Sunday, April 6, 2008

Paralyzed by ...

The strangest thing happened to me Saturday: I was suddenly scared to ski. It was very bizarre indeed and it took me awhile to figure out what was going on.

Steve and I were at Snoqualmie on the second to last weekend of the season and this was my third time after 15 years on skis. The first two times I had blown even myself away with how naturally I seemed to pick it up again. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely a beginner. But I had made it mostly past the snow plow phase and had moved on to awkward parallel turns.

Anyway, we go straight for a blue, which was possibly the problem. Even though I had been flying (well, perhaps "making it" is a better description) down blues the last couple trips, I had always started with a couple of runs on the green slopes first. We get off the lift and suddenly I felt like I was 13 again, with my dad in Big Bear California at the top of a black diamond that he had "accidentally" taken us on for our very first run, ever.

Even though I was facing an easy traverse before the real slope, my skis seemed absolutely foreign to me and I somehow couldn't get my balance. It was like I had never skied before in my life. The traverse shoots you out into a wide, steep (well, steep for me) slope where snowboarders and skiers of all levels are suddenly flying at you from behind. This makes me mildly nervous on a good day but now I was terrified of being hit by a rogue ski-schooler.

I made it down the run, heart beating all the time, and Steve kindly escorted me to the green slope, where I proceeded to get my right ski caught on a wall just as the lift picked up speed to move upward. Yes, I was that person. They had to stop the lift and everything. I would have been really embarrassed if I hadn't been so relieved to not have fallen off the lift all together.

So by this time, what little confidence I ever had on skis was pretty much shot. I spent the next couple of surprisingly shaky green runs puzzling over this until Steve pointed out the obvious: I was having an off-day, a very common phenomenon in any sport or physical activity. The difference was, I'm used to feeling exhausted while running or slow on a hike - I'm just not used to the fear factor. It's been awhile since fear really got in the way of my doing something, although I guess that's why I'm not a big climber. I forget sometimes how psychological outdoor activity can be, even if it doesn't involve something extreme.

Anyway, I ended up pushing through a few hours of skiing, but felt off the entire time. Maybe it was that gallon-sized cup of Peet's coffee I chugged on the drive up. That's it. I'll blame the coffee. Or Steve. He's the one that made me get it.

Monday, March 31, 2008

Christmas morning in March

Among the very random things that Steve and I did in California this weekend while visiting his mom for her 60th birthday (and in no particular order):

1. Joined the older-than-50 set at a punk rock show in downtown Davis at a bar that had clearly never seen anyone over 25 and even that was probably the high-end age group. Need proof? Check out the skanky Miller Lite girls hocking free "bar bucks" at a corner table.

2. In a tribute to our Colorado friends, ordered a round of dirty girl scout shots at the said college bar. The bartender made too much, so we had eight glasses overflowing with thick green liquid. Again - all this for a crowd of friends that typically drinks high-end wine.

3. Searched for sculptured cats dressed in different costumes and sitting on various buildings in a small town near Davis.

4. Ran into one of Steve's long-lost childhood friends on the Golden Gate bridge, nearly halfway across. Jubilant reunion followed with the rest of us watching on in awe.

5. Played loud Mamba music while shaking those shaky Mexican music instruments that you always make in kindergarten (can never remember what they're called) while dancing wildly around Pat's (Steve's mom) art studio.

6. Opened stockings and Christmas gifts as if it were Christmas morning, even though it was 75 degrees outside and even though Christmas was technically three months ago. Technically.

There was more randomness, I'm sure. But these were the highlights.

P.S. Have you ever noticed how creepy hotel pools are when you're the only one in them?

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Bellingham or bust

So Steve and I, craving exercise, decided we were sick of the following things: snowshoeing, Snoqualmie Pass, snow, skiing, Stevens Pass, socks, silly string and stairs. (Okay, we're not really sick of the last three things, but I thought it was funny that everything I was listing started with an S. Easily amused, I know.)

Anyway, the point is, we were tired of our usual winter activities and we're now in that rough shoulder season when the rain is, well, raining on our parade. So we did what anyone else would have done in this situation: we went to Bellingham. Of course, we forgot our camera. So unfortunately I have no exciting pictures to post here. Instead, I'll just describe what they would have been. Probably better anyway, since the best photos on this blog were taken by Anne and Ira.

Picture 1: Steve biting into a gas station breakfast burrito while filling up somewhere in Mount Vernon. Strangely, we knew that this gas station had really good breakfast burritos (?!)

Picture 2: Me trying to change from jeans into soft shell pants at the Pine and Cedar Lakes trailhead in Bellingham, without exposing too much. I am WAY more graceful when it comes to towel changes after getting out of the ocean. That's a special skill only those of us from San Diego have mastered.

Picture 3: What my dad would call a DVS - Dense Vegetation Shot. All the pretty, mossy trees bent in every direction that look really great in person, just not on film.

Picture 4: Steve and I standing by the first lake, smiling like we're really excited when really we're completely de-sensitized to beautiful mountain lakes. I mean, it really has to be spectacular to blow us away. This one is unfortunately a bit shallow and buggy. But the smiles aren't fake - the hike is a great one, around 6 miles roundtrip with a kick-ass first mile that has you hike most of the elevation gain (or about 1,000 feet) all at once.

Picture 5: Steve standing on the sidewalk in downtown Bellingham, which unfortunately reminded us of downtown Pueblo, Colorado, which unfortunately is the armpit of that state. So, what's this about how cute and how quaint Bellingham is? Maybe we were in the wrong neighborhood? Because everything we saw looked like a vestige of the 70s and just plain sad. Except for the surrounding trees and water. That was beautiful.

Picture 6: An accidental shot of the side of my face, which is basically a close up of the deep, dark bags under my eyes from actually having to show up at work every single day for 9 to 10 hours.

And on a completely random side note, I got back from hot yoga this evening to Steve holding up his newest purchase for Denali: A pair of long, thick, socks with a built-in electric heater. What will this guy come up with next?

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Flat butt

So you know that thing that happens when you sit in an office chair for like 10 hours a day, five days a week without moving anything except your right index finger to operate a mouse? Yeah, it's called flat butt. Well, I am determined not to get it, even though I can't dash off on a walk through the park at a moment's notice anymore.

The problem is, daylight savings time is screwing with me. Also, the fact that I actually get to work around 8 a.m. (after a half-hour bus ride and walk), which is astronomically early. I'm used to rolling in around 9 or 9:30 usually. Anyway, the point is I'm a morning exerciser. Always have been. I'm very good at getting up at the crack of dawn and going for a run or going swimming or going to the gym if I absolutely have to because the weather is horrible. In college, when I should have been nursing a hangover, I regularly got up early on weekend mornings to go running. Yes, that's how ridiculous I am.

