative of the sort of job that I do, wherein myself and my many coworkers provide emergency services for tourists and residents at Yellowstone National Park.

One might wonder why emergency services are needed at a national park. After all, people just come here for vacation and respite from their lives, right? However, more times than not, the visitors to our national park not only bring their problems to this national park when they visit, but they also manage to make all kinds of trouble when they get here. I mean this in a most affectionate context because I love my job and I love helping people out here. I do wish people wouldn't get themselves into this much trouble, though. You know? Mostly I think it's just very sad, when a preventable tragedy occurs as a family is trying to vacation and spend time together. Be careful out there, all!

Another noteworthy topic for this blog: my resolved racing dilemma. The dilemma was whether to race the Jackson Hole Half Marathon or the Beartooth Run this weekend. At first I was planning to do the hill climb at the Beartooth Run, just because it looks awesome and it's close to home. Then, I changed my mind to the Jackson Hole Half Marathon because making a weekend of playing down in the Tetons sounded like even more fun, and I thought I was perhaps better equipped to actually race a half than a big hill climb. I went to register for the half yesterday, only to find that online registration had closed. The website didn't mention any on-site registration, so I emailed the race director and asked. No on-site registration, no exceptions. I know that big races, say those with several thousand entrants, typically don't offer on-site registration. But, come on, we're talking about a few hundred people here! I know as well as everyone else that they would make a bunch more money by allowing a few dozen to register on-site. Sigh. So, the decision has been for me. I shall race (read: attempt to run well and not die) the Beartooth Run this weekend.

Today, I had to venture out into a thunderstorm, complete with pea-sized, hail in order to get my run in. I've before mentioned my slim window of time to work out while I'm working, and my window just kept getting even more narrow with today's weather. I stayed low, didn't climb up any of the nearby hills, and did laps around the maintenance yard and the campground. All the while dodging rain bursts with bits of hail as well. I found myself feeling exhilirated, but I can't quite say the same for my poor weather-weary dog. She was torn between wanting to run and having to run in a thunderstorm. Much dog angst was experienced.

And, a final note, my dog's name is June. It's short for June Bug, her original name, given by her original owner. I just presume that she was born in June, or at least when the the junebugs were out and about in Texas. So, I celebrate my dog's birthday on the summer solstice, as it's in June and it's a good time to celebrate anyways. This probably sounds lame to many, but I don't care. She is my main responsibility in life, so I'm going to do her birthday right. I'm thinking chicken and rice for the menu? She's got simple tastes.

Ok, I'm going to stop typing now, before I devolve any further.

Posted by Meghan at 7:04 PM | Comments (2)

June 18, 2006

The Ballad of the Beer-Handled Boy

I'm fresh off the airplane from a trip to Chicago, IL, where my family held its annual family reunion. I know there are many people who run in Chicago. In fact, I read several blogs of Chicago-area runners. However, I have always struggled with getting good runs in good places in Chicago. I know part of my problem is where we always stay, in proximity to our family, and that this area isn't too conducive to running. I know the other part of the problem is that my running is always limited to a very small window of time that I have to squeeze in before and/or after the chaos that is a day with my family, so I never have time to explore new running routes. This weekend was no exception. My routes were rather limited.

My first morning of running in Chicago, I've decided to run loops around a mall across the street. There are no cars around at this time of the morning, and the loop seems to be about exactly 1 mile. I was standing in the road, tying my shoes and starting my music when another runner came trotting by. This is the Beer-Handled Boy. I never got a good look at him to know if he was a boy or a man, but he was shirtless and running in a pair of knee-length basketball shorts. He had these love/beer handles bouncing on his sides as he ran, thus the origins of his pseudonym. My intent is not to make fun of this man only for his appearance. Rather, the name is catchy, and I'm hoping that you'll read on to find out exactly why I'm making fun of him. It appeared if he had the same running plan, running laps around the mall.

Loop 1. I fell in a distance behind Beer-Handled Boy and began running, and a few moments later I passed him. Now I'm running in front of Beer-Handled Boy. Beer-Handled Boy just won't give up, though. Through my iPod music, I can hear his footfalls and breaths behind me. Somewhere near the end of Loop 1, he passes me in a surge.

