Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | January 24, 2011

A Tale of Two Runs

It was the best of runs, it was the worst of runs. Well, actually, I guess it wasn’t the worst of runs. Truth be told, I’ve had far more miserable ones. Like the time last summer when I started crying by mile 1.5 and had to have my husband come pick me up. Or the time when I started crying as I turned around at the 10 mile mark and realized I had to go all the way back. Oh, and of course the run where I twisted my ankle and started crying and had to have my husband come get me. (Apparently I cry a lot on my runs.) But I am going to take a bit of literary license and say that last week I had the worst run and the best run on two consecutive days.

The first run was supposed to be 8-10 miles. I have that insane race (the F-ing Freezing Frozen Lake Half Marathon) looming over my shoulder, so “it’s cold out” did not cut it as an excuse. Unless I wanted to collapse into a lifeless heap come race day, I needed to get at least some modicum of training done. I looked at the weather for the week and picked my day: projected highs in the 20s, some fresh snow, and a clear schedule. I planned accordingly and fueled up. I lathered on Body Glide, donned what must have been a dozen layers, and strapped on my Garmin. I diligently did my dynamic warmups, and then I headed out.

It was snowing a little harder than I expected. It was a little colder than I expected. It was far windier than I expected. As I jogged down the street, I noticed that the snow was blowing straight into my eyes. I mentally rearranged my route and turned westward. The snow was still swirling into my face. It stung a bit. Hmm, west didn’t seem to be a good direction. I once again rearranged my route in my head, made a few turns and headed east. The snow was still blowing in my face. I did one more course revision and turned northward. The road was slippery. The snow was blinding. I had a headache. I continued on for three more blocks and said “Forget this.” I walked back home.

I stood in the shower feeling defeated. I’d put on Body Glide, for Pete’s sake, and I hadn’t even made it a mile. Talk about a quitter. Clearly, I had lost my running mojo. I started to come up with ways to drop out of the half marathon. Maybe I could book a last-minute trip somewhere so I’d have an excuse to miss it. Or heck, maybe I’d just no-show. It was a cheap registration fee. I had no problem walking away from it.

The next day, I decided to try again. After my previous experience, however, I had low expectations. I skipped the Body Glide. I’d had nothing but grapefruit and coffee for breakfast. I didn’t bother bringing any water. I figured I would be lucky to stretch out 4 miles. I must have looked like a sullen teenager as I layered up and headed out.

I slowly plodded down the street. Alone with my thoughts, I kept thinking about all the things in my life that were not going well, that very run included. Why did I do this? Why did I bother? Should I just give up, as I had the day before, or should I try to keep going? I ran along, unsure what to do.

It was half snowy, half sunny, as if Mother Nature herself was grappling with indecision and self-doubt. Fortunately, the driving, swirling wind from the day before had died. Instead, a light breeze lifted the snowflakes gently, making them appear weightless. Then the sun managed to wrestle custody of the sky from the clouds. The rays hit the floating snowflakes, causing them to glow. It was like running into a swarm of fireflies. For the first time in two days, I found myself smiling.

Although thin, the sun warmed my face and lifted my mood. The clouds retreated towards the south. I chased them along, heading further away from home, until I realized that I had gone over four miles. With a small twinge of regret, I turned and headed back. I hit 9.3 miles as I got to my street.

Two days, two runs, two very different experiences. So, what did I learn? Two things: 1) like a relationship, you never really know how a run is going to work out until you are already in it, and 2) you should always go with Body Glide, just in case (and I have the chafing to prove it).

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | January 17, 2011

Dog Sledding Memories

If you enjoyed my post about dog-sledding on Christmas Eve, you should check out these lovely photos from Dog Sled Days in Olney Montana. I wish we could have been there. Hopefully the dogs we spent Christmas Eve with, including Pasta, Pepperoni, King, and Kodi, had a good time.  Click on the links for some stunning photos.

http://lidovizzutti.blogspot.com/2011/01/dog-days-of-winter.html

http://jessicalowry.blogspot.com/2011/01/sled-dog-days-olney-montana.html

And eventually I will get around to putting our dog-sledding photos up on MTClick.com. Maybe it will be my weekend project, right up there with cleaning out my closet. In other words, it might take a while.

 

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | January 9, 2011

You might be a crazy runner if….

So here’s the deal: You’re a runner but not a crazy runner. You like running. Sometimes you love it, but you don’t get carried away.

You love the endorphins, of course. You love being outside in the fresh air. You love the feel of your feet striking the pavement (even if you know it might be bad for your knees). You love the sweat. You do not like the laundry your running habit generates, but you put up with it. You appreciate the energy you get from a run. You love the way it makes you feel calmer and more relaxed for the rest of the day.

But it only goes so far.  You are not one of those fanatics who runs every day, come hell or high water. Some days you bike. Some days you do yoga (even though you are not very good at it). Some days you do absolutely nothing, and you are not embarrassed to say so. You most assuredly do not get up at 4:45 AM to run. You are a fair weather runner. 95 degrees and humid will find you sitting on the deck with an iced drink in hand. 15 degrees with a sub-zero wind chill will find you sitting on the couch in front of a fire reading a book. All day. You like to run, but you are not a crazy runner.

Unfortunately, you know people who are crazy runners. And some of them (they know who they are) talked you into doing a half marathon in January. In Chicago. Along the lakefront. You hate cold, and that race is guaranteed to be cold. Brutally cold. Frighteningly cold. Might-just-end-up-with-frostbite cold. That means it is firmly outside your comfort zone. So why the heck are you doing it?

It didn’t seem like such a bad idea back in November, when “cold” meant 30s. “I can run in the cold,” you bravely told yourself, as you clicked on the ‘Register Now!’ button. But then this arctic blast known as winter came to visit and decided to stay a while. Normally, you would retreat to the comfort of your couch and not venture outside until, oh, maybe April. But there it was, that little half marathon you signed up for, looming over you. You couldn’t just sit on the couch because you still had a race to do. The realization made you cry a little.

So, when you popped your head out the door this morning, you nearly sobbed when the cold air hit you. The thermometer read 12. To make things worse, it was windy. You desperately wanted to sit down with a cup of coffee, read the paper, and be lazy. Or better yet, just go back to bed completely. But no. You needed to get a decent run in. All because of that stupid race and those crazy runners.

So, you put on countless layers, including every accessory you could find: hat, neck warmer, ear warmer, gloves and more gloves. You headed out to meet your friend Dan (one of those aforementioned crazy runners) to do some hill repeats. You hate hill repeats. Almost as much as you hate running in the cold.

You found Dan and fellow runner Kim and you tried to muster a smile. The first few steps of the run were painful, as if all the muscles and joints in your body were saying “Are you kidding me? We want to go back to that warm bed where we were just a few moments ago!” But, as you moved along, you warmed up. The sun, rising into a deep azure blue sky, gained strength and started to radiate warmth. The wind calmed down and decided to take the day off. Soon, you became warm enough to shed a layer. As you stood on the top of the hill taking in the view, you realized it was a beautiful day. And you almost missed it. You almost stayed home, wrapped in your little cocoon, cowering from the chill.

The hills were challenging but not miserable. Each lap was a little more pleasant than the previous one. You enjoyed the crispness of the air and the camaraderie of other runners. Yes, you would have liked the temperature to be 32 instead of 12, but you managed to survive 12 just fine.

Now if the weather can cooperate for the half marathon (sunny, dry, no wind, maybe a little warmer than today), you’ll be all set. Because even though you enjoyed that run, it doesn’t mean you are a crazy runner.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | January 3, 2011

How do I Stink at Snowboarding? Let Me Count the Ways….

My brother, who is older and wiser and also happens to be an orthopedic surgeon, once told me that taking up a new sport over the age of 40 is a bad idea and almost certainly will lead to injury. Serious injury. In fact, he gave me a particular warning about snowboarding and the overwhelming likelihood of a broken wrist. Of course, I rarely listen to people older and wiser than me, so I decided to give snowboarding a try.

My entire family skis, except me. Although I was always quite happy to sit in the lodge and read a book while they enjoyed the day, a small part of me felt that I was missing out. I wanted our days on the mountain to be more of a family activity. Someone (I wish I could remember who so I could place blame accordingly) suggested I try snowboarding instead of skiing, with the rationale that it is less damaging on the knees. Why not?

In a year full of what could be considered errors in judgements (doing things like an overnight running relay, my first triathlon, a marathon, etc.), I soon found myself embracing yet another one. There I was, outside my comfort zone, standing on a ski slope, cold and unhappy, terrified at the thought of going down the hill and angry at myself for wanting to give up and walk away. How bad am I at snowboarding? Well, let’s start at the beginning:

– It takes me an hour just to get dressed. I hate the cold and need a lot weapons to combat it. I can barely count all the layers I put on: the Mizuno Thermo socks, the Smartwool socks over them, the Underarmour leggings, the Underarmour shirt, more leggings, another shirt, plus one more for good luck, the neck warmer, the ear warmer, the snowpants, the jacket, the hat, the gloves, the other gloves. And then I realize I have to go to the bathroom one last time.

– Putting on the snowboarding boots takes another 30 minutes. Often my foot cramps up as I am trying to wedge it into the boot. Then I have to hop around getting rid of the cramp. Then I try stuffing my foot in again. Once the feet are in, I have to lace up the inner part of the boot, and then I have to do the outer laces, grunting and groaning and puling with all my might to tighten them. At this point, I am exhausted and need to take a break to recover. I have broken into a sweat before I have even walked out the door.

– I then find myself at the top of the hill (well, the bunny slope, truth be told) and it is time to get on the snowboard; I have to put the bindings on the boots. Optimistically, I try putting them on while standing up. This is when my lack of flexibility becomes evident and I vow to do more yoga. I fiddle with the bindings, trying to get the straps on, and eventually I fall down on my butt. After approximately 30 minutes of huffing and puffing and trying to get the damn straps in the buckles, I finally manage to do it. Then I need to sit for a minute to recover. Is it time for lunch break yet?

– I try standing up from a seated position but I don’t have the core strength to pull it off (this is when I vow to do more Pilates).

– I flip over onto my stomach and try to stand up that way. I stay for a while in the downward dog position (again reminding myself to do more yoga) and then finally, inch by inch, I walk my hands towards my feet and manage to stand up.

– I’m standing! Then I start moving. Uh-oh, I’m headed down hill. Help! How do I stop? In a panic, I can’t remember. It seemed so easy in the lesson, but now I have forgotten what to do. I must use the effective, if painful, method of hurling myself to the ground. Ouch.

– I repeat the awkward transition from lying prone to standing again.

– The second time around I move in a slightly more controlled fashion.

– Unfortunately, I can only go left. Left, left, left!

– I try to head right but it only scares the daylights out of me and presents a significant hazard to every other person on the mountain.

– I become well acquainted with the trees on the left side of the trail.

– I fall frequently. It takes me about 15 minutes to stand up each time. I then progress approximately two feet forward and fall again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

– After several hours, I find myself at the bottom of the hill

– And since I arrived intact at the bottom (without breaking my wrist, it should be noted), I foolishly declare “Let’s do that again!” Because nearly killing myself once just wasn’t enough.

As I leave the mountain at the end of the day, tired, sore and bruised over 90 percent of my body, I wonder briefly if my brother  was right. But after stopping to pick up some Advil, I find myself plotting out our next ski trip. Apparently I’ll never learn. (I do, however, recommend wrist guards if you are going to give it a try.)

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | December 27, 2010

Going to the Dogs on Christmas Eve

This Christmas Eve I was completely prepared for The Big Day. We were lucky enough to spend Christmas in Montana, and I made sure everything was bought and wrapped in plenty of time. No last-minute stress. No 11th-hour trips to the mall (not that there is a mall nearby, but you know what I mean). Christmas Eve was going to be all about having fun and spending time with my family, or at least that is what I hoped. Of course, things didn’t go as smoothly as planned. In the end, we didn’t go to the mall, but you could say we went to the dogs.

I wanted to get in a decent run on Christmas Eve, so that morning I headed over to one of my favorite summer marathon-training routes, a lovely loop along the shores of Flathead Lake. In the summer, Flathead is a bustling hub of seasonal activity. In the winter, however, the place is deserted. I encountered a mere 5 cars in 7 miles, and not so much as a single other pedestrian.

After a summer spent avoiding the local sow and cub pair, I was relieved not to have to worry about bears, knowing that they were peacefully hibernating for the winter. There was, however, one predator out stalking and harassing me. I am speaking, of course, of the dreaded domestic dog. If you have read my running posts before, you know that dogs hate me. I don’t know why – I love dogs – but I am convinced that at some point there was a full-page ad in Dog World Magazine with my photo and a big “Wanted, Dead or Alive” headline. Whether I am running or biking, dogs love to chase me. Big, small, young, old, they all run after me for sport. Blood sport.

Fortunately, since the summer people had abandoned the shores of Flathead, most of the dogs were gone too. I ran along blissfully, taking in the quiet scenery around me, until about mile 4. Then I heard it: a deep bark echoing across the snow. Ahead of me, off  in the woods about a quarter-mile, I saw a large black thing moving towards me. The barking got louder. He appeared to be some sort of black lab mix, and he was headed straight for me. I had to think quick. I knew from past experience that trying to run away only triggers a dog’s chase instinct. I stopped and stood still. He continued towards me at top speed. “He’s just a goofy lab,” I told myself, “nothing to be worried about. A goofy lab. A lab…hmmm….” I reviewed what I knew about labs. Labs are playful and friendly (except this one who was barking like crazy and clearly wanted to tear me limb from limb). Labs are also usually stupid, no offense to any smart labs out there who might be reading this blog.

I quickly formulated a plan. As the dog started charging down the road towards me, I reached down to the ground, scooped up a hunk of frozen snow and yelled “Fetch!” The dog stuttered to stop. I threw as hard as I could. He took off in the direction of my throw. He bounded down the road as the snowball hit the ground in front of him and disappeared. He slid on the slippery snowpack and turned around, heading back my way. I grabbed another hunk of snow. Lather, rinse, repeat. I kept chucking snowballs for him, he kept chasing them. I had finally found a way to ward off attacking dogs, and it was far more effective than any pepper spray. After several minutes of Fetch the Snowball, Stupid Black Lab’s owner came and got him. Relieved, I continued on my way, cruising down empty snow-covered roads, taking in the scenery.

I got a good 7 miles under my belt and then wrapped up my run so we could get on with Phase Two of The Gelber’s Excellent Christmas Eve Adventure. It involved a long car trip, but I didn’t mind, since this year had almost been The Christmas Eve That Wasn’t.

We had known for months that we would be spending Christmas in Montana, and we also had known for months that the kids wanted to go dogsledding while we were there. We decided that would be our “big” gift to them this year – a family dogsledding adventure. Did we think to call ahead and make reservations? No, of course not. It’s Montana! I figured maybe we would need to call a day or two ahead of time, ideally we could wait to see the weather forecast and then book something. Just to be sure, however, I asked my husband to give a ring about two weeks in advance to check what days there were open. Bad news: booked solid. Booked every day from Dec 18th to January 2nd. Massive parenting fail.

My husband was able to get us on the waitlist in case anything opened up, but we had little hope, and we had no back-up plan. We called persistently, but there was no way they could fit the whole family at the last minute. Surely, this would go down as the year when the kids got socks for Christmas and realized once and for all that Mom and Dad were complete losers.

But then, while we were watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, the phone rang. They had an opening. They could take all of us on the 24th, Christmas Eve. It was a Christmas Dogsledding Miracle! So, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, we gladly piled into the car and headed north. We passed through Whitefish, heading north towards Canada, until we got to the absolute speck of a town known as Olney, Montana. We pulled off the highway and headed up a hill into the wilderness.

As we rounded a corner, I saw a husky. Then another one. Then another. Good lord, they were everywhere. I stepped out of the car laughing. The smell of pine was overpowered by the smell of dog urine, and the peaceful quiet of the Montana back country was suppressed by the barking of dogs. Dogs, dogs everywhere.

The owner, Jeff, greeted us as we pulled up. He looked the part of a true Montana mountain man: long scruffy beard and well-worn camo pants. He has apparently been here 20 years, after spending 10 dogsledding in Steamboat Springs, CO. His operation in Olney has built up over the past two decades, and now he has 110 dogs: 109 Huskies and one lone Hound dog.

I looked around. There were dogs as far as the eye could see. Light ones, darks ones, big ones, small ones. Fortunately, it was well-ordered chaos: each dog was chained to her or her own small dog-house. A favorite activity seemed to be standing on top of the house, barking. And once one started, they all got going. It was chaotic. The dogs were exceptionally friendly, and we took turns wandering from house to house petting them. Finally, the barking reached a feverish pitch. The cacophony was overwhelming. I turned to see what was going on and realized that the sleds were being readied. The dogs knew it was time. They seemed to be screaming “Pick me! Pick me!”

Jeff divided us up into the various sleds. We climbed in and had blankets piled on top of us. Jeff’s wife would be my sled driver for the next hour. She told me a little bit about the dogs and the dogsledding operation. I learned that the dogs eat about 300 pounds of food a day, and that most of the working dogs are 10 years or younger. We talked about the group dynamics of putting together a team, pairing by age and temperament. We discussed how she, like so many Northwest Montanans, capitalizes on the seasonal crowd by doing landscape work during the warmer weather to complement the winter dog-sledding business. We talked about the dogs and how they come up with so many names for them. But mostly we flew in silence through the Montana wilderness on a big looping trail, skipping over bumps and soaring down hills. The dogs sprinted along with unbridled enthusiasm, tails wagging, stopping every now and then to catch their breath and leave some yellow marks in the snow. One of our dogs had gas, but other than that mild odorous distraction, we had a splendid ride.

We arrived back at the lodge, greeted by the enthusiastic barking of the 60 or so dogs we had left behind. It was hard to say who had more fun, the humans or the dogs. The humans got hot chocolate and cookies at the end, so I think we came out on top. We bid goodbye to Jeff and his mutts, and we headed back towards civilization.

The dark of night was starting to cloak Stryker mountain as we drove away. We stopped briefly in Whitefish to admire the holiday decorations and then headed on to a friend’s house for a fun and festive Christmas Eve. Who knows, maybe dogsledding will be our new Christmas Eve tradition? Sure beats last-minute shopping at the mall.

(You can find more information about Jeff’s Dogsled Adventures here.)

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