Coffee

Sunshine and Running Shoes

/ Sloan / 1 Comment

I did the same loop today that I did on that super warm February day, only this morning I was forced to wear long sleeves, Capri pants (I’m rarely in a full tight,) and I SHOULD have had gloves, but forgot. The sunshine duped me into thinking it was warmer than it actually was. There’s something about sunshine and a pair of running shoes that go together so well.

I didn’t really want to run this morning. It was more of a need of miles and some time alone before another big retail day. Walking out my front door I still wasn’t convinced I was feeling like a run. Then I got into my pace, felt light on my feet and got that ooooh yeah, this is it feeling. That feeling you don’t ever EXPECT to get, but when you feel it you know.

I’m not fast. I didn’t go that far. I passed some other runners and their dog (you have to admit that it’s always satisfying to know you’re a little bit faster than someone else…) I got it done, I climbed the hills and rounded the corner home. Satisfied. Ready for a cup of coffee and a day at work.

 

What has the weather been like where you live?

What gets you motivated to get your butt out the door?

Ass Crack Hour Before Dawn

/ Sloan / 2 Comments

I currently started waking up at 3:55am twice a week. Why the hell would you do that? You ask? Well, the YMCA in my town opens at 5am and I hold the key to turn on the lights and treadmills at 4:30am. It’s cold and foggy and nothing but 7-11 is open that early, or late, depending on how you look at it.  In the past if I was awake at 3:55am it’s because I had yet to go to bed, now I’m responsible for the opening shift twice a week! Coffee makes me less of a zombie, people watching keeps me going until noon every Monday and Wednesday.

I have been living in the Pacific North West for just over two months now. When I arrived I was in awe at all of the beautiful people here. Young, thirty-ish couples and families buying organic food at the Co-op, older people hiking further than me in the park, kids biking and walking to school with out complaint. This part of the country is just healthier than the east coast and the mid west.

Working at the Y has opened my eyes to the true effect of the PSW or at least the attitude of the people here. First I’ll describe my job after I turn on the lights and the machines at the ungodly hour of 4:30. I then unlock the doors at 5 and let the masses in! And by masses I mean the 60+ year olds waiting outside in the dark. The majority of people waiting for my turn of the key are retired men and women that are used to being up at the ass crack hour BEFORE dawn. These people greet me with my name, a smile and the weather report and then go on their way through the door to swim, lift and elipt the morning away before the sun peaks his head above the mountains.

I’m forced to think about my family back in the eastern part of the country while I’m meeting all these people out west. I see elderly men and women the same age or older than my grandparents looking young and sprightly! Up early, being social and active. I compare and contrast the 50 some things to my parents who are both active, but live further east. My mother in the Midwest with stresses of Yacht Club meetings, Christmas parties and her marketing job; working out and being outside become low man on the totem pole when life gets thrown at her. My Dad who is a recent Colorado resident has stresses of a new job, moving, meeting people; he’s bombarded all day and going for a hike isn’t high up on priorities.

As the morning carries on the age group varies to young high school boys, to 40 some business people, to octogenarians that resemble people my parent’s age! There’s a woman that comes every time I work and when she scans her membership card I have to double check every time, her age claims she’s 94—she looks about 62, a 62 year old that looks good!

I scare myself some times. As I’m sitting at the desk trying to keep my eyes open and brain active beautiful men and women come in and I play a game with myself. The game is ‘guess their age!’ Most of time I find myself oddly attracted to the men that look 30 but are actually 45 year olds that just look so youthful, (don’t worry Mother, I’m not going there.)

I can only attribute this amazing beauty and youthful look to the air, the mountains and the amazingly active lifestyle people in the PNW maintain all their lives. I think people here in Oregon make vitamin D intake precedence. Sunshine is not a luxury but a necessity in their daily lives.

Seeing these people and constantly being surprised by their age is inspiring me to explore, constantly push myself physically, mentally and hope that when I’m 34 I’ll look 24, when I’m 64 I’ll look 56, when I’m 86 I’ll look 72! We can only hope, right?