Loop 2. Beer-Handled Boy has put a little distance between us in his surge, but he loses ground quickly when he tires and slows back down. I pass Beer-Handled Boy again. For much of Loop 2, I again listened to Beer-Handled Boy's noises at my back.

Loop 3. Beer-Handled Boy passes again in a much more solid surge, and puts at least 30 meters between us before settling into a pace similar to mine. For 3/4 of this loop, he maintains that distance. Then, we begin to curve through some trees, and he disappears momentarily from view. When I can see him again, he's walking and he's looking back at me. As soon as he sees me, he takes off running. In one final sprint of about 150 meters, he runs way out there before stopping at his car, doubled over to catch his breath. I can't help it, I'm visibly laughing. The whole scene is ridiculous. When I pass by him, he tosses me a head knod, and I toss him back a comment. "You must be pretty proud to have beat a girl on her easy run." He just stood there looking at me.

Loop 4. I'm all alone out there, finally. When I come around the curve to where his car was, he's still there. He's leaned against his car, his beer-handles spilling over the waist of his shorts, drinking Gatorade. He says, "I admit it, I got a better workout with you here." I again laugh visibly, and also manage to thank him.

Loop 5. I'm still all alone out there. Again, I come by his car, and he's still there. "How far are you running?" he asks. "Until I wilt in his humidity." I answer and keep running.

Loop 6. My last loop. He's still there. He's all cooled off now, not so sweaty looking that I think he's going to have a heart attack anymore. As I go by him, he says, "My 3 lap average pace was faster than your 6 lap average pace." "You're a stud." I answer.

What's up with that?

Posted by Meghan at 12:56 PM | Comments (2)

June 14, 2006

"Do You Understand What I'm Saying?"

This entry is an attempt to describe and make fun of a recent experience that I had at a cardiologist. I visited the cardiologist for a stress echocardiogram. The goal of this procedure is to take ultrasound and doppler radar footage of the heart both at rest and under stress, thus somehow giving field experts the ability to determine whether or not one has heart disease. The test's results indicated that I had no sign of heart disease, which is a great thing in light of learning that my dad had a heart attack at my age, and now I have a funny story to tell as well.

My regular doctor gave me a few pointers regarding what I should expect and what I should bring. As a result, I expected to go to the cardiologist, let them look at my heart while I lay peacefully at rest, then run on a treadmill until I'm close to my heart rate maximum, then let them look at my heart again. This is exactly how it went.

So, I'm ushered into one of the rooms, some sort of techinician fellow askes me a few questions, tells me that he's going to do basically what I described above, and then leaves the room asking me to get undressed from the waist up. He says that he's going to hook a long series of heart monitoring patches all over my chest and abdomen. So, I get undressed from the waist up, he attaches these things all over me, then tells me he's ready for me to get on the treadmill. "Should I change into running clothes?" I ask. "Oh no, you won't need them." he answers. Really? I ponder to myself. I follow with, "So, how long will I be running?" He indicates, "You'll just be walking, don't worry." "Wait, I'm confused," I start, "Doesn't my heart rate have to surpass 90% of its maximum before you can finish the procedure?" "Yes, of course." he answers. There's a long pause while I'm thinking. He's probably looking at me idiotically, but I don't notice.

"So, I'm going to run on the treadmill until my heart rate reaches 90%?" "YES," he answers with emphasis and growing frustration. I ask him to explain just one more time what the treadmill is going to do. He tells me that it's going to start at 3.4 mph and 3% incline for 3 minutes, and then after each 3 minutes the treadmill will increase in speed and incline until I exceed 90% of my heart rate. The maximum possible speed of the treadmill is 12 miles and hour and 10% incline, he says. "Well, it's going to take a a while for me, and I'm going to need some running clothes." I answer, at the same time making awkward motions towards my bare chest that's only lightly covered with a paper shirt. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" I ask him. "Ohhhhh, I get it. But oh no, you can't wear a bra, it will impede the readings." And with that, I get on the treadmill.

Now, I'm 12 minutes into the process. The treadmill is going 6.something mph and at some low incline. I'm in a slow shuffle, my heart rate is hovering steadily low, and I'm holding onto my boobs as I shuffle. There's a tremendous ackward silence in the room. The technician occaisionally volunteers, not making eye contact, "Gee, I sure wish I could make this thing go faster." Yeah, me too, buddy, I say to myself.

