A backyard for adventures

On Friday, Beat closed on a house in a quiet mountain neighborhood located in the hills above Boulder, on the western side of the Flatirons. Home-ownership is something Beat has wanted for a few years now, but it wasn't practical or desirable in the Bay Area, where $2 million affords a 180-square-foot shack on purportedly desirable land. Beat's wish for privacy, space, and a much better man cave than our bike-crowded two-bedroom apartment was part of the impetus for leaving the Silicon Valley. We spent many relaxing evenings daydreaming while scrolling through real estate listings in Alaska and Switzerland, but practicality pushed us toward Boulder, Colorado, where Beat could continue to work for Google.

After only a weekend of house hunting before Christmas, we stumbled upon this place that was unbelievably perfect for us. Located at 7,100 feet elevation, it's 25 minutes by car to the center of town, 12 cycling miles, and 7 or 8 running miles. It was built and previously owned by an interesting British couple who styled it with a number of unique features, such as hand-carved railings and 300-year-old fortress doors from India. Although they're quite fit for people in their 80s, the couple was starting to feel the strain of mountain living, and decided to move closer to their children and families in Houston. But they didn't want to sell their place to just anyone, and Beat happened to come along with the right attitude at the right time. We've since heard the stories about a number of potential buyers with whom it didn't quite work out over the past year, but for us this happened at whirlwind pace.

Beat's work transfer isn't until April, so we have a couple of months before the big move. But we had a short time to check out the grounds over the weekend. I'm still in shock over the series of events. Back in November I was skeptical that we'd leave the Silicon Valley within the next few years, and by January, Beat had purchased an expansive mountain property in Colorado. It's a lot to take on compared to apartment living in California. I picture myself taking up landscape painting and vegetable gardening as new hobbies ... and housework, of course. It feels overwhelming at times, but it's exciting for me as well. I entered my 30s living out of my car in Alaska, so I can appreciate both semi-nomadic living and the opportunity to settle down and explore.

Beat is especially excited about the potential for human-powered commutes to work. The bike commute involves a winding mountain road that's very popular with road cyclists. On foot, Beat could utilize number of trails through the mountains, hitting a few peaks along the way if he's feeling ambitious (the most direct route is less than five miles to the edge of town, descending 2,500 feet on a singletrack trail after a short climb on a gravel road.) I'd also plan to head into town this way on occasion — writing at coffee shops for a bit of stimulation and human interaction. But the Costco runs are going to require the Subaru. (Beat says I should buy a bike trailer to haul groceries up the mountain. I suppose if I want to get strong, that's one way ...)

On Saturday we set out to find the most direct route to South Boulder Peak, an 8,500-foot summit that looks like it's practically in the back yard. There was some burr-coated bushwhacking and slogs up 45-degree slopes to reach the ridge, where rotten snow conditions caused us both to roll ankles and wrench knees in hidden rock hollows. 

I'll admit off-trail 'shwhacking is not my favorite activity, but using that method, it's only 1.75 miles from home to the summit of South Boulder Peak. I don't see myself doing this a lot.

Sunday morning views. 

The garage.

Looking west. On a clearer day I think it's possible to see some of the larger peaks along the Continental Divide.

Watching the weather come in. The forecast for the mountains called for 12-24 inches of snow, starting Sunday night. We were scheduled to fly out of Denver at 8 p.m., so we just missed the storm and potential to be stuck up here for several more days. Darn.

The property sits on 35 acres of land, so in the morning we set out with a GPS to walk the perimeter. It's a long, thin strip of land, but I had no concept of just how much space 35 acres encompassed, because it just kept going and going. Along the way we found a few small bouldering spots. Another potential new hobby?

The wood pile. Beat has already purchased a used chainsaw and a splitting maul. He's excited about becoming a mountain man this spring.

More not-bad views.

Our busy street, with Green Mountain in the background.

Beat's property is bordered on two sides by city park property.

More bouldering opportunities.

A small creek cuts through the land. Although we did some zig-zagging, we walked 2.2 miles to circle the property. It's a surprisingly large space, and rugged. Lots of steep slopes, gullies, and rocky outcroppings, but there is some useable space. The previous homeowner even passed on a permit to build a small office building, but Beat is more interested in erecting solar panels.

After our perimeter walk we went for a short run on the Walker Ranch loop — which is bike-legal and seems like a potentially great trail for mountain biking in the summer. I imagine going for long gravel grinders on mountain roads, combining them with hikes in the Indian Peaks wilderness, heading east and exploring the prairie ... so many possibilities. First I'll have to hope for some changes in my asthma and acclimation, because my fitness up here is relatively terrible. Really. I'm winded almost all of the time and had a pathetic week of training while I was in Colorado. Still, it's a beautiful place to walk along slowly, wheezing and smiling. 

ITI training, week 15

Monday: Trail run, 2:36, 13.5 miles, 2,155 feet climbing. I ran a variation of my "half marathon" loop at Rancho San Antonio — I had to change it up because recent mountain lion activity in Wildcat Canyon has resulted in trail closures (I'd love to catch sight of a lion at Rancho; there are so many deer there that it seems unlikely they'd be remotely interested in snacking on runners, although I could be wrong.) My muscles felt completely recovered from the Steep Ravine 50K, but I'm having issues with my "central governor" and any pace that threatens rough breathing. Walked a lot more of PG&E than usual.

Tuesday: Weight lifting at gym. Had a great session with my usual 12 exercises, 12 lifts, three sets. Finally back to "normal" with my highest weights. I still think the only thing lifting weights makes me better at is lifting weights. But at this point, four weeks out from the ITI, I just have to accept that what I have is what I get.

Wednesday: Road bike, 2:28, 31 miles, 3,224 feet climbing: Finally, a mostly dry day to ride my road bike! Oh, it was pure bliss. So fast, so smooth, so fun. I took on my go-to Highway 9 to Page Mill loop, but mixed it up with a climb up Redwood Gulch to challenge my balking central governor. Redwood Gulch gains 700 feet in one mile and has a section on the lower end with 20 percent grades. With my road bike gearing it's forced intensity — the slowest I can pedal still spikes my heart to ~180 beats per minute. At this intensity, my breathing becomes shallow and fast. It worries me — although it may be a recent bad habit I can fix with more focus.

Thursday: Mountain bike, 3:23, 32.7 miles, 4,139 feet climbing. Bohlman Road is like Redwood Gulch, times three. Beat basically won't ride it after some bad experiences while he was recovering from last year's Iditarod, and it's broken me a number of times, when I went out just that small percentage too hard. It's a good "breathing test" climb, although I admittedly soft-pedaled it about as much as it can be soft-pedaled. I managed to reel in the gasping, but still felt uneasy about my breathing and somewhat oxygen-deprived. The reward for climbing that mean road is descending El Serreno. For good measure I returned via Fremont Older.

Friday: Weight lifting at the gym. I only did two sets on this day because of "tapering." But I had some pre-race jitters that I took out on the seated row, and managed to pull a muscle in my left shoulder. It actually hurt a lot. I didn't tell Beat about this because he scolds me about my poor execution of weight training.

Saturday: Trail run, 5:54, 29.9 miles, 6,414 feet climbing. Crystal Springs 50K. This is my "PR" course, so I feel like I should be able to run it fast, and admittedly went out what was probably too hard for my current fitness (i.e. lack of top end/limited recoveries from long efforts.) I've gotten pretty good at managing these mid-range efforts on limited calories. Over six hours, I ate one package of Shot Bloks and two packs of fruit snacks, which is about 360 calories total, and only became hungry toward the end because it was lunch time. In my opinion this is a good adaptation for the Idiatrod, where bad weather can limit opportunities for food intake, and calorie sources can dwindle if sections take a lot longer than you're expecting. Breathing was mostly good, although the weather added its own challenge, with these bursts of drenching rain that set off a "drowning" reflex and prompted more gasping. Again I was able to reel it in and focus my breathing before it escalated to the attack level. I've now been on a maintenance inhaler for just over a week, and used an albuterol inhaler before harder workouts (i.e. Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday.) This may be helping. It's hard to say.

Sunday: Fat-ish bike, 2:07, 20.7 miles, 2,702 feet climbing. So Beat has decided he's definitely going to walk, not ride, to Nome during the Iditarod. This decision did not surprise me. I'll even admit that most of my snow rides since December 2014 have been slow, slow slogs that involved a lot of dragging around of this too-heavy anchor, and I've nearly lost sight of what I loved so much about this sport. (Yes! I'm admitting it.) But Beat being who he is, already acquired this amazing bike for the endeavor, and now that he no longer needs it, I am considering taking this to Alaska rather than Snoots or the YBB fat bike. Beat switched back to 29+ wheels because it's silly to ride studded tires in California. On Sunday I had a little bit of that tired-leg fatigue following Crystal Springs, but surprisingly wasn't that sore, so I took the Eriksen to the top of Black Mountain. It does ride great. Now I need to load it with a bunch of crap and push it up some steep hills, since I'm all but convinced that's how we're really going to spend most of our time together.

Total: 16:30, 84.4 miles ride, 43.4 miles run, 18,635 feet climbing

Breathing easier

Beat at the semi-sunny start of the Crystal Springs 50K

On Wednesday I checked in with the asthma doctor who I first visited in October. We had a very long conversation (I was surprised she was willing to spend so much time with me. I'm used to medical professionals being in more of a rush) and she conducted a few tests. My resting lung function is now significantly better than it was in October, but the doctor said she could detect possible inflammation. She started me on a once-a-day cordicosteroid inhaler, along with advice to use my albuterol inhaler before every workout. She's of the opinion that I do experience exercise-induced asthma, and this condition was possibly first "activated" by engaging in intense activity while ill (this could be the case in both the 2015 Fat Pursuit and the Tour Divide), or a condition of my allergies that have worsened over the years. I have both genetic (my dad has adult-onset) and environmental (endurance/outdoor enthusiast with allergies) connections with asthma.

The doctor thinks stress and cold temperatures are a likely trigger, and urged me to engage in at least one more difficult cold-weather workout before I go to Alaska. I am supposed to check back in one month from now to see whether I've made any progress with the medication. Exercise-induced asthma can be a nebulous illness to diagnose and monitor, and I can't rule out other possibilities such as vocal cord dysfunction (which asthma medications do nothing for.) So ... there are still many question marks. But I feel optimistic. I'm glad to have found a doctor who's willing to listen and seems genuinely invested in finding a solution. She works with researchers at Stanford and has treated a number of elite athletes, but when I waved off my "little hobby" compared to the Olympians she's worked with, she responded, "it does matter!"

She seemed excited about the ITI, and told me there's no reason I can't participate if I feel my asthma is under control. I still see some glaring issues. First of all, I'm not sure how I can develop this confidence in one month. My breathing incidents are still limited and have only been triggered in more extreme cases that I probably won't be able to effectively test before Feb. 28. Also, it's difficult for anyone who hasn't been there (myself included) to really understand the isolation one is under on some sections of the Iditarod Trail. I'm thinking specifically of the 180-mile section between Takotna and the Yukon River that is truly a no-man's land, where Beat and others were effectively stranded for more than 10 days following a major snowstorm last year.

It is entirely possible to be all alone out there for 10 days (if the Iditarod Dog Sled Race moves to Fairbanks again. But even if it doesn't, mushers and volunteers are not in a position to provide assistance except in extreme emergencies.) If I start experiencing Tour Divide-level breathing difficulties, I will have nowhere to recover and may find myself in a state of becoming weaker until I need to curl up on the side of the trail for 10 or more minutes every hour, which is exactly how I hauled myself into Silverthorne during the Tour Divide.

It's one thing to risk this when it's 90 degrees outside and I can stick out my thumb if I truly feel desperate. It's quite another when it's potentially 40 below and I am a hundred miles from the nearest village. If I have any doubts about my fitness, I should *not* venture out there. I feel strongly about this. That won't necessarily stop me from trying if I've created assurances for myself, and that's something I also lie awake at night thinking about. The 350-mile effort to McGrath is, I think, doable. At least I'll probably know early in the race whether it's not. But I want — so much  — to go to Nome. I really need to draw that line, but it's hard.

So I am proceeding with my training with an admittedly disappointed eye on the 350-mile ride to McGrath ... still planning to ride, but keeping my running legs fit in case it's a huge push-fest, or in case the Iditarod Dog Sled Race does move north and I opt to bring a sled in order to hedge my bets on a big storm with nobody breaking trails behind it. On Wednesday and Thursday I did two tough bike rides, intentionally seeking out the steepest hills nearby. I did this because my "central governor" — that quiet, semi-subconscious switch in your brain that keeps you from pushing your body too hard — has been extremely conservative since the Fat Pursuit. I've been proudly clinging to this idea of self-restraint when it came to keeping my heart rate in zone 3, but during a Monday run, I realized I couldn't boost myself into zone 4 if I tried. I was too scared. Scared of losing my breath, and not getting it back.

 Zone 3 or lower is fine for multi-day endurance efforts — but now is the time to test my breathing capacity and potential asthma triggers. Situations during the Iditarod will certainly boost my heart rate to the top of the charts. It's unavoidable. Here, roads like Redwood Gulch and Bohlman Road with their 20-percent + grades will force me into the red zone — I can't pedal slow enough to stay out of it. Still, I didn't feel all that fantastic on these steep sections. My breathing was cautious and a little shallow, with my less-quiet central governor begging me to get off the bike and walk. I was perplexed. Here's a new mental limitation I need to address — is my lung capacity really that limited, or is it all in my head?

Today Beat and I ran the Crystal Springs 50K in Woodside. The sun peeked out for a very brief few minutes at the start, and it occurred to me I haven't seen all that much sun in 2016. El Nino is really cranking out some precipitation so far this year, and it's fantastic for the drought. But for Saturday, it meant another wet, slimy, slippery, and chilly run through the foggy mist. I wrote last week about basically floating on clouds through the Steep Ravine 50K, and that definitely did not happen this week. I worked for it, and I didn't feel great. All of my moving parts were fine, but I was low on energy and general oomph even after I gave myself permission to go at the hills a little harder. I guess there was a part of me that hoped I could run "fast" even though I have no reason to believe I could be fast right now (my once-a-week tempo run that I haven't really done since 2015 isn't going to cut it.)

We had several cloudbursts throughout the race, but around mile 20 the rain really started to come down. It was pouring, windy, and there were icy pellets falling from the sky. I was in a better mood at this point, as I'd given up my "run fast" dream and finally eaten a packet of fruit snacks (I'd been skipping snacks at the aid stations because the food was so soggy. I'm not kidding. The Oreos were practically floating in the standing water that collected in the paper bowl.) When I passed an acquaintance, Marissa, and asked how it was going, she replied, "oh, you know, just trying to get through this nightmare."

"What's the matter?" I said with genuine inquisitiveness. "It's only hailing!" (It was hailing.)

Marissa and another woman burst out laughing. "You can talk, you're used to the cold." After she said this, I realized that my fingers were actually quite numb, but it didn't really bother me before because it was 45 degrees and there was no real danger. But I did struggle to open the next packet of fruit snacks three miles later.

I tried for a little leg-pop to the finish, even risking a bit of slippery sliding in the slimy mud, but it wasn't enough to slide under six hours. I finished in 6:02. I was first in my age group, and actually the second woman to finish — just missed that mug! (Actually, I probably missed it by an insurmountable number of minutes, but the winner was still hanging around at the soggy finish area when I got there.)

Overall it went well, especially because I didn't place nearly the focus on my breathing that I did last week (I admittedly did not have the energy for this kind of fixed thinking. I was just tired.) Which is good to know, since I can't exactly meditate my way through a whole Iditarod. Optimism continues to regroup.