But now that it's not light until 7, and I'm scared of all the people getting it on in the bushes of Volunteer Park where I usually run (not to mention the crazy people that just stab people randomly on Capitol Hill), I've had to rearrange my schedule. So I've been running in the evening after work whenever I have the time. Which I just don't like as much at all. There are a couple reasons. First of all, after work I'm exhausted. So unless I have some Starbucks around 4, I basically just want to go stare at a wall.

Second, I'm usually really hungry by the time I get home and I hate being hungry so that means I eat six or seven graham crackers like I did tonight and then go running, which is a recipe for disaster (or really bad cramps at least.)

And lastly, who the heck has energy after working all day? Seriously. There is a lot to be said for couch potatoes.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Walking (or kayaking or rapelling) the line

So Steve, Anne, Nate and I went skiing yesterday at Snoqualmie. It was super fun (yay, I'm getting the hang of it! Next step, executing those perfect "swish, swish" turns) but more interesting - to blog about at least - was the conversation we had on the way back. Or maybe the way there, I was pretty tired. This whole having to work a full day everyday is really hard to get used to. Yes, all you working people, you should definitely feel sorry for me.

Anyway, the conversation was about the fine line that exists between being hardcore and being just plain dumb. It's a very, very fine line as you can well imagine. This came up because we were talking about someone we know who kite skies (also known as snow kiting). Nope, I hadn't heard of it either. But basically it involves letting a giant kite pull you across snow on skis. Sort of like water skiing or kite surfing.

This person decided while he was kite skiing that he was going to jump a road, letting the kite carry him across to the other side. Unfortunately for him, he hit the snowbank at the other end of the road before he made it across and tore his ACL. Bummer. (By the way, this is all like fifth hand information. So it's entirely possible that this is really an urban legend.)

It lead us to the age-old question: exactly Where is that line dividing adventure and lack of brain cells? And does it only exist if you mess up? To bring up this guy again, would we be having this conversation if he hadn't taken a bad fall? Are you hardcore only if you don't get hurt?

It's quite a dilemma. In my opinion, part of being hardcore is inevitably being stupid, no matter what you do or whether or not you take a bad fall. Here's why: being hardcore means that you're taking a lot of huge risks. So, you know that as you skydive or climb that big wall or even climb Denali (sorry, Steve) you're basically putting your life in the hands of a lot of factors beyond your control, even more so than usual. That's somewhat stupid, really. Unless you have a death wish.

The thing is, I think you actually have to be a little stupid to be hardcore. You need to have a good balance, though. To illustrate the point, I've drawn this handy Venn Diagram (which we also sort of discussed while skiing):

I'll leave you with that to ponder over for awhile. Brings back memories of fourth grade doesn't it? (The Venn Diagram, not the kite skiing).

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Steve will never be able to cheat on me

Not because I think he's incapable of it (although, actually, I kind of do) but mostly because he CANNOT TELL A LIE. Literally. The man is incapable of lying to me. He's worse than Clinton. (As in Bill.)

Case in point: tonight.

Me: OMG! My blog stalker has found out where I work! How is that possible??? (All the while secretly pleased that I have a blog stalker who isn't one of my friends or family.)

Steve: ..... (His face has transformed into this silly sort of half-grin that automatically screams: I KNOW! I HAVE A SECRET AND I CAN'T KEEP IT!!!)

Me: Wait, you know about this guy Kermit? This guy who's been blog-stalking me???

Steve: ..... (Smirky smile)

Me: Steve, come on tell me.

Steve: I don't know anything!

Me: Come on tell me! (Repeat five or six or eight times).

Steve: (As if it wasn't completely obvious) Okay, I know who it is!

So, now I'm going to have to find another blog stalker. How sad. I thought I had a fan. Thanks a lot Nate!

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Reasons why I have died and gone to new job heaven

Okay, so I know the focus of this blog was supposed to be about the outdoors and I swear it still will be, really. But what with my hives and my new job and my obsession about the weather, I just can't help myself sometimes. Plus, I figure it's completely your choice to read this or not - it's not like I'm forcing it on you already!

So, today was my first day of full-fledged day of work after six months of working from home. You can imagine the transition. Here are the realizations I came to along the way - in chronological order.

1. Wow! The Today show actually has a news segment??? Like where they talk about real, live events? It's been so long since I caught the first hour of the show (usually I switch it on around maybe 9 a.m.) that I thought its purpose was just to tell you how to best do your laundry or make a killer quiche from scratch.

2. Sorry, this one should have come first: Wow! The sun actually rises this early???

3. I have been seriously office deprived: I was giddy over things like my door pass code, my insurance forms and the fact that my cube mate can lean over the "wall" and talk to me.

4. It's only 11:15??? Do I really have to be in this one place for roughly six more hours????

5. PCS are so much better than Macs. Seriously, no competition. Accept that Macs do that cool twirly thing when you minimize something.

6. I'm addicted to g-chatting. My fingers were antsy with not being able to chat up all my regular friends at their jobs - I briefly logged into my personal email and it nearly killed me not to be able to strike up a conversation.

7. You can go a WHOLE DAY without ever really being outside. Haven't done that in awhile.

8. It's still only 3? Haven't two days gone by already?

9. So, once you work, there is really no time for anything else. Except for eating and sleeping. No wonder so many of my friends are so exhausted.

10. Having a real job is the best thing, ever. Period.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Yes, I am

Return: successful. No questions by the friendly REI team member, who didn't even pick up the snowshoes or notice the faded black letters on the back. That's $110 back in our pocket. (Well, back in Steve's pocket since he'll be spending it on Denali gear).

I actually don't feel as guilty as I thought, though. Because after I returned the snowshoes, I spent a good hour in the store and ended up buying some stuff for my dad's birthday. Which I figure is why their return policy is so amazing to begin with - even if you bring something back, how can you not leave without buying something else? Like who doesn't need another thermal shirt or Life is Good mug or yet another Nalgene bottle, perhaps in frosted pink? (By the way, did you know Nalgene makes a flask now? I think that's terrific marketing!)

Am I a horrible person?

I'm about to go return a pair of snowshoes at REI that I've only used three times, but I've already managed to wear down the metal tips at the bottom because I stupidly walked on an asphalt road only partially covered in snow.

To make matters worse, Steve, who is sort of like a dog in this way, has to claim every single piece of gear that we own by writing (or etching, if need be) our last name on it. He tried to use rubbing alcohol to erase the huge, black, block letters he wrote on each of my Tubbs snowshoes, but you can definitely still see the writing.

I have a sinking suspicion that REI will actually refund me my $120 for these snowshoes and then I will feel supremely guilty, even though they did slip off a bunch while I was walking and were hard to adjust. I especially feel badly since Steve found me a much cooler, better working pair of MSR snowshoes on Ebay (or Craigslist or something) for a fraction of the price and part of the reason that I like them is because they're MSR and not Tubbs.