It's 21 minutes in, and I'm finally getting close to 90%. By now, the cardiologist has made a token appearance in the room. He walks in and instantly laughs. I don't blame him. I mean, I must look ridiculous. I'm running at a fast clip on a big incline, and I'm holding onto my boobs for dear life through the paper shirt! Good lord! I feel a very strong sense of embarassment. It's awful, really. Finally, finally, finally, the machine beeps and stops, I'm put out of my mistery, and I'm ushered over to to the machine for some more heart footage.

People, I tell you!

This is a down week, running-wise. I also didn't make it to my 55 miles for last week. My second day off from running threw my mileage off into an unrecoverable place. I'm not too unhappy with last week, though, as I rode well on my bike when I wasn't running. This week, I'm running just 30 or so easy miles. This down week coincides with my return to the Midwest for a little family time. I think just having 5 easy miles a day or so to run will be both a welcome respite and a relief.

Posted by Meghan at 6:12 PM | Comments (5)

June 11, 2006

These Are the Days of Their Lives

I like my low-key life, I don't care much for the dramatics of the tourists. Is it not possible for you tourists to take a vacation from the trials and tribulations of your life and come to this here Yellowstone National Park for pure fun and enjoyment? Do you really have to try to kill your mother with a camper's axe, run over your little sister with a car you don't know how to drive, ride your bike directly and uncontrolled into oncoming traffic, paddle your open canoe into big-wind waves and not wear a life jacket, attempt to climb a technical climbing route sans technical climbing gear, summit a mountain peak at the same impeccably timed moment that a thunderstorm hits that very mountain peak? Sheesh, you people are dramatic. There should be a soap opera for Yellowstone National Park visitors. I'm tired today, and it's all because I've been running around, trying to save tourists from the trouble that results from their dramatics.

I didn't run yesterday, I got called away to a lovely evening of work before I got out there running. In the morning, though, I went on a long bike ride, about 60 miles. My arse is sore, this is my longest ride of the season so far. The ride was spectacular! First, I climbed from my house to the nearby pass and up onto Swan Lake Flats. Often this pass has a strong headwind when climbing, but I left early enough that there was no headwind, what a joy! Swan Lake Flats was swarmed yesterday by tourists, their binoculars, and their 1000mm telephoto lenses trying to capture images of a grizzly bear doing nothing exciting about a 1/2 mile away. The next 15 miles or so from Swan Lake Flats to the Norris developed area rolls through mostly lodgepole pine forests. The route passes by a funny place called Roaring Mountain. The side of this mountain has been wiped clean of vegetation, and is instead covered with various thermal features. Sometimes, if a thermal feature is hot enough, if the hole in the ground is small enough, and if the pressure of the escaping water and steam is strong enough, these thermal features make noises that range among roaring, shrieking, and belching. It's really rather entertaining. Roaring Mountain was roaring yesterday, and about 92 tourists were ooh-ing and ahh-ing as I zipped by. Next up, a rest break at the Norris Ranger Station, also known as the National Park Service Ranger Museum. Want to see what park service rangers do now and have done throughout the history of the National Park Service? Stop here, I find it fascinating. However, I've visited here before, so I made ample use of the facility's water fountain, stretched my legs, and pedaled on. From Norris to my turnaround point is a tough climb up to the top of Blanding Hill. I have no idea why it's called this, but it's steep. I granny-geared it all the way up, knowing that once I got to the top, I still had about 30 miles to ride home. Here, as I spun my way up slowly, a huge duely diesel pickup truck honked and some honky-nasty rednecks waved their flabby arms boisterously at me. In my near-redlining oxygen-debt state, I flipped them the bird. I don't normally do that, I'm not sure what got into me.

