Another racing season, almost over

Wow, so much has happened. So little has happened. I have sad tales and happy tales and my dogs have wagging tails.

Sadie was last listed as disinterested in running. She revived and is again by my side. I think her primary motivation is running into Richard, the ice cream man for dogs. Richard walks almost every day, with a pocketful of delicious dog treats. He spares no expense on these treats and he knows all the dogs on his route. He keeps index cards in his pocket: dog's name, where they live, their favorite treat, any special medical considerations.

Sadie, and Zumi, think he is WONDERFUL. They can smell him a half mile away, I swear. They stop, point their noses, take a big sniff and then sprint to him. All Richard wants is to give the dogs a treat and then pet them. All the dogs want is every treat in his pocket. They turn into vicious animals, jumping and pawing at him, snapping the delicacies out of his fingers, sometimes taking a bit of finger tip along with the treat. I have tried to calm them down but they become frenzied when they spot him.

My big race was Run Rabbit Run. It turned into a short race. Everything was going well until about mile 35. Then everything turned to, uh, well. I quit peeing. The funny thing was that I was in the bathroom, sitting on a bench, at the 41 mile aid station trying to decide if I just had a UTI or if I had an acute kidney injury. Some woman entered a stall and let loose with a stream of urine that lasted and lasted and lasted. I indelicately announced that, "I'd give anything to do that." "Do what?" she asked. "Pee," I moaned. "You can't pee?" she asked. "Nothing but blood," I responded.

She came out of the stall and introduced herself as an OB/GYN and sat down next to me. She concluded that I was not dehydrated, and I should therefore NOT push fluids, and I should probably drop out of the race before I did any real damage. I took her advice and that was the end of that. I went a total of 20 hours without producing more than a cup of urine. Kind of scary, but everything returned to normal within a couple of days.

What's next? Stay tuned.

Sadie is retiring

I've been running with Sadie for almost 9 years. She is the sweetest dog. Ever.

We got Sadie as a pup when we lived in Wyoming and she cut her running teeth in the Med Bow Mountains. She fell through the ice of a beaver pond at Happy Jack, outside of Laramie and had to be pulled out.

She has been to the top of Mt. Elbert in Colorado. She ran on the Appalachian Trail in Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina. And most recently she has run in the Sandias outside of Albuquerque.

Sadie on her 2nd birthday doing a 50K outside of Asheville, NC.

 Most of our runs are not very exciting. We are just out there, paying our dues, staying in shape so that we can enjoy the big runs, the fun runs. Like Hope Pass!

Sadie at Hope Pass.

I can only estimate the number of miles we have run together. Let's say 30 miles a week, 50 weeks a year, for 8 years. That gives us about 12,000 miles. 

I always feel safer when Sade is with me. She has never had to protect me, but I think she offers protection just by being there.

Sadie has started hanging back on our runs. There have been days when she balks about certain routes. For instance, she hates the yucca loop, but generally loves running in the snow. Initially, she was just picky about our routes. Now she is more consistently indicating that she doesn't want to go more than a couple of miles, regardless of the route.

I have to accept that she is done. She just doesn't want to run anymore. I always thought that Sadie would quit running only if and when she was too stiff and old to really run. I didn't think she would just lose motivation. And yes, I have had her thoroughly checked by the vet. 

Not having Sadie with me has caused me to question whether I want to continue running. Maybe she's right. Maybe we are both ready to drop back to hiking instead of running. But Sadie has brought up her replacement. She has trained Zumi to chase rabbits, run on the trail, and greet hikers and runners we encounter. 

I love Sadie. I love her enough to let her stop running. And Zumi is ready to begin her 12,000 mile journey. 

Inspiration?

The kids were here but now they're gone. I really wanted them to stay forever. Sigh. They clogged the toilet, wet the bed, brought me (and Mary Ann) a case of gastrointestinal virus, a used diaper (by the dryer), and 4 (unmatched) socks.

Anyway, after throwing up spaghetti and my toenails on Tuesday, I ate a bowl of Cheerios on Wednesday, a half a bowl of oatmeal and half a baked potato on Thursday, and a noodle bowl and omelet on Friday.

That brings us to Saturday morning and the Mt. Taylor Quad. Not running for a week and not eating for a couple of days created some doubts about finishing. But you never know how the day will go until you work it, right? The winter quad is a bit of a challenge. For those who don't know, it starts in Grants, NM, at 6500 feet. You bike up for about 13 miles gaining about 1800 feet. Then you run for 5 miles, gaining 1200 feet. Grab your skis, with skins attached if you have any brains, and ascend another 1200 feet and finally switch into your snowshoes and top out at 11,300 feet. Then you turn around and go back down, snowshoeing, skiing, running and biking.

Team Scrappy, AKA Team Scruffy, met up on Friday evening. That would be Ellen Hatch and Spencer Briggs, and a late add-on Crystal Anderson. After a high class night at the Motel 6, we made our way to the start line with our bikes and our rather funky fashion statements. We were all hoping to add a beautiful doubler's scarf at the end of the day. These scarves are for those who completed the Mt. Taylor 50K in the fall and solo the Quad.

We looked a bit scared before the event.

All of our gear was already on the mountain, so we sucked down a cup of coffee, grabbed our bikes and helmets and went to the starting line. The four of us were all pretty close together at the bike/run transition.

About half a mile into the run, a woman passed me. She looked over and, I swear to god, said, "Wow, you are doing well." What the hell did that mean? Not, "Nice job," or "you're looking good," or even "you can do this." No, what she didn't say was that I was doing well for someone my age. I turned to Crystal and she said she just didn't know that I was a beast. Thank you Crystal. I needed the beast label rather than amazement that I was still kicking.

Fast forward to the uphill ski section. I am plodding along when some woman catches up to me and says, "You are an inspiration." I saw this woman again on the downhill run. She was walking back down to the next transition. She was on a team and only did the ski/snowshoe sections so her race was over. She started running with me and again told me I was an inspiration. OK, I like inspiring people. Someone has to do it. I enjoy being a role model. I want women (men, girls and boys) to see what a person can do. But again, the unspoken was that I was an inspiration based on my age. In fact, she asked me my age and told me she thought it was wonderful. 

I guess it was a day when I was showing my age. That is what bothered me. I really thought that I was still passing. Passing as a 50 year old. I could draw the parallel with other parts of my life. I am not ashamed of being in my 60's. I am proud of what I can do at my age. I just don't want to look my age. That's all. I want to be in control of who knows my age and my sexual orientation. I don't want it to be obvious.

Team Scruffy with our Doubler's Scarves