I'm slowly turning into a gear snob.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Why hath thou forsaken me?

I've never been the kind of girl to just get a cold. Or the flu. Or, like, a sprained ankle. It can never be something that easy. Nope, when I get sick or injured, there's always some sort of mysterious diagnosis or ailment that doesn't happen to common people and causes doctors to look at you with actual empathy, not just the fake, hurried kind.

Last Saturday, I woke up itchy. I thought I just hadn't used enough lotion or something as I proceeded to scratch incessantly at my head and shoulders through an all-day class and going out later that night. But the next morning, the itchiness had transformed into a rash all over my shoulders and my face and lips had swollen into some weird disfigurement. I called my mom, who's a nurse. "Start taking Benadryl," she said. "Immediately."

I did, but the next day, the rash had spread even more and the puffiness in my face was worse. It was hard to move my lips. Steve and I headed to the E.R. where they hooked me up to a steroid IV and two med students trailing the E.R. doctor shot me looks of extreme sympathy. "Wow," said one. "I would be so itchy if I were you." Yeah, thanks.

The steroids seemed to help for about half a day, enough time for me to fly to San Diego on a trip I had already planned. By the way, let's all remember I'm supposed to start my new job in only six days from now. Six months of working from home and this happens now. Of course.

By Wednesday, my short vacation had ended. The hives had returned with a vengeance and I now looked like a leper. I go to the ER again, ironically with my poor mom who works in an ER and was excited about her one day off from being there. Another steroid IV drip.

By this time, the doctors had narrowed down the culprit: an antibiotic I had taken several days before for something else. Apparently my body is not into this antibiotic. It's either that, or this new leave-in conditioner I started using. But most likely the drug.

My mom calls her acupuncturist, a frail old woman who works out of a tiny two bedroom cottage nearby. I've been there before for some other random, misdiagnosed pain and her house always smells like lavender and .... mysticism. She agrees to see me on short notice.

I can tell it's bad when her face transforms into a sort of surprised awe. This is a woman who looks like she's seen everything and rarely elaborates on anything she's feeling or thinking about your problems. She answers in short, succinct, but strangely comforting sentences.

I have this issue about New Agey-type therapies. On the one hand, I want to believe them, I really do. On the other hand, they're just so ridiculous. I mean, to get rid of my allergies to certain chemicals, the acupuncturist made me put my tongue in my right cheek, close my eyes and breath in and out as she tapped certain parts of my head. I mean, seriously? But strangely, my allergic reaction threw a super uncomfortable finale and then suddenly disappeared, leaving only a few blotches in its place. Could be the steroids of course.

So here I am, a week later and a day before I'm supposed to start my new job. I was able to postpone starting for a couple of days, luckily. The itchiness is gone, but in it's place is a serious feeling of being drugged, like not just tired, but sort of viewing what's going on from outside of my body. I'm hoping this is going to slowly go away as the amount of steroids I have to take each day decreases. In the mean time, you can find me on the couch.

Why can't I just catch a cold?

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Obsession

So, I have this serious problem. Maybe you've already guessed if you've been reading this blog. I'm addicted to the sun. There, I said it.

No, this is not funny, this is truly something I worry about. Case-in-point - when it's sunny outside I physically cannot get any work done. It's nearly impossible for me. This last week, when it's been beautiful outside? I've had to force myself to finish all this work I have and it's been painful, I'll tell you. Even now, I can see the sun is starting to come out and I'm having trouble typing this sentence.

This worries me because I'm starting a new job in a couple weeks and I won't be able to dash outside whenever I see a ray of sunshine or take an hour long break to eat on my porch. Hopefully I won't be near a window and just won't know what time of day it is. Luckily, I'm not the only one that has this problem.

Anyway, this train of thought led me to think about some of my other obsessions, in addition to the outdoors and Steve, so, in no particular order, here they are:

1. Coffee: Don't even try to talk to me unless I've had two cups in the morning. And, by the way, I'm a total coffee snob. Folgers is like a swear word.

2. The color red: I realized this just today when I rode my red bike on an errand, wearing red shoes and carrying a red purse.

3. Bread: I would rather be 500 pounds then be on the Atkins diet. This is the German in me speaking.

4. Journalism: This is not a good time to be obsessed with this profession. It might have been easier to be an actress.

5. Chocolate: This love sort of peaks and wanes, from my hey-days in high school when I could eat an entire pound bar of Trader Joe's chocolate for breakfast. (And I wasn't even fat, I swear)

6. LOST: I'm horribly addicted to this show and it actually bothers me to be this into something on television. Tonight, I'm going to the SIA concert with some girl friends and it actually pains me a bit to be missing it, even though ABC will have it for free on its Web site tomorrow. I can't quite put my finger on what I like so much about it: Is it the stunning plot twists or the hot actors?

7. Scary movies: Why I feel the need to scare the crap out of myself, I don't know. My faves: The Ring, The Shining, Blair Witch Project, The Grudge.

Anyway, I'd love to hear what my loyal five readers are obsessed with. Share with me!

P.S. Would you get into an elevator alone with a strange man holding a drill? I pondered this today as I did this very thing.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Seattle Freeze

Okay, I know this isn't really an outdoor thing, which is my stated focus, but I seriously can't help writing about this, mainly because I think it's probably one of the most random things I've ever heard.

This Saturday, in downtown Seattle, people are going to freeze. Not like of coldness or not like of unfriendliness (which the "Seattle Freeze" is usually a term to describe) but because ... well, I don't know why.

It's being organized by a local group that's imitating Improv Everywhere, whose stated mission is to "cause scenes of chaos and joy in public places." That group pulled a similar stunt in Grand Central Station in New York City and the video is amazing. They've also gotten hundreds of people to get on a subway with no pants on and staged a faux U2 concert on top of a New York building.

I, for one, can't wait to check it out. Anything you can do to screw with people's heads in a good-old-fashioned kind of way sounds great to me.

If you want to freeze, check out this info, but you have to have a Facebook page.

Monday, February 18, 2008

Shirtless in Seattle (I know, I know, I couldn't resist)


If you weren't on Tiger Mountain on Sunday, you totally missed a party. Apparently everyone and their mother, and mother-in-law and sisters and brothers and dogs were up there with us. Really, it was a little bit like spring break on Miami Beach, except Seattle-style. (By this I mean people were drinking out of camelbaks instead of beer bongs and chomping down granola bars instead of, well, beer.)

To get into the spirit, Steve decided to take his shirt off, revealing a wide swath of glowing white flesh that hasn't made a debut since we were in Mexico last October. Of course, he was shivering the entire time (it was, after all, 45 degrees) but being the burly mountain man that he is, he suffered through it, although I don't think his milk bottle color reaped any rewards. I'm sure this was excellent Denali training though - getting used to the cold and all.

