Running out of 2013

Miles today 17

Temperature; 25

Wind; 14 mph with gust up to 30 mph

 Conditions; fresh powder and slick beneath

Gary ran today, anxious to get more miles per run.  His desire to increase distances seems to be running parallel to the increased intensity of winter weather.  Not running makes him agitated and he worries that everyone who has offered support will be judging him.  He is making loops on Fox Creek that go past the Volvo as a way station to imitate the way the Ultra Caballo Blanco is laid out; with a check point in the middle where you stash food and drink. 

The weather worries me.  Two nights ago he got home in the dark, the high temperature that day was 10 and drops quickly once the sun goes down.  It is pretty common for the water in his hand held container to freeze while he is running.  He knows a lot about layering for warmth, he has two pairs of socks, two alpaca hats, two fleece pants and numerous sweaters of wool and silk on.  He gives me an estimation of time and I try not to worry until about a half hour of his arrival time. I try not to be that wife.

People on the road are talking about his race now.  They are curious about it, about the Tarahumara, about how he is doing.  They even get defensive about the dog; cursing at people who drive the road fast enough to endanger Kaycee.  Of course Kaycee does himself no favors, being a Border/Aussie cross he always feels the need to herd the vehicles. No one seems worried about the vehicles hitting Gary.  They must think his snazzy style will no doubt catch the oncoming traffic’s eye.  He had a run in with the snowplow the other day on one of the narrower parts of the road.  Gary scrambled up the rocky cliff to get out of the way which probably only served to convice the driver he really is crazy.

We are beginning to pack; the first aid kit, the sewing kit and some of the camp gear.  I can’t seem to find any information about the weather in the canyon to organize our sleeping gear.  We want to pack lite but not freeze our butts off.  Additionally I want to make sure Gary can sleep comfortably.  While he rarely mentions his back I know it can get out of whack and that would seriously impact his race.

Learning to dine and dash

Gary is learning eat and run. That seems to be one thing all of his advisors/coaches agree on, that running for 50 miles requires you to eat during the race while moving.  So far Gary is running 15-minute miles, and the race itself only allows for a 12 hour window.  15  minutes X 50 miles  still puts Gary in the running, and of course he is hoping to get faster.  The eating seems to be an art.  It is amazing to hear everyone’s opinion.  There is Kevin, the Aussie coach, a long-distance coach in a very different definition of the word.  Kevin is a bicycler and very aware of nutrition.  ‘Take bananas” he says, so Gary tries that.  The problem is that while they probably work beautifully in the tropical climate where Kevin lives, they freeze before mile 5 in Wyoming winters.  However Gary is still eating them despite the brown skin and frozen texture.  Then there are the gels, these seem to be a big deal in the running world.  However again he is having into some issues.  The cold turns them into hard candy and squeezing them out of their colorful tubes is a Herculean effort.  So far his mainstays are Cliff Bars and Pinole bars.  The pinole bars are a work in progress; he found recipes online and has been tweaking them for taste.  Both Kaycee, the dog and myself agree that the coffee should be eliminated from the recipe and the almond butter should be increased.  I also vote for dried fruit, cherries in particular.  However Kaycee and I are not in training so Gary is taking our advice with a grain of salt.  

Korima

Caballo Blanco, who is the namesake of the race Gary is headed to, talked about Korima a term used by the Tarahumara.  It means roughly translated ‘what I have, you have’.   It is about sharing friendship. Today Gary and I are touched by what our friends and family have given us, in particular to realize this dream of Gary’s.  Encouragement, coaching, kind words and even some financial support.  Last night we ordered some equipment for the race using funds that Gary was given by people who believe in him and support his dream.  It was a humbling feeling, to buy lightweight bags and water bottles without trepidation and worry about where the money would come from.  To know that we have friends and family who are helping to get Gary to the race; no strings, no guilt.  The gifts help him  get to the race and say ‘We believe in you’. 

Today a neighbor kid came down.  He has been given a hard row and now he has gotten himself crossways with the law.  His dad sent to down to see us  in his truck with mismatched doors through a white-out, a snowstorm so intense you lose sense of speed and direction.

‘You’re driveway is getting a little drifted, I broke it out for you.’ He starts the conversation then adds ‘My dad wanted me to talk to you or your son.’

Our son has been crossways with the law too, although now, thank God, he has found strength to move forward.  His new life and our early Christmas dinner with him this year are truly prayers answered.

