Not Just Running Away

Anchorage Mayor's Marathon mission statement, "I don't have to be fast to outrun a bear, I just have to be faster than you..."

And people Outside wonder why we're such good athletes...

I'm really only kidding about the running from bears part. Mostly.

Time to sign up for the annual Summer Solstice run! Check out AKontheGOthis week for details.

I Spent the Evening in an Alien Ship

I'm not one to disparage any opportunity to spend quality time by myself, but last night was a bit much.

After a last-minute phone call yesterday from my doctor, who is as intrigued by my knee injury as I am, I found myself scheduled for an MRI at 6 p.m. at the lovely Providence Imaging Center.

For those of you who noted the appointment time and said "Ahh, that is a very bad appointment time, the end of the day...", you are correct. A one-hour delay of game until 7 p.m. meant I had to miss taekwondo and swimming lessons (oh darn)and instead curled myself into the uncomfortable armchairs of the waiting room reading a book. At least it was my book.

Finally emerging around 7:15, the tech was apologetic, even groveling a bit when she actually saw the time, but quickly recovered and ushered me into the Borg Chamber to get the thing done.

Ever had an MRI? So loud that one needs to wear earplugs, the machine makes funny sounds that are reminiscent of a rocket launch pad even before firing up to take a scan. Not a quick process, the MRI took a half hour to effectively peer into the inner workings of my left joint; this way, that way, up, down. Should I have felt violated?

I was warned that the sounds would be "knocking and banging", and I was to relax and be perfectly still during the process. Sounded simple enough, but have you ever tried to completely relax your muscles while jackhammers are drilling directly above your head, expecting at any time some machine/man to pop out from behind and say "Assimilate"?

Finally emerging around 8:15, my body was exhausted from relaxing.

They better find something or I'll be ticked.

What Do You Do With a Runner When She Can't Be a Runner, Anymore?

This is my view today. Just me, Blue Ice, and the laptop trying one last desperate attempt at making things all better fast.

The combination of skiing and running in the hills of Anchorage, coupled with 30+ years of doing high-impact sports have apparently taken their toll upon my body and are beginning to wreak havoc.

I was told in my 20's that my knees had issues, that "someday" I would end up sore and broken. But who listens to doctors when they are looking at life from the top of a chairlift at Whistler, or training for a triathlon, or hiking miles into the backcountry of Washington carrying a chainsaw?

After a test run Monday night during which I lasted all of ten minutes pain-free, I finally went to the doctor who stared at my x-rays in deep contemplation, glasses pushed up on top of his head so he could see better. "Hmmmm, a skier, huh? I think you'd better call it good for this year." He went on mumbling to himself, or me, but I was already trying to figure out how to get around this, concocting all sorts of plans, when I heard the word "arthritis". WHAT?

Women, he explained, especially athletes, often get arthritis in knees due to the way we walk.It's those hips, he said, that are wider (thanks for the update) and thus make our stride, etc. a bit more stressful on the patella. Poop.

In my case, years of running and jumping and schussing have left my knees vulnerable, and since the patella isn't aligned properly (is this genetic? I'll blame my parents), my knees are showing signs of the degenerative condition that cripples many former football players and other has-been athletes.

The gist of the whole conversation was to refer me to an Orthopedic surgeon who might be able to fix things, or maybe not, depending on exactly the problem. An MRI is almost certainly forthcoming.

While I am certainly glad I have two legs with which to stand walk upon, I am a bit grumpy today. Those of you who know me well will recall my hesitation to stop doing anything active. I broke my ankle once and had the doctor make the cast such that I could still ride my horse. I don't like doing nothing.

Yukon is, of course, all a'twitter that he can now justify my joining him at his lap swim sessions at Alaska Pacific University. Blech.

"You Run Fast, Bear. Yes, I know"

Glad he's so modest. The three of us have been participating in Anchorage Parks and Rec's Tuesday Night Race Series. Designed to get everybody in town up and running no matter the ability level, the Race Series is held at a different local park every Tuesday through the end of October. While we know the park location, the actual course is kept secret until we are all lined up and ready to take off.

Little Bear is quite taken with the "run through the woods" concept, in true Alaskan-child form. Tonight the 'Munchkin League' ran through Russian Jack Springs Park and slogged through 1.2 miles of muddy, root-laden trail to the finish line in the middle of a soccer field. The little bugger ran the entire way without stopping, and even passed some grown-ups.

Right now he is wearing his Superman costume. Right now, we think he's pretty super, too. A note for my fellow Anchorage-ites; this is one of the best family events I have attended since moving here. Great people, good organization, and the right message; working out is fun, and even more fun when the whole family participates.

Sorry the action shot is so blurry, but it's hard to shoot and run to keep up with these guys.

Bears, Bears, Bears

Many inquiries have been made about the recent mauling of a teenage girl in one of Anchorage's parks. A participant in an all-night bike ride/race, she was wheeling past Campbell creek at around 1:30 a.m. when the bear chewed her up, missing vital parts of her anatomy (another reason to wear a helmet in Alaska). Fortunately, she is expected to make a full physical recovery. Emotionally, well, that could be another story.

Folks are interested in my perspective of the bear/human problem, knowing that we live steps away from the far side of the park where this all occurred. The Anchorage Daily News certainly is receiving a lot of "perspective" from readers, some angry that the bears are allowed to live anywhere in the city limits, some angry that people would even consider shooting critters that, for the most part, are just doing what they were made to do; eat, sleep, and protect themselves.

It is my belief that if we humans are going to venture into their space, no matter the location, we must be prepared to face the potential consequences, and be prepared to mitigate them. The photo above shows our family's commitment to hiking in bear country. Dog is on leash, dog wears bear bells on behalf of the family (they drive me nuts to wear). Child is close by. We are noisy.

We carry bear spray and know how to use it.

Perhaps what makes us a bit different is that we expect to run into a bear (or moose). Knowing that there are indeed bears, we avoid spots that are hot beds certain times of the year. Like now, when the fish are running in Campbell Creek. Fish=Bears=Trouble for everyone.

It would be unfortunate if we have become so arrogant that we expect even the wild creatures to get out of our way so we can play.

Fancy Running Into You

I took the plunge this week and took Jasper running. With the boundless energy his breed is known for, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the heebeejeebees took over. Besides, being chained to him for four days gave me enough perspective to understand his little psyche needed to get outside and do something. So, we dressed in the running clothes, got out the memorial moose lead that belonged to Pepper, and trotted off down the street.

Immediately differences between running with an Old Yellow Dog and a young German Bird Dog became apparant. Whereas the Yellow Dog would run five steps behind me, hoping to get me to stop eventually so she could grumble at every passing yard dog, Bird Dog popped his stubby tail into the air and stepped lively in concert with me. A good feeling.

The further we went the calmer he became, coming to understand his purpose; to just run with Person and not stop to sniff, pee, bark, or otherwise detract from the outing's mission. We jogged this way for almost 45 minutes and circled back to see if any moose could be found along the treeline of the nearby park, just to see what, if anything, Jasper would do upon smelling one. None were visible or within smelling range (this dog has a nose!) so homeward bound we went.

I don't think Bird Dog has had much exercise in the past few months, as he headed straight for his bed after a drink, turned around three times and began snoring. Sleeping seems to be a favorite activity of his, we have noticed.

This weekend we are going to try a short trip to the park, walking on trails outside of our normal route. Jasper is bonding well to us and is trusting that we are okay people to be around.

Oh yes, and I have a writing dog again, too. He is sleeping at my feet, right where Pepper used to sit. A mere arm reach away.

Don't Spit into the Wind

As this site is supposed to be about things I am learning, I will bow to its title and discuss a new little tidbit of information I discovered while jogging last week during our cold snap.
Our nighttime temperatures have finally risen above zero. Granted, there really is not much "real feel" difference to me of a thermometer at zero and one reading five. Comforting nonetheless, I decided to get back into the running regime and suited up. Long johns, wool sport socks, running pants, midweight top, half-zip top, fleece overshirt, gloves, hat, and the cous de gras (and my most prized running possession), the balaclava.
A nifty thing to keep the nose, ears, and chin from freezing completely, the balaclava is a skin-tight wonder that goes over the head and most of the face, leaving me to look like a robber or misplaced scuba diver. My Homer friend even has one with copper coils in it to warm the air she breathes in.
Off I went, feeling much better the further I jogged, toxins releasing like pollen on a spring day.
No moose even, to detour my route. But...
I still have a bit of a cold, and as everyone knows, when you have a cold you might have a bit of post-nasal drip that, well, drips. So you spit. Which I did, frequently.
As I ran faster and farther, this task became a little more difficult, the holding the balaclava down just long enough to spit, then pulling it up before my lips froze. The final launch was, I thought, a winner, surely clearing all body parts before coming to rest on the snowy street.
I arrived home, slowed to a walk, and noticed in the light of the street lamp all these frosty white spots on my black running pants. It was not until I got inside that I saw it was, yep, you guessed it, all the spit, frozen in little splotches on my pants.
Of course, Yukon and Wolf found this to be the coolest thing ever, and it was all I could do to keep Wolf from going outside and trying it himself. Only a 14 year old boy would want to spit on his pants on purpose.
Bear was more thoughtful. "Why did you lugi on you, Mommy?"

Ice Capades

Alaska is full of outdoorsy people. Usually this time of year, we are all out on our skis, happily schussing along the trails or runs in a state of wintry delirium. With a distinct lack of snowfall for December, running is replacing skiing as the most available mode of outdoor activity. (Photo at left is from Jan '07)
I mentioned previously that ice has made even walking down the sidewalk treacherous, so to some the mere idea of running (on purpose) during such a cold snap is unthinkable. But ice or not, getting outdoors, especially during our dark days is imperative.
Before I moved to Alaska, ice and snow was an excuse to stay in, as moving about could prove fatal, or so we were told. But Alaskans, like many others who live in snow and ice-prone areas, have a solution in the ice cleat. But until about a year ago, I didn't know we could actually run in them.
Almost every evening, after the kids are in bed, I dress for my half-hour of solitude (depending upon the temperature, this could take a half-hour itself). But the final touch is my shoes, permanently affixed with spikes similar to golf shoes. I scritch-scratch my way across the deck and down to the driveway and street, where the spikes confidently grab the icy surface. Nighttime, besides bringing the thermometer to zero, also brings quiet, and the only sound I hear is the crunching of my shoes.
Stars are out, and sometimes the Northern Lights, giving me all the visibility I really need. Occasionally I have to slow down a bit to navigate a slippery turn, and sometimes the wandering moose, but generally I run faster in the winter than other times of the year. My spikey shoes and their sound byte also give me cadence, and I jog along like a Marine recruit, enjoying the regular sound of my feet hitting the ground.
I am always almost sorry to round the corner to the house. My husband, who doesn't always like the fact that I run at night, suggests that perhaps I might run during the daytime after my tenure at work is finished. Perhaps. But there is too much hustle, too much bustle, and not enough quiet contemplating.
Night. All is calm. All is bright.