And to sum it all up, in the words of one Tiger Mountain partier, who was wearing a microbrew shirt and sporting a sizeable beer gut and probably should have been in Florida: "This sure beats taking down Christmas lights."



Sunday, February 17, 2008

The GMAT to Snowshoes is like...

In the name of education, Steve had to sacrifice a perfectly good, nearly-sunny Saturday to spend more than four hours locked up in a room trying to remember calculus and where commas go in a sentence.

So, in his honor, I joined up with Anne, Ira, Nate and Annick to snowshoe up Lake Valhalla just past Stevens Pass. Actually I would have gone anyway, but I occasionally thought of Steve and how much it must suck for him to be suffering through the GMAT when the snowshoe trail was just perfect.

To me, Stevens Pass seems to be a bit of the ugly stepchild to Snoqualmie (mostly, I think, because it's farther away from the city and you have to pass through towns with names like "Startup" and "Goldbar" to get anywhere). But the trail that Anne picked was glorious in every way - just enough snow to make it an effort, few enough people to not drive you crazy and a wide enough trail (well, actually, it was a forest road) so that you could walk next to each other.

We didn't actually make it the roughly three-and-a-half miles to the lake because as we got closer, we realized we were walking under wide slopes that screamed "Avalanche!" from every direction. Or maybe that was just the wind carrying Ira's shouts after he had fallen (more about that below.)

Two things I learned on this trip:

1. A new piece of trail etiquette, which is always good to know: Apparently, Anne tells me that you are not supposed to snowshoe across cross country ski tracks if there is ample room to make two trails. Sort of like bike/walking lanes. Makes sense, although I became so obsessed with making sure I wasn't ruining someone's tracks that for the rest of the day I paid more attention to the ground than the actual scenery. And inevitably, I'm sure I messed up someone's tracks. Sorry!

2. This blog can be a great tool for embarrassing your friends! I won't include the video of Anne trying to play "snowball" with a ski pole here (mostly because it's not very good quality) but I will tell you about how Ira, the gallant skier among us, bit the dust at least three times on his cross-country skis. Of course, we are the sort of friends that whipped out our cameras and took pictures, while laughing, of him trying to get up again instead of actually helping while he was flailing on the ground like a turtle on its back. (Luckily his dog Callie was kind of enough to run to his assistance.)


But friends, don't worry. Tomorrow it's Steve's turn to be embarrassed. Stay tuned for my naked video of him on Tiger Mountain! No, just kidding. Sort of.

P.S. All the photos that look good in this blog were taken by Ira and Anne.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

'If you want to find me I'll be out in the sandbox...'


Is February over yet? I mean, seriously. Is there really a worse month than February? Besides maybe January and March and November and possibly June (because in June it should be summer but it's still overcast and yucky.)

Anyway, to escape the doldrums that inevitably occur this time of year, and because, in a sadly ironic twist of fate, there's still too much snow and avalanche danger to do much in the actual mountains, I decided to find some outdoor activities around the Seattle-area that are 1. New to me, which shouldn't be hard since we just moved here a year ago. 2. Don't involve snowshoes and 3. Make me forget that I'm seriously lacking in Vitamin D. I'll continue adding to it as I find more new escapes.

My first stop, as an in-the-closet Californian, was, of course, the beach. I solicited suggestions and here's a great one: Double Bluff beach on Whidbey Island. Admittedly, visiting this extremely dog-friendly beach without a dog (which Steve and I sadly don't have yet) is a bit like being straight at a gay club. But no matter.

The beach has everything else you could possibly want, including wide expanses of sand to walk on, flat skipping stones, enough surf to feel like you're at a beach and not a lake (by they way, a lake is NEVER a beach. I don't know where these people from Michigan come off. Or Seattle for that matter. Lake Washington does NOT have beaches), piles of driftwood in case you just want to build a house and live there and, to make it even better, it's only an hour and a half by the Mukilteo-Clinton ferry from Seattle. Fully worth the drive.

Somehow, being at the beach, even if it's overcast, always makes me forget that it's not sunny. When I was there today, I was actually treated to a sunbreak. But even if that glorious sunbreak hadn't occured, the fact that I was walking on sand with water nearby automatically makes it a happy day and, thus, a sunny day. (Look, it's this kind of logic you have to adopt if you really want to forget about the winter.)


So, grab your mutt - or someone else's - and hit this beach, bro. I mean, totally.

P.S. If you're really feeling out of place for not having a dog, try carrying a leash. The beach is so big people might not notice your dog isn't really running up ahead somewhere.

And one more thing: my apologies for this video. I blame the pesky sun for the discoloration.


Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Hah!!

See!! I knew that I wasn't just going crazy! Seattle weather is really screwing with my head! Check out this article about how we're all going to die horrible, crippling deaths if we keep living under this giant rain cloud.

And P.S. - Stay tuned for my new series: Outdoor activities to help you forget that you're not getting enough Vitamin D.

Saturday, February 9, 2008

Do these down pants make me look gay?


Here is an interesting question: When you're struggling to reach the top of a massive mountain - in this case, Denali - does it really matter what you look like?

This was the dilemma Steve* was facing Saturday after he got back from REI's annual winter sale with a whole Subaru full of loot, including a used woman's sleeping bag that he planned to turn into pants. (In case I haven't mentioned, Steve often makes his own outdoor gear and has so far produced two sleeping bags, two tents, six or seven pairs of outdoor pants, port-a-ledges and a couple of skirts and capris for me, but that's not outdoor gear and only took him about five seconds in comparison).

The used down bag is in great condition and exactly what Steve is looking for, except that it's light blue, the color most associated with newborn babies and trendy girls. To make matters worse, the jacket he plans to wear is fire engine red.

Obviously, on the streets of Seattle, this would be a serious fashion faux pas. But should it make a difference on Denali? Let's take a look at the pros and cons of wearing the pants.

Pros:

  • Steve would be warm and thus, happy.
  • Steve would be able to sew his own pants, saving about $200 (the used sleeping bag was only $55) if he were to buy them new.
  • Steve would be able to sew his own pants, which would make him proud and thus, happy.
Cons:

  • Steve's Denali pictures would be marred by this fashion misstep; his top half will look appropriately hardcore while his bottom half will look like a little girl.
  • Steve will risk the jokes and stares of disdain from his climbing partner, Erin, who will surely let him have it - not to mention any other climbers he happens to meet on the way
  • Steve will most definitely be made fun of by me, because how could I possibly resist an opportunity like that?

To wear or not to wear?