We talked with the kid, asked his dreams, told him of his strengths.  We talked about choices, about how life isn’t about not making mistakes but rather picking yourself up and learning form them so you don't repeat them.  We offered to come to court with him and gave him a few thoughts on how to prepare to meet with the judge.  We sent him home with encouragement and gingerbread cookies.

So my wish for you today that you have gifts like this, gifts of good friends who believe in you, gifts of family to love and love you back, and gifts of friends and neighbors who can benefit from your experiences and life.

May Korima be alive and well in your life too.

Golden

Last weekend we drove to Golden so Gary could run with Bob, his coach.  We had been scheduled to go there the week before but the temperatures had dropped and ‘struggled’, as the weatherman said, to reach single digits.  The wind-chill drove the temperature to -40^o.  It should be mentioned that Gary contemplated running those days.  He ran before the bottom fell out of the thermometer on a night when water in his bottle turned to slush.  It was Bob who recommended postpone the run for a week.

The drive through Colorado was spectacular.  We drove first to Boulder, then on to Golden and stayed with Mary and Bob’s friend's house with possibly the best overlook of Golden to be had.  Bob and Mary's house full of young musicians.  Their presence made the house feel fresh and young; full of vibrancy, voices and mandolin playing.

Bob is Gary’s coach; he has run since he was in high school.  He is built like an athlete; lean, strong legs and passion.  Bob could vie with silent Bob for the title; he isn’t much for speaking.  Instead he listens and thinks, pondering your ideas like a mathematical problem before he responds.  In his other life he is an engineer and he manifests that in conversation.  Gary is full of questions; ‘How much do I run?  What schedule should I keep?  What should I eat?  When should I eat?  What if I can’t keep up?’  Bob just nods. ‘Let’s go run.’

They head up one of the mesas that flank Golden; the run is 13 miles and 1,000 ft. vertical climb.  Gary does just fine.  And while they run, Bob talks; he answers Gary’s questions, he talks about his dreams and fears, he gives Gary advice about his running.  They are like young boys although I suspect they are some of the older people on the mountain.

Mary and I begin logistics.  Mary is scout mother material.  She is always cheery and encouraging.  And organized. I suspect she knows every Girl Scout song by heart.  It would be hard not to love her. We had hoped to fly to Chihuahua together then take the train to the canyon.  I am worried about Gary’s back; sitting is his enemy.  I want to keep the travel time to a minimum and while the bus to the canyon is much less expensive, the train will allow him to walk.  Mary agrees.  But we run into a snag.

The people at Entres Amigos, where we are staying, told us that there would be at least 200 runners besides the Raramuri.  That means the hotels and camps in the town of 1500 will fill up quickly; by Wednesday they cannot guarantee us space.  The train leaves Monday, Thursday and the weekend so we need to be there on Monday. We will leave the Tuesday after the race to take the train back to Chihuahua and fly home the next day.  They cannot be gone from work that long.  Mary is the only one of us that is truly bilingual.  Gary and I are learning Spanish by watching old Westerns and Disney movies with Spanish subtitles.  All of us are unsure how practical the ‘the witch is dead’, ‘Well, pilgrim’ and ‘I’ve just tarred and feathered my own brother’ will be.  I guess we will find out.

Thanksgiving

How can I tell you the day is beautiful without sounding cliché?  The day is bright and crisp; frost in the morning, patchy snow that reflects blue of the ultramarine sky.  There is no wind, there are no clouds.  We have the day to ourselves and hope to have a quiet meal with food to celebrate the harvest from our garden; squash pie, fresh mashed potatoes and the last of the japan truffle tomatoes with a baked chicken.  It is impossible to stay inside when the weather beckons us outside.  We usually have snow of considerable amount by now and some past Thanksgivings have required snowmaching out to the highway to get to friends. This day is a blank check. 

Gary runs of course, he chooses to run down Fox Creek Road, 'Maybe to Penny and Jim’s' he says.  I keep the dog inside, more than five miles is hard for him.  We will walk as soon as Gary is out of sight.

He is later than he thought he would be.  I make the pie to distract myself but when it is ready for the oven I decide to drive to find him.  Kaycee, the dog, is eager as well.  We haven’t driven a mile when I see a car coming.  Traditionally our road is one that isn’t busy, today it is even less traveled.  I stop the people to ask if they have seen a runner. ‘Yes, he is just behind us.’  I see him in the curve where Maggie lost her husband so many years ago. He smiles and waves.  ‘I'm sorry to have worried you.’  Guilt is a driving force in his life.  ‘What did you see’ I ask.