At the top of Blanding Hill, I should have stopped to catch my breath, have a sip of water, and enjoy the view. However, I always get excited in places like this for that blazing ride downhill, so I got right to that business. This stretch of road is beautifully smooth and it has a decent shoulder. I can fly downhill on the shoulder and actually pass tourist cars. I did that, once. Then I decided it was relatively unsafe. Once down the hill and back to Norris, I began to notice the typical early afternoon build-up of thunderheads, and I wondered if I'd make it home before the storm. I didn't have to wonder very long. By the time I had reached Roaring Mountain again, the sky was also starting to roar. No rain yet, just dark threatening clouds and thunder rumbling. The storm actually hit, not when I was safely tucked in and riding through the enclosed lodgepole pine forests, but when I was open and exposed, crossing Swan Lake Flats. At this point, the wind (and rain, and the rest of the storm) were at my back so I just dug in and pedaled hard across the flats. I watched a small peak nearby called Bunsen Peak (Named for the same fellow who invented the Bunsen Burner, and also an early Yellowstone visitor.) get struck several times by lighnting. That was awesome! The ride back down to my house from the pass wasn't outside of my comfort level, but I didn't care for it too much. It's a steep, windy downhill. In places, the road is attached like a bridge to a cliff, so basically the road hangs over an abyssal canyon (If you somehow chucked yourself over the guardrail, no one would ever notice.) The road was slick with rainwater. The road is occupied by tourists driving like tourists. I got down off the pass and back to my neighborhood as quickly as I could. It wasn't till I was pulling into my neighborhood that I began to realize that I was wet and cold! Here, on this beautiful summer day, I was blue-lipped, shivering, and making myself hot cocoa to warm up. How's that for strange?

All in all? A sweet ride. I'm building my road biking endurance. I didn't feel dead after 3+ hours on the bike. I still wanted to run in the afternoon, if those pesky tourists hadn't stolen all my free time.

Posted by Meghan at 10:00 AM | Comments (2)

June 9, 2006

Really Now

I'm pathetic. Truly, utterly pathetic. I have been running past a particular location near my house for over a year now (This is currently my one year anniversary of moving to Yellowstone! Sweet!). In any case, I have strung together a series of sidewalk-trail-back road-dirt road stuff that allows me to run about 8 miles at a time with only brief exposure to the crazy tourists. One of those brief exposures to tourists occurs along a patch of road directly below a switchback, and it's occasionally a life-and-death experience along that stretch of road when an inattentive tourist comes screaming through the curves.

Today I discovered a connector trail that eliminates the potential for those scary moments. It's well-marked with a sign saying "Trail." And somehow, I've never noticed it. How's that for pathetic? It's a beautiful trail. It ducks about 50 feet or so below that road, and rolls along through groves of aspen trees and tall green grass for a mile or so. The trail ends about 100 safe yards from where the next car-less dirt road begins. What a discovery, though I feel like an idiot for not ever having noticed the trail or the very obvious sign stating "Trail." Hah!

Today was 6 miles easy in between thunderstorms. It was tricky, to know when to dash out there. I missed the rain, but that didn't matter because I was fully soaked when I got home, from the humidity. Not accustomed to such a high dew point, I felt all wilty! How do you people handle the combined heat and humidity? I used to know how, I'm a Midwesterner at heart, but I think my body has since forgotten.

Yesterday I did a mile repeat workout. My times were horrible, and I didn't feel good doing the repeats either. They're too embarassing to print here. On the bright side, I finished with 2x400 "hard," and they felt fabulous and looked fabulous on my watch afterwards (That is, the temporary watch I've been using for my runs, found in the back of a drawer. It's awful, I can't figure out how to set its time. The only thing I know how to do is to start, stop, and reset its timer. Thank goodness I could figure that out. I have to wait until I go to a real town to buy a new one.). I feel horrible, like death after 2x400 "hard," I guess anyone should, but I love it.

EDIT: Tonight I had a phone date with a friend. No, nothing that exciting folks, not a real date date. More like, a scheduled window of conversation and wine with a good friend who lives thousands of miles away. I think it's kind of pathetic when two people are busy enough that they have to actually schedule such things. In any case, I told her about my ridiculous trail discovery today, and she reminded me of many quite obvious things that I have failed to observe in years past. Darn friends and their memories of me. I also have a terrible memory, to my friend's delight because she can tease me about it all over and over. I've just added to her arsenal of information about me, it seems.

Other obvious things that I've failed to observe at various points in life:

1) The time I went on a downhill skiing date, and I went into the bathroom after a morning of skiing only to find dried snot on my face, which my date had oh-so-kindly not pointed out.

2) When I somehow failed to notice that I was low on gas on a long drive, and I ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, and the only place within walking distance to ask for help was a place called "Triple XXX Books and Movies."

3) The time I was having a bathroom emergency out in the Wisconsin countryside on a long run, and I ducked into some trees next to an electrical sub-station which I thought was deserted, and I solved my bathroom emergency in front of 2 men working at the sub-station.

And last but not least, and my friend's favorite:

4) When I walked out of a bar restroom, all lit up on cheap tequila, with the back of my sundress tucked into my underwear.

Really now, this is all true.

Posted by Meghan at 5:50 PM | Comments (2)

June 7, 2006

The Prayer of the Pronghorn

I have now and then mentioned the diversity of wildlife that I see whilst out running, and the pronghorn antelope is one I often enjoy seeing. Many times, pronghorn stand and graze in the field next to the dirt road or trail as I run past, ignoring me and focusing their full attention on the grass underfoot. Other times, I seem to sneak up on them, and they snap up surprised from grazing, only to take off across the fields in full sprints. Once, just once, years ago in south central Wyoming, a small herd of pronghorn ran along next to me as I did a tempo workout on a dirt road.

As I ran along a trail today, I spotted two pronghorn up ahead, watching me cautiously. When I got too close for their comfort, they bounced in a few graceful steps up the steep hill adjacent to the trail. As they moved, the bushes next to the trail rustled and two munchkin pronghorn climbed awkwardly out. These were tiny little pronghorn, perhaps even less than a day old, and they made several futile attempts to scale the hill their mothers had agilely climbed. After these unsuccessful attempts, they found themselves about five feet above the trail with nowhere else to go. Me, I was equally stuck. I didn't wish to uneccessarily frighten these tiny creatures, but with a steep up and a steep down on either side of the trail, I had nowhere else to go but past them.

I passed them as quickly and quietly as I could as their mothers watched carefully from the hilltop above. The two pronghorn made desperate efforts to camouflage and hide themselves. They bent their back legs, kept their front legs straight, bowed down with quivering, gangly gestures, and tucked their heads between their legs. Their bow was, at the same time, almost prayer-like but also representative of their terror. I very much wanted to stand there and look at these little beings, but I knew that my presence made them wish they could return to the womb from which they had just dropped. So, I ran on, but this image of the bowing baby pronghorn is blazed across my mind right now.

As for my actual running, I ran 6 easy on Monday, rested from running on Tuesday, and ran 8 today with 4 miles at half marathon pace. In cross training, I did a lactate threshold workout on the road bike on Tuesday, on my trainer using a DVD. Today, I also did a 4.5 mile short hike to the top of a little nub of a hill near my house that I've been meaning to climb since the snow cleared.

Posted by Meghan at 8:23 PM | Comments (1)

June 5, 2006

A Beautiful Day for a Run

I just wrote what I'm confident would be an outstanding, inspiring blog entry about the joy of last weekend's race, but then it disappeared into cyberspace, so here's the abbreviated version.

This is a picture of me putzing happily along to a 1:41:xx finish at the Casper Half Marathon. The most interesting part of this picture (Other than the fact I'm identifying myself to Blogging Land, a first for me. Please don't stalk me.) is that my watch is on my left hand here at mile 11 or so. I also recall it being there at mile 12 when I punched a split. But it was gone at the finish line! While this seems insignificant to most normal people, I suspect that other runner-types might empathize with me losing my watch. You get rather attached to those little electronic arm devices because of all the running trials and tribulations they've recorded for you! That, and I'm already working on a sunburn on my watch tan line. Sigh, I guess I have a break down and buy a new one, boo.

This was a great weekend for racing. The weather was perfect, the course awesome, and I felt spectacular. Too bad I wasn't racing. No matter, I avoided falling into racing mentality (Though it was tough, especially when the gun went off.), I explored a new town, I hung out with a long lost friend, and I enjoyed the race.

The first 5 miles or so of the course rolled along on top of a bluff overlooking town. Those hills were long but not steep, and it felt good on the legs to change the grade underfoot every now and again. Somewhere around mile 5, the course went down a steep hill off the bluff to a paved bike path along the Platte River, which runs through Casper. I was surprised by the little rollers along that bike path, as I figured a riverside trail might be as flat as the river! I recall that mile 8 had a steep hill up and then back down. After mile 10 or so, the course really flattened out, and it was an easy glide into the finish in a hotel parking lot along the river.

I ended last week with 50 miles, straight up. This week, more miles (ideally 55), 2 workouts, and 1 longer run. Then a cutback week. I'm hoping that, after the next 2 weeks, I'm going to finally feel fit again, perhaps back to where I was before the end of April.

Posted by Meghan at 9:00 PM | Comments (3)

June 2, 2006

My Crazy Life

The summer tourist season has settled upon us like a massive lead weight, heavy and sudden. The nature of my work is always, shall we say, steady. When tourist season drops from the sky, my workload volume instantly rockets into outer space. While I do love my job (that's why I do it), its long hours and arduous nature grind slowly away at my little free time, mental and physical strength, and any attempts at sleeping adequately. Let the fun begin!

I had no free time today! Okay, I had 5 hours to sleep and 45 minutes to run, and that's it. Literally. On these days, it's a toss-up as to which will be better for me mentally and physically, a little more sleep or a run. Today, it was a run.

My run was pretty uneventful, aside from the heat and throngs of tourists everywhere. When I run through the Mammoth developed area, I move faster than the traffic, no kidding. The sun was strong and it was warm, though I didn't feel all heat-melted like I did yesterday. I was tired, so I took it easy. But still moved faster than the cars.

I do crazy things to myself. Tonight, a night shift. Tomorrow morning, a bit of sleep. Saturday afternoon, a long drive to the race site. Sunday morning, a half marathon. Sunday afternoon, a long drive home. Sunday night, a night shift at work.

Silly girl. This is my crazy life.

Posted by Meghan at 8:54 PM | Comments (2)

June 1, 2006

Representing the B-Team and Other Interesting Life Tidbits

I'm getting ready to go play JV in this weekend's race. I'm outta my league going to a 1/2 mary, but at least I'm not going to race it. Hear that? I'm not racing it. I'm just going to go have some fun, run 13.1 miles, hang out with a friend I haven't seen in a while, and just enjoy the weekend. I'm not even taking a down week or tapering to this race, I'm just running steadily through.

I'm much more energetic this week than last week. Unbenownst to me until 2 days ago, I have been anemic in the last weeks. I have been anemic a few times in the past, then I wasn't for a while, and now I am again (At least the blood draw from 1 1/2 weeks ago said I was at that time.). I also used to take "liquid iron" for this condition. The result of a whole compex network of healthcare professional debating* is that I'm not going to be treated for this, rather I'm just going to up the iron levels in my body through a higher iron diet.

*Apparently, some studies have shown that immediate increased levels of iron in one's body (such as through iron injections, "liquid iron," and even over-the-counter iron supplements in tablet form) increase one's chances of having a heart attack or stroke. It's something about an immediate increase of iron constricting one's blood vessels quickly. A quasi-family secret (which shouldn't have been a secret, in my opinion) that was recently mainstreamed informed me that my dad had suffered a heart attack at age 27. Since that's my current age, my doctors submitted me to a whole gamut of tests, including the treadmill stress test (which deserves a blog entry of its own because the whole experience was so danged hilarious), and concluded that I have no sign of heart disease. Despite this, one specialist said I shouldn't do iron supplementation because of my family history of heart disease.

This week's workouts have been supa-stellar thus far. Monday was a day of running rest, with a road bike ride. I was chased home by a thunderstorm and made it home just before the downpour started. Tuesday was an 8 mile run easy too early in the morning for it to feel very good. In addition to this, I also went on a 15-16 mile hike (story to follow). Yesterday was 3 easy in the morning, 6 steady in the afternoon. Today (this afternoon) is 7-ish with 4 at desired half-marathon pace.

A friend and I hiked the Fairy Creek Trail in the Old Faithful area of Yellowstone National Park on Tuesday. It was an interesting experience in many ways. The scenery was fantastic, we saw such features as Mystic Falls, the Twin Buttes, Imperial Geyser, and Fairy Falls, which were all great. We had to traverse a few thigh deep snowfields, which made for interesting and slow progress. We saw very fresh grizzly tracks in the snow on the trail. We passed this spot on the trail at about 1 pm. The light snow layer in which griz had imprinted himself or herself had fallen sometime the night prior. So the tracks were less than 24 hours old. Which I consider fresh enough to make me look over my shoulder a time or two.

Posted by Meghan at 11:39 AM | Comments (1)