*In a previous blog, an inch was erroneously added to Steve's height. He's really only 6'6. The Climber's Wife regrets this error. Mostly because she's embarrassed not to know this after almost 10 years.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Take a hike! (Unless Lost is on)


My friend, Amber, pointed out this NPR article today about how people are spending less time outside, and more specifically at national parks.

At first, I found it deeply disturbing, especially when one of the experts quoted coined a new term for our propensity to spend vast amounts of time sitting on the couch : "The era of mediated nature."

He goes on to say that: "It clearly seems to be the case that we seem to not need to experience the natural world in the ways that we did previously."

Lost (The Best Show on Television, Ever) is a prime example of this, actually. Why go tramp around in a national park when you can watch Sawyer and Kate tramp around in the jungles of Hawaii without leaving your living room? There's definitely a lot less effort and gear involved.

But after I got over the fact that people are more fat and lazy then they used to be, I realized that this article is actually good news. Really good news, in fact. Because if you are active and you love national parks and you do get out a lot, you will see fewer people on the trail. Which actually makes this trend better for the environment, just maybe not so great for national parks funding.

To be honest, I don't want everyone to enjoy the outdoors. Because then there wouldn't really be an outdoors to enjoy.

Wednesday, February 6, 2008

What do you call two straight days of rain in Seattle? A weekend.


When we moved here, my mom waged a well-fought campaign against it. Selfishly, of course, she wanted us to move to San Diego, to be close to her and the rest of my family.

But her tactics were quite brilliant - she didn't bring up the family angle, but instead chose to focus on the fact that if we moved to the Pacific Northwest, we would never, ever see sunlight again. Not only that, but there would be a very high chance that we would - while suffering a serious Vitamin D defficiency - jump off Seattle's famed suicide bridge.

Ironically, I think the only reason I'm surviving these endless days of gray is to prove my mom wrong. Hey, whatever works, right? But today, a particularly gray and endless sort of day, I was pondering why exactly Seattle is determined to be so rainy and cold ALL THE TIME. Couldn't it take a break already?

Then I came upon this article, which points out that the poor people living in Mobile, Ala. (where I have been and where I can safely say I will never live) actually have it worse than we do. The people of Seattle are apparently just better at handling it and they do it with a very strange sense of pride/stupidness that I still can't figure out.

Take this guy in this article for example. First of all, he's actually written in entire book on the fact that it rains all the time here. That's pretty amazing, considering I was even debating whether it would be worth it to devote an entire blog posting to the subject.

Here's what this guy says: "No true Seattleite owns an umbrella. It's a local badge of pride." He's not making this up. On days that the entire sky seems to be falling on us, I will push through crowds holding my giant, canopy umbrella only to get dozens of angry glares from the "true Seattlites" who are shivering and dripping under the onslaught. But they are proud under their thin black hoodies, dammit!

My problem with the weather, though, isn't so much the rain because it actually doesn't rain that much. It's more that I feel like Seattle weather has a commitment issue. Should it be sunny? No, I don't think so. Should it be rainy? Well, sometimes, I guess. Should it snow? Um, maybe occasionally.

But instead of choosing one option, it's just gray all the time, leaving all of us to wonder why the heck it can't make up its mind.

Monday, February 4, 2008

It's ridiculously hot in here (and so is my gingerbread latte)


I am not one of those yoga types by any stretch of the imagination. (Wow, I seriously didn't mean the pun there, I swear.)

I like high-impact sports and I don't like chanting. Plus, I absolutely refuse to spend $45 on a tank top just because it has a Buddha on it.

The only yoga I can put up with is Bikram's Yoga - the yoga for people that don't like yoga. It's like the Starbucks of the industry because it's the same 26 positions every time in the same 105 degree room with instructors that may change, but who basically say the same New Agey things in every class: "Bikram says 10 seconds in this position now will save you 10 years later on."

(Bikram, by the way, has made billions of dollars from this concept and he's franchised Bikram's across the world, sort of like Howard Shultz has made the latte mainstream.)

Both my mom and my sister are addicted to hot yoga - my mom once went THREE TIMES in one day for a total of almost five hours, counting the relaxation time at the end. My sister just completed two straight months of going to yoga EVERY SINGLE DAY and, by the way, she is a very busy person. (They live in San Diego if this wasn't obvious).

I, on the other hand, can only muster going once a week - I tried going twice in one week once and I almost died. Not really, but, seriously, are you really supposed to sweat that much? Is your body really supposed to twist that way and bend that much and stretch that far?

Lately, I've been wondering if this hot yoga thing is a little bit cultish. Case in point - I've been trying to get Steve to go with me. I say, "Come on, it's so good for you, you'll prevent injuries and it's great training for Denali."

Steve says, "Hell no. It sounds miserable."

And I say, "Well, sometimes you feel faint and nauseous and shaky but that's normal."

And then I think - wait, is that normal? Or is that me subscribing to the cult of Yoga, just like I subscribe to the cult of Starbucks and regularly pay $4.10 for a tall, non-fat, extra-hot gingerbread latte with an extra shot (when they're in season, of course.)

One of my friends recently told me she stopped going to yoga, because, well, it hurt. Like a lot. And not that good kind of hurt, that annoying kind of hurt. It was a hard decision, she said. Because everyone was like, This is so good for you. You HAVE to do it.

That reminds me of something. Oh, yeah - the '80s. Back then, aerobics were all the rage and no one would have dared wear Shambahala gear over a neon leotard. Did yoga even exist in the U.S back then? Or Howard Shultz?

Seriously, though. I think hot yoga can be really good for you, if it's good for you. If you're in pain constantly, well, it's probably not your thing. But if you leave feeling like you've had a full body massage and all your joints have been lubricated like I usually do, then it's probably okay.

And when in doubt, just ask Bikram. I'm sure he'll have some good advice.








Sunday, February 3, 2008

Out of our way!

I have a serious pacing problem and it only gets worse on crowded trails, like the Mount Si hike Steve and I did yesterday.


It's my second time up and the first time I was a little surprised by how much it kicked my ass - yes, I know it's 8 miles roundtrip with a 3,500 foot elevation gain, but usually I don't have to stop every five feet to catch my breath like an aging smoker. I'm blaming the eggs benedict I ate for breakfast that day.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand - pacing. Here's the set-up. I'm 5'4 and Steve's 6'7. As you can imagine, his gazelle-like legs allow him to walk far faster than me. But I'm also a runner and I walk pretty fast. So, over the years and the trails, we've managed to set a pace that works for both of us - he walks a bit slower and I practically run down the trail to keep up with him. This balance works great when it's just the two of us, but it gets completely thrown out of whack when anyone else comes with us, or when we're on a popular trail.