There were cougar tracks, bigger than his fist and many.  He also saw a number of dog prints, larger than any dog we know on the road.  'Maybe' he says, 'it is a wolf'.  And he saw neighbors.  There was Carl and Joanne, sixty-year old brother and sister, who were bicycling down the road to Wood’s Landing.  Carl is missing a lung and in sore need of a replacement for the remaining one so it is good it is a downhill ride.  His daughter follows behind in a pickup to take them back to ranch when they reach the highway. ‘Thanks for bringing Mom the mincemeat pie, she’s already eaten half of it’.  Gary’s mincemeat is famous in a very small circle, it is made with fresh apples, buffalo, raisins and plenty of rum.  She has already eaten half of it, they laugh. As of late her appetite has diminished so it is a welcome change. They converse, coasting their bikes alongside Gary for awhile then ride ahead.  Next there is Penny and her grandsons ‘We are so proud of you’ she says.  She came to the house when Gary broke his back eight years ago, bringing nursing and oil paints.  She knows the pain Gary had from a burst vertebrate and from the doctor's diagnoses that he would have to give up his lifestyle because of the injury.  Today she wants to teach her oldest grandson to drive, he is twelve and the empty road is perfect to learn.  Gary warns them of the cougars and tells the boys to carry sticks and yell loudly if they see one.  ‘It will eat up and shit you out up there’ he points to a copse of trees.  Kid-correct language is not one his strong points and the boys nod seriously.  ‘And’ he tells me ‘I made it to Highway 12’.  Eight miles each way and three miles more than he had planned.  He will have to get farther to be ready for the race in March but for now it is enough.

The Caballo Blanco Ultra Marathon.  A race that is relatively obscure in both geography and the race world.  A small race by comparison to others, the race winnings are in pounds of corn, and you race alongside people, the Tarahumara or the Raramuri as they call themselves.  They are a small tribe indigenous to the area.  I don’t know much about the race, there are a number of websites with more info that I have. Sites like http://www.ultracb.com/ and the Facebook pace for the race have specifics.  I know it is a 50 mile race through the canyon, in difficult terrain with serious altitudinal changes, on trails too narrow and steep for vehicles.  Most the landscape is rugged enough to deter even horsemen.  Still the race has captured Gary’s imagination.  Overcoming his Luddite trepidation he searches the web for information.  He has learned to YouTube just to watch the Tarahumara, Micah True and other runners in his quest for more information.  He looks at the sandals the Tarahumara run in, ingenious things made with tire treads and intricate lacings.  He listens to people talk about the race on the videos.  It is a fascination for him; the route, the run, the people.  Local events don’t interest him, races in general don’t interest him.  The beauty of the Copper Canyon, the respect the people have for their land and the appreciation he has for the people’s respect beckons.  

Sheep Mountain

Sheep Mountain stands behind our home.  It is the thumb of the mitten of mountains called the Snowy Range. There are moose, elk, deer, cougars, bears, eagles, grouse and a number of other types of animals that live there.  Humans have come to the mountain too; there are tipi rings, mines, native burials, and pieces of broken equipment on it. It supplies us with elk, deer, wild raspberries and herbs like pipsissiwa and yarrow.  We even gather small fossils, belemites, with our grand nephews on the mountainsides. 

Now the mountain is a preserve with no roads on the top and surrounded by private land.  It has always been a quiet place due in part to its inaccessibility.  It’s not just the private property, it is the mountain itself which juts up 1500 ft. from the land around it and the footing of grus or ‘rotten rock’; granite that was poorly complied during the geologic period it was constructed.  Even the trees have trouble finding good purchase for their roots.  Now they are struggling with the bark beetle infestation.  The ribbons of limber and ponderosa pines that embellish the sides are now mostly gray and red, not the rich green they were when we built our house here 30 years ago.  It is here that Gary runs.  He would assure you there are trails, but I am not sure you would see them.  Even Bob, his coach, was unsure when he began to run with Gary on the mountain.  He followed Gary through the course and over the wind-felled trees. His trails involve deer trails, ravines, a couple of rock outcrops and the remnant of the two track that traverses the top.

His runs bring him back refreshed and full of life and stories; he saw three elk, he saw fresh cougar tracks, the limber pines didn’t set cones, there is a new elk camp with pinto packhorses… He becomes young and his worries about the world erode.