Goal + miniSuccess + miniSuccess=VICTORY

/ Sloan / 3 Comments

100 miles. 24 hours. A team of three: Two Men and a Babe. “Babe” being short for “baby”, I think I was the youngest racer and certainly much younger than my two amazing teammates. It’s been far too long to remember each and every detail of this race, I probably should have written this a month ago have been far too busy with other adventures and excitement. That and I’m lazy and uninspired lately. So in leau of not remembering everything I’m going to write about the emotion behind The Adventure Race.

 

Doug is the race director behind American Adventure Sports—I’ve volunteered for him many times, hung out with his awesome staff and talked endlessly about what this endurance sport does, not only for your body, but for your soul. Doug knows what’s up when it comes to this sport, he understands it’s not about the end result it’s about the team work and the journey and the anticipation of getting there.

 

I’ve gone into these races telling myself three things: I’m not going to cry, I’m going to smile through it all, and I’m going to finish. These three things are all really, really hard.

 

I didn’t cry this time. I did, however, jump into Ross’s arms at 3:30am at a crack of the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard in my life. (I’m still going to claim that it WAS 20 hours into the race, zero sleep and nothing but Honey Stinger Waffles in my system.) Or maybe I just wanted to be held, but can you blame me?

Smiling is tough when you’re sitting in a duckie in 100 degree heat, your water is nasty luke warm and all you want is iced coffee. Maybe and iced mocha. With extra mocha. At this point I probably wasn’t smiling. I was smiling at the thought of being off the river. My inner smile translated to an outer smile. That, or I was drunk on dehydration and Clif Bars—both are equally possible.

 

Mountain biking down a single track switch back with only the light from your headlamp and Mike’s voice behind, Ross’s ahead with words of encouragement and tips were helpful but not what I wanted—it’s hard to smile when you’re feeling inadequate and slow. I tried, but it was dark, so no one saw me scowling when we made four wrong turns. I did smile when we passed a team of four men, I felt a bit faster and like a legit racer at that point.

 

We just need a success. One right turn and a check-point and my spirits will lift. I see Doug and Julia’s campfire at the CP, they ask how we are and at that point I’m happy to see anyone, seeing check-point 11 was an added bonus. We warm by the fire, talk, relax and then I convince the team to be on our way. I needed that accomplishment; Doug and Julia’s smiles helped me keep a smile on.

 

The storm was looming at this point. It’s 2:45am and we’re walking in what we thought was the right direction, (notice this allusion here, thought,) miles of elevation gain and loss we reached an intersection—not the intersection we wanted to see. In fact, the exact intersection we did not want to see. Rain is falling harder than I’ve ever stood in, thunder rumbles, lightening flashes, and we turn around to retrace our tired steps. We use an emergency life-line phone call and Mike is picked up because his knee can’t take the stress. The stress put on his body is equal to the emotional stress of having gone the wrong direction for hours, this race is tough physically but Mike beat himself up mentally too.  Ross and I hitch a ride back to the check-point, we’re not smiling but we’re determined to finish.

The check-point is manned by friendly faces, John, my medic friend huddles with me under a tent, everyone is wet and cold. Ross and I eat and hydrate and get back on our bikes. Bomb the hill, I say hill now—it was a mountain at that moment. The last leg of our journey was a time of much needed reflection.

 

Ross has done a few of these, this was my second; as we rode our bikes on flat ground to the last check-point we rehashed some of the race. The rain, the wrong turns, the flat tires, the broken lights, the stomach upsets… but also the team work, the encouragement, the bits of tips we gave one another, the laughs, the general smelliness and dirtiness of team Two Men and a Babe.

We worked well together, I wish we would have finished together, but hey, shit happens!

Adventure Racing is more than a sport. It’s a group of amazing people going out into the woods and doing something absolutely incredible and then talking about it after, sharing war stories over a hot breakfast and supporting each other through the next race. I’ve met some incredible people this summer and have been given some incredible things; both words of wisdom and gifts of support and gear.

 

I have to keep reminding myself to use my adventure racing philosophy in other parts of my life: I’m not going to cry (though it’s okay to,) I’m going to smile through it all (however being true to how you feel is important) and I’m going to finish (what I start.) Just one small success makes such a difference, one success can mean the difference between accomplishing one goal, or accomplishing many goals on this path. I choose to take it one step at a time, one success no matter how big or small and using it to push me to my next victory!