Take yesterday, for example. We're flying along, feeling good, ignoring the icy slush that quickly turned to deep snow (although padded deep snow because of the popularity of the trail) and then we come upon .... a hiker. And then another hiker. And then three hikers. And we constantly have to pass them because we're going so fast (and I'm saying this not because I'm stuck up about speed, I swear. If you've ever met Steve, you'll know exactly what I mean.)


Anyway, it's no problem passing people (unless they have trail etiquette problems, more about that later) but then you're forced into keeping your speed. Because if you take a break, even a mere sip of water, they might pass you again. And then you're forced to pass them. And then suddenly you're playing this annoying game of trail leap frog.

So say, to avoid this game, you keep going, even though you're desperate for a snack or some hydration. All of a sudden, the hike turns from fun into a strange race, where no one is admitting they're actually competing, but yet they are. These are the things I actually obsess over while I'm hiking.

That's why trails like Mount Si are great for training (and beautiful, don't get me wrong) but not the most enjoyable, at least for me. What's with all the people??

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Too much snow to ski

This is going to be a bummer if the pass doesn't open by Saturday. It's not looking good.

Avalanches from above


Who knew that trees could be as scary as wide mountain slopes?

On Wednesday, my friend Tricia and I and her intrepid dog Fletch headed out to snowshoe Heather Lake off the Mountain Loop Highway.

We chose that hike because I remembered it being a nice, easy stroll up to a beautiful mountain lake during the spring. And, also, Snoqualmie Pass has been mostly closed for three days, even burying a few cars in a roadside avalanche yesterday. That's not something you mess around with.

Not to be outdone, the Mountain Loop Highway had it's fair share of snow - I'm horrible at estimating, but I would say at least several fresh feet in the last couple days. We were the only ones at the trailhead (well, a few yards from the trailhead as the snow was too deep to actually get up there), prompting a friendly snow-plower to remind us that a little girl had died in an avalanche not far from there only a couple weeks ago. That trail, like Heather Lake, was also mostly wooded.

Turns out, the biggest danger for us were the massive clumps of hardened snow falling from the trees and pummeling us from above like a totally one-sided snowball fight. We just sort of had to stand their helplessly taking the abuse from above, hoping that the branches would break up the snow chunks enough to keep them from hitting us unconscious.

In what seems to now be a winter tradition for me, we made it most of the way up - having to crawl occasionally under trees that had fallen from the weight of snow - only to reach... nothing. Well, what we reached was a lot more snow and no way to find the trail underneath. Of course this led us to the obvious question: "Why did those two guys who passed us going down not tell us that the trail ended??"

We sort of clomped around (sinking more than moving, really) and finally decided that we were cold and this was probably a rather fruitless exercise since the lake could be two yards away or two miles.

Which leads me to a question: When you're snowshoeing does it really matter if you reach your destination, since isn't the main point to enjoy the off-trail solitude anyway?

Sunday, January 27, 2008

The scary ride down


I avoided it as long as possible I suppose. I made it through nearly a decade, including three years in Colorado, without downhill skiing. In Colorado, I actually think there is some law against this just like in San Diego it's illegal to avoid the ocean. I mean, come on people, you're in San Diego for God's sakes.

But on Saturday, I finally did it, fulfilling part of a promise to Steve (who grew up near Lake Tahoe and was on the high school ski team) that I would go downhill skiing at least twice this season.

There's a reason I've avoided it for so long. First of all it's expensive as hell, especially if you don't own skis (which I now do, compliments of Steve who drove all the way down to that weird city that I can't pronounce south of Seattle that starts with an E where there's a good used ski shop).

Also, my first experience skiing consisted of my dad "accidentally" taking my friend and I to the top of a black diamond on the very first run. Then I spent the rest of the day in sheer frustration, walking down the majority of the slopes, as my friend (who had also never skied before or so she said) glided by with no problems whatsoever.

Anyway, these were the bittersweet (well, mostly bitter) memories I carried with me as Steve and I pulled up to The Summit at Snoqualmie about an hour east of Seattle.

Recommendation No. 1: Definitely visit this resort if you're a beginner. Tons of green and blue runs for people like me that are still figuring out how you're supposed to do that cool hip-swivel turn thing all while not falling into the snow.

Recommendation No. 2: Definitely visit this resort if you've ever wished you were back in high school. It's like party central with the "cool kids," (i.e. the snowboarders) all in their trendy Burton gear, hanging out by the bonfire and doing shots at the bar. Meanwhile the losers (i.e. the skiers) spend most of the time trying to avoid them both on the slopes (where they're littered about like an annoying obstacle course - why do they insist on sitting on the snow for so long? Isn't that cold?) and in the lodge, where they cluster in small packs. (Want to know why snowboarders think they're so cool? Check out this history...)

Recommendation No. 3: Definitely wear goggles if it's snowing really hard, like four to five inches in one hour. This is not Steve's fault that we didn't have goggles. He really didn't think I would be moving very fast on my first try after so long. He didn't know that I was really hustling him and had been secretly practicing for weeks. (Just kidding of course). And he couldn't predict the weather. In Seattle, there's only ever rain. At least he didn't "accidentally" take me on a black diamond.

All in all, the day was a success and I've decided I will become the best mediocre skier possible - maybe I'll even learn how to do shots at the bar. That can't be too hard.

Friday, January 25, 2008

The little bike that could


This is a love story about my bike, the best bike that ever was.
So cool is this bike that in addition to it's name (Dawson) it also has an acronym S.R.B. (Shiny Red Bike).

Whenever I ride my S.R.B., usually along the Burke-Gilman trail, I always see all those bikers in neon spandex on their thousand-dollar road bikes stare at it in admiration, wishing their bikes had the coolness factor that mine does. They wish they could ride 30 miles round trip to Kenmore (like I did this week) using a ladybug bell to signal people that they're passing and have their own personal musical accompaniment, namely the heavy squeaking of the five gears as they're forced into action.

My S.R.B and I met on a hot summer's day in Dawson Creek, Canada in the middle of our months-long van trip in 2006. The only reason we stopped in Dawson Creek, Canada on our way up the Alcan Highway was because (and I'm vaguely ashamed to admit this, but not totally) I was obsessed with the teen angst show of the same name. (That was, of course, before Lost, The Best Show, Ever.)

Unfortunately, Dawson Creek in Canada is nothing like the reed-lined blue stream that Joey Potter used to paddle her boat across in Capeside. The Canadian creek is mostly a thin brown streak covered in mosquitoes and filled with trash. (Who knew Canadians littered?) But laying right next to a rusting metal shopping cart in the shallow waters was the S.R.B.

Even covered in muck you could tell it had the potential to be the best bike there ever was. We decided to rescue it. The problem was, the creek was down a fairly steep grass-covered slope and, in addition to trash, there were other sharp objects pointing up out of the creek that could potentially impale us as we reached for the bike.

Luckily, Steve is an engineer. So, he devised a long hook out of a coat hanger and some string and together, we began fishing for the bike. I went first and after several tries, managed to hook a spoke and pull the bike halfway up until it got caught in between two cement blocks and refused to move further. Steve took over from there and after much pulling, realized he would have to scale the cliff and actually pluck the bike from its cement captors. Which he did. By this time, we had an audience of three, curious Canadian boys one of which said, "Isn't that Joey's bike?"

The S.R.B., rescued from the lake, was covered in green slime but in surprisingly good condition. Everything worked, it was just dirty. Afraid the Canadian boys would go tell the Mounties and they would come galloping after us on their horses with no guns, we brushed it off quickly and strapped it to the back of the van.

That evening, in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Dawson Creek, (because that's where you stay when you're poor and on a cross-country van trip), I bathed it and Steve did whatever he does to things to make them work and I hopped on. It was like the bike was made specifically for me. It fit me perfectly and I've been obsessed with it ever since.

It traveled with us for the next six months, proudly collecting dirt on the back of the van during long stretches of driving. When we returned home, I promptly sold my other, much newer, show bike which I had only used a couple times. That one just didn't have the history.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

A Seattle miracle


For the last three days, it has been sunny in Seattle. As in, the sky has been clear of even the slightest trace of clouds and the actual sun has shined down upon us. Yesterday, I actually saw a sunset for the first time in at least six months.

This is a truly miraculous occasion here and you can bet that for the next few months, conversations will go like this, "Do you remember those three days back in January when it was clear?" "Do you remember what you were doing? I worked in my garden and went on a run ...." Seriously, people here keep track of things like this, like they're keeping track of the Seahawks or the Mariners.

When we moved here, there were two camps. The first, non-delusional camp said, "The winter sucks, it's gray and rainy, and you just have to suffer through it." The second camp, who I'm convinced watches Oprah, or maybe Dr. Phil, said, "The winter is totally not as bad as it seems, it's just an urban legend." Urban legend my...

The weather here is horrible in the winter and on several occasions, I've actually caught myself comparing it to Germany, which actually does produce the worst winter weather, ever, in my opinion.

So bad is the weather here, that our forecasters are forced to make up new terms for "cold and cloudy." My favorite is the "sun break." That's when the clouds actually part for between five minutes and two hours (although two hours is on the very long end) and shadows start to appear around parked cars, buildings, etc. Here, I've realized, that "sun break" actually means "hope." Like, it's going to be completely gray, but you can hope to see the sun for just the briefest of moments to remember what it looks like.

The other one I've recently gotten a kick out of is "wintry mix." That also denotes a cloudy day, just a little bit worse. As in, it might rain harder or even turn to "snow," which just means slushy rain.

After these glorious three days of sun, though, I've realized that our weather forecasters are actually fatalistic. Because shouldn't we at least deserve a sun symbol in our forecast after all this nice weather? Instead, they show icicles hanging off the space needle because, sure it might be sunny, but it's still only 37 degrees, and, Hey, you live in Seattle and you're supposed to be depressed about the weather, that's part of our charm. Even when it's sunny.

Monday, January 21, 2008

All along the water tower


I know I said I wasn't a climber, but I hardly think bouldering on a water tower counts. And if that sounds random, believe me, I totally agree with you.

If you've been to Volunteer Park in Seattle (and if you haven't, why are you reading this? Go there, it's great! But not at night, that's when it gets dodgy), you've seen that giant round tower of bricks that looks like half of a castle. Well, turns out it actually has a purpose besides as a decoration - it's holding our water supply. Much more exciting than that, though, is the discovery that Steve and I made this weekend - it's climbable!

Unfortunately, the giant white splotches of chalk circling the tower (or standpipe as it's also called) make it abundantly clear that not only are we not the first people to discover this, but every single other person who's ever heard of climbing in Seattle has also probably attempted it. Strangely, though, there is not a trace of it online (except for this photo) oh, and (except for this blog mention), probably because it's totally illegal, as most fun things are.

Steve of course quickly figured out how we could top rope it by tying a rope to the metal banister inside and feeding it under the bars on one of the windows. I had visions of me climbing down the side like some crazy fair tale where instead of long hair, I had a chalk bag. Anyway, that dream was quickly dashed by Steve's largely irrational, deep fear of the law and we moved on to bouldering.

What if we could boulder around the entire perimeter of the 75-foot-tall water tower? This is a goal worth trying for!

We tried and we failed, mainly because of our sneakers and cold hands. But I was determined, oh yes. I returned today, with my climbing shoes. And even though my hands froze in under 20 seconds (it was 37 degrees) I made it around a full 20 feet without falling off! All while small children and their parents watched me with that there's-another-one-of-those-crazies-don't-touch expression.

Of course, once I made it 20 feet it got significantly harder because all my footholds disappeared and my hands really didn't have any feeling any more.

But I will persevere, oh yes! This water tower will not get the best of me!

Sunday, January 20, 2008

Poo!

There is nothing worse than hiking straight uphill for a solid hour with the promise of a stunning view point, only to to finally reach the top and find ... nothing.

This was my fate Saturday when I struck out on the Poo-Poo Point Trail on Tiger Mountain in the Issaquah Alps east of Seattle. (By the way, I thought the whole Alps name was a joke, but apparently they're really called that.)

I had so far avoided hiking on Tiger Mountain since it's a wildly popular hiking area 1) because it's close to Seattle and 2) because it's so close to Seattle. But Saturday was gray and rainy, which strangely scared people away even though the weather here is gray and rainy every day.

The trail is supposed to be 7 miles roundtrip, a pretty average day hike, and the hiking book I use warns right from the start that there are a lot of twists and turns and unmarked trails that can make it confusing to follow. They weren't kidding. Unless you know the area, which of course I did not, I could completely see how you could get lost up there, stumbling onto one trail after the next until eventually you become one of those stories that people read about in the Sunday paper.

Not to mention that the overgrown, almost jungle-like, shrubbery of the first two miles unfortunately reminded me of Lost (otherwise known as The Best Show on Television, Ever and you'll hear more about that later) and I kept expecting an Other to jump out of the woods and grab me or at least see that crazy French woman with the gun.

You gain about 1,500 feet on this hike and I could feel it, especially because the last mile and a half I was trudging through thick mud and a fairly good layering of snow. By this time I was sweating profusely and hating the trail runner I had just met who said to me: "Oh, I'm running this 19 mile loop but I am so out of shape! I just had to walk the last half mile."

Anyway, I was pretty proud of my map following skills (okay, let's be honest, my book-reading skills) when at the end of the trail I reached, not a gorgeous view point where para gliders jump off on a beautiful day, but another trail. Where was this alleged parking lot and these picnic tables I was supposed to hit? I walked half a mile back up the hill to the last sign, reassured myself that I had indeed followed it correctly, and then came back down only to again be disappointed. (Thus adding a mile to the the total hike time.)

Of course I can't blame myself. So, I'll have to blame the snow for covering everything so I couldn't see and distracting me by making my fingers cold. And the writers of that book because I'm sure it was just a typo or something and they told me to take the wrong trail.

So would I recommend this trail? If you just need some exercise and you're sick of snowshoeing and your husband is off ice climbing and there's no way you're ever going to try that then, yes. But be warned: the amazing overlook might not be there when you arrive.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Gear Obsession (Part I )


My husband, Steve, is obsessed with gear. To give you an idea of the depths of this obsession, in our apartment right now (which is a mere 500 square feet) we have (mostly crammed behind the couch and in the closets):

  • - A pair of backcountry skis
  • - Two Denali-rated sleeping bags (there are technical terms for how cool these bags are, I just don't know them)
  • - Six headlamps of all sizes and brands.
  • - a large assortment of climbing cams, caribiners, ropes, etc.
  • - Two backpacking stoves
  • - Two day packs
  • - Four backpacking backpacks
  • - Two regular sleeping bags
  • - Various other things that number too many to mention: snowshoes, snow shovels, gloves, hats, poles, jackets (hard and soft shell, etc.) And of course, this does not count our tiny storage unit in our basement and our other ridiculously full storage unit down the street. Those are also both packed with gear.

If you can believe it, the situation was actually worse when we lived in a bigger, two-bedroom apartment in Fort Collins, Colorado.

Having that extra room meant that all the gear was stored there, which meant sleepover guests were snoozing with ice axes poking in their sides and their feet resting on therma-rests. (Oh, sorry, I forgot that we also have three therma-rests in this apartment.)

Part of this is because Steve is climbing Denali this May, which I've recently realized is just an excuse to buy more gear. Don't get me wrong - I'm not entirely unhappy with this gear love affair because, to absolve himself of guilt, (and mostly because he occasionally runs out of ideas of things to buy for himself), I now get gear as well.

My favorites over the last six months? An ultra-lite backpack, a lighter, warmer sleeping bag, an Arcteryx hard-shell jacket (note: Arcteryx is the Vera Wang of outdoor gear - more about that later), and snowshoes, twice. (The first pair wasn't good enough for Steve.)

So, the moral of this story is this: if you're married to a gear head, don't live in a 500-square-foot apartment.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Stuck in the mud

I know, I know. I promised, I swore, that I would never, ever start running again. For three straight years I had one injury after another - the foot ligament tear, the knee scope, etc., etc. - all because I used to run every single day at least five or six miles. To give you an example of how dedicated a runner I used to be - in college (yes, this is mildly embarrassing) I would wake up at 7 a.m. on a SATURDAY when I should have been sleeping off a hangover and run the trails behind Bishop's Peak in San Luis Obispo, California. If you're ever out there, by the way, those are some of my all-time favorite trail runs.
Anyway, it's easy to swear off running when you physically can't. But now that I'm healthy again (knock on wood), my old addiction has returned and I just can't help it. So instead of fighting it, I've decided to set limits. I never run more than three times a week - ever. And never more than three or four miles at a time. I feel like that's a pretty good concession.
So recently, on one of my runs through Volunteer Park on Capitol Hill, I discovered a hidden (well, hidden to me) network of trails. I couldn't believe it - after living here for 10 months, how was it possible that I didn't know about Interlacken Park?
This is the supremely cool thing about Seattle. In the middle of all the retro shops and restaurants and mansions, there's this Secret Garden of running trails. They weave in and out all over the Hill, with trails starting and ending off random streets that you would never take notice of unless you were looking. I love discovering things like that because not only does it make me feel like a city insider, it also helps me branch out on my runs since I tend to be one of those people that will do the same loop over and over again.
Today I ran those trails thinking that with ice on the roads, it would be way smarter to run on the dirt. As if there was really dirt. No, it was more like this soupy, quick-sand- like muck that sucked in my sneakers with every step I took (but hey, that's probably better for your gluteus maximus). In fact, apparently the city had actually closed some of the trails, but the signs were kicked down by some other intrepid runner so I figured, oh, well, I'm already here.
As long as you can get past the fact that Interlacken looks like a perfect place for the homeless to camp or the stalkers to hang out, it's fabulous for running. But I might wait until the wet season passes. Oh, wait. I'm in Seattle. I forgot.

P.S. This old school photo is me finishing the one and only half-marathon I ever ran, like six or seven years ago. I ran the whole thing (although my stepmom, who's also in the picture, kicked my ass) but when I crossed the finish line, I promptly threw up all over.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The worst way to go


Last night it actually snowed in Seattle. That's a big deal here because Seattle doesn't really do winter, it just does this sort of eternal, gray, bitter spring. Of course the snow reminded me of Colorado, state of the perfect seasons. But it also made me think about avalanches, not because I'm fearing one walking down the street, but because they've been on my mind a lot lately. So far, eight people have died this season from avalanches in Washington and it's only mid-January. Apparently, it's the worst avalanche season in the last three decades.
That's scary on many levels but especially because it's one of those things that you can do very little about. Sure, you can take avalanche training or get a beacon or one of those sticks to poke people after they've been engulfed by snow, but how successful is that really? Many of the deaths this season in Washington have been experienced people who know what they're doing.
Then there's me and I've just started snowshoeing in the last year. This is really only my second season out. And since I haven't skiied since I was 14 (but that will change this winter, oh, yes), this is my only exposure to the great outdoors in the winter. The avalanches are a turnoff, I'll tell you. Basically, half of the trails in the Snowshoe Routes - Washington book that I use have warnings about dangers along the way and advise you not to go out if the avalanche danger is high - which it now always is here in Washington. It's like a few years ago when the national terrorism alert was always red. Or orange, or whatever the worst color was.
Case-in-point, last Sunday. Steve, my friends and I (most of them of the "hardcore" type) snowshoed up Lower Gold Creek Basin up on Snoqualmie Pass because that's what the REI ranger said might be safe. Apparently, that's also what the REI ranger told everyone in Seattle who asked so the trail was like waiting in line for a ride at Disneyland and not very exciting to begin with. Very flat. After only two miles, we reached a somewhat daunting slope that we had to cross to continue on. We debated. We could see that already avalanches had tumbled down recently, but we could also see the trail just right over there through the woods. A few yards, and the trees would be blocking us.
I was tempted, I have to say. But then I thought about all those deaths, including the most recent one when a 13-year-old girl got killed off the Mountain Loop Highway, and I thought about what that would feel like to get hit with a landslide of powder. I always thought that drowning would be the worst way to die, but now I'm not so sure. See - this avalanche season has made me morbