Elbows

Overlooking the Salt Lake Valley, veiled by a rainstorm near the summit of Mount Olympus.

Beat's and my trip to Utah was exceedingly short, so much so that we spent more time en route to Zion National Park via plane and car than we did actually in the park. Still, we thought we could squeeze in a quick "training hike" up Mount Olympus in Salt Lake City on Friday morning before our 11 a.m. departure for Springdale. Although not the most majestic climb in the Wasatch Range, the main route up Mount Olympus ideal for mountain training — it starts less than twenty minutes from most anywhere in the Salt Lake Valley, gains 4,200 feet in 3.5 miles, contains about three quarters of a mile total of class-three scrambling, and ascends to an elevation of 9,026 feet. We optimistically estimated we'd need three hours to wrap up the hike (I hoped for 1:45 up and 1:15 down), and hit the trail at 7 a.m.

We had some difficulty route-finding during the final half mile of scrambling and had to backtrack (not to mention I am out of practice with the whole scrambling thing, not that ever had any climbing skills to speak of), and the resulting setbacks netted a 1:57 summit time. Although rain sprinkled on us for most of the climb, a larger shower unleashed right as we were beginning the descent and added a slippery extra layer of difficulty to the scramble. I felt a bit frazzled by the time we cleared the most intimidating down-climbs, and of course by then we only had forty minutes to complete the descent on schedule.

Beat attempts a contemplative expression on the summit.
His face is a good illustration for how I felt thirty minutes later.

So, yeah. Of course I fell. I was attempting my best shuffle down the steep, loose dirt when my feet slipped forward and I landed hard on both of my elbows. My right elbow has been extremely sensitive since a rock ripped a large chunk of flesh out of my arm during a mountain bike crash last August, and the resulting quarter-sized scar is still in the process of slow healing one year later. Hitting my scar directly on the rocks caused an electric shock of pain that took my breath away. I had to take more than a minute to compose myself enough just to speak two words to Beat. The terrible pain still hadn't subsided much when I finally picked myself up from the dirt, so I didn't notice anything else was wrong until I felt hot liquid on my thigh and realized that blood was gushing out of my left (other) elbow and soaking into my pants.

After the hike, I tried to clean out the wound as best as I could before we hit the road south. The swelling and pain in my left elbow only worsened until I had no range of motion without pain the morning of our Narrows hike. Luckily my right elbow was only bruised, so I could negotiate the wet boulders just fine with a single wooden walking stick while I let my left arm dangle lifelessly for most of the day. By Monday the joint was still swollen so I went in to see my doctor, worried that I might have chipped a bone. An X-ray thankfully ruled out that possibility, but I do have a moderate infection in the wound. Antibiotics will hopefully clear that out before it becomes a problem; it's never good to have an infection so close to a joint.

So there won't be any cycling for at least a week as per my doctor's request, and when I go running, I'll have to sling my left arm, as opposed to my right arm, which is how I ran for several weeks last summer. Beat has started calling me by the nickname "Elbows," which is both humiliating and completely appropriate.

I'll post my photos from the Zion Narrows soon, as my family and I had an amazing hiking experience. But for now I just needed to lament my continuing trials as a hopeless klutz. My mom, who has clumsy tendencies herself, said to me, "I don't know why you would admit these things. I would just say 'I fell' and try to change the subject." Because I never seem to take glorious falls; I take really stupid falls, and my injuries usually far outweigh the simplicity of the fall. How did I manage to jab both of my elbows behind me instead of just sliding onto my butt? The extent of my clumsiness baffles me, almost as if it were subconsciously deliberate, as though my body hates me and wants to take me down despite my best overcautious efforts.

Ah, well. Beat's recommendation is "learn to dance." Maybe he's onto something there. 

Social ride

 On Wednesday morning, my friend Jan invited me out for a "social ride." Knowing Jan, it seemed likely this nice, easy ride would include at least 5,000 feet of climbing, so I showed up prepared with a few energy bars. We set out from Woodside to ride new-to-me trails in Purisima Creek Redwoods. I love the simple surprises afforded by exploring new places. Even though I've lived in the Bay area for more than a year, there are still large tracts of open space within a twenty-mile radius that I have yet to see. Each new discovery continues to surprise me, both in the reminder that I'm far behind the curve in my hometown explorations, and the fact that there is so much scenic park land within spitting distance of a population center of seven million people.

 Jan is currently searching for a new job in the biotechnology sector, which has been a source of both frustration (that he seems to vent by going for awesomely tough bike rides) and inspiration. As we discussed some of his intriguing ideas for start-ups, I realized that Jan was among my growing list of biking and running friends who work in compelling and complicated professions — I would categorize their work as "stuff I'd really need to read several books about first before I feel comfortable asking questions." There's Daniel in Frisco, whose start-up company aims to draw patterns from the wild chaos of human behavior through tracking technology. And of course I have Beat, the theoretical physicist who just spent the evening soldering tiny parts on a circuit board for the electronics of a prototype device for his friend's start-up company. These days I seem to frequently meet brilliant people, and the reason I'm even on the periphery of their world is because I like to ride and run long distances.

I have been mulling my own career path recently and wondering if I'm on the right track. I have no doubt in my mind that I want to be a journalist, which is another way of saying I want to observe life and tell stories. If Jan ever does discover a hormone that he can turn into an anti-obesity miracle drug, I'd honestly rather write his biography than serve a research role and rake in a piece of the billions (okay, maybe that's not true about the billions.) But the point is, I am secure in what I want to be. I'm just not sure whether I'm on the right path to make it happen — not only from a financially viable standpoint, but also in regard to my ongoing struggles to be the prolific producer I know I can be. Do I ride and run too much? Do I spend too much creative and intellectual capital on my adventure scheming and this blog? Am I more afraid of failure, or possibly success?

I admit spending time with my brilliant friends sometimes leads to me feeling some professional guilt. The fact they create what they do while avidly pursuing their outdoor passions means I should be able to do the same. But right now I'm still in my "deciding" phase. I guess this blog post is really just another part in my recent "Why is Jill feeling so insecure this month?" series. It feels good to air them out.

But Jan and I had a great ride today. We wended through the redwood forest and a tight ribbon of singletrack and emerged on a grassy hillside, dropped to the coast on a farm road and then climbed again. There were more downs and ups, 37 miles and 6,200 feet of climbing. Just an easy social ride.

Family vacation

The morning after: The start/finish of the Hardrock 100 in Silverton, Colorado

I get the hint that the remnant readers of my blog don't really care about my UTMB training. This makes sense, of course, and I thought I'd give fair warning that August 2012 may contain little else. Just in case anyone was looking to clean out their blog reader ...

 With the exception of my first showing at the Iditarod 350, I don't think I've ever felt so insecure about one of my goals. Even my first Susitna 100, when I had never even entered a race before, my attitude was "Why shouldn't I be able to ride my woefully inadequate mountain bike on slush trails for a hundred miles?" And then there was Susitna 2011, when I was still struggling to eke out seven-mile "practice" runs, and when I was so bad at running that I sprained my ankle while jogging along a perfectly smooth, flat trail — I still held onto the delusion attitude that "I already finished this with a woefully inadequate mountain bike. Why shouldn't I be able to do the same without the bike?"

 But UTMB is a different monster. I'm frightened, because I realize that any training at this point isn't going to add much padding to my armor. I pretty much have what I have, which feels like woefully inadequate legs and soft feet that are really going to miss the cushioning effect of snow after ten or so hours, which, if I'm extremely lucky, is only a quarter of the time I'll be out there.

Alas, I'll stop myself before I write another of what Beat calls "whiny" blog posts. Yesterday and today I had one horrible and one pretty good training run, eight and nine miles respectively. Monday's run was horrible because I ate some Asian dumpling leftovers for lunch and ... let's just say I had to fight with them for six of those miles. Today I felt much stronger and tried to push the pace on the descent, only to have my shins protest painfully. My main problem with running fast downhill is that I strike with my heels. My normal stride is midfoot, and I climb on my toes, but I can't seem to quicken my stride on descents without pounding those heels. I haven't yet figured out how to avoid this, and it's obvious my shins can't take it. Not that I'm planning to run any of the UTMB miles "fast," but I do have many issues with my form that I'd eventually like to correct.

I am excited for this coming weekend. Beat and I are making a quick trip to Utah to hike the Zion Narrows with my mom and dad. The canyon itself is worth the trip, and sharing this spectacular outing with Beat and both of my parents is a unique opportunity. In my family, my dad and I have long been the "outdoorsy" ones. My mother and younger sister are more tolerant than enthusiastic; they enjoy outdoor excursions but don't seek them out. My youngest sister is less tolerant; I'm pretty sure she'd choose a few of the recognized methods of torture over my hobbies. This is fine; we've been on family vacations in the past where my dad and I went hiking and my sisters and mom went shopping. The outdoors is something we don't often bond over, as a family.

But my mom loves the Narrows. She actually hiked the entire canyon a few years ago and suffered substantially. I was surprised when she expressed interest in going back, and this year she vowed to train for it. She joined my dad for a series of training hikes in the Wasatch Mountains that culminated in a "test" on Mount Timpanogos. Her stipulation was, if she didn't make it to the top of Timp, she wasn't going to join us in the Narrows. This plan made me nervous for my mother, who until recently only embarked on hikes once or twice a year. The climb up Timpanogos is fifteen miles round trip, with 4,500 feet of elevation gain. It's a good trail but I wouldn't consider it a "beginner" hike by any stretch of the imagination. But my mom must have rocked it because she and my dad made a celebratory cell phone call from the summit — interestingly while Beat and I were sitting in the Hardrock 100 pre-race meeting. When I called back a few minutes later, my mom's voice rang with elation as she recounted their climb. I was so proud of her accomplishment ... it felt cathartic after all those times that my dad and I used to call her from "some peak" in the Wasatch. (The "some peak" phrase is a long-standing family joke, because my dad and I once called home from the top of the Broads Fork Twin Peaks — at age 19 it was my hardest climb yet — and my youngest sister, then 12, answered the phone and called out to my mother in a derisive tone, "Dad and Jill are calling from some peak again.") Now my mom was calling from "some peak" of her own.

Anyway, I'm really excited to share the Narrows experience with all of them on Saturday. And even better, it will probably keep my mind off of UTMB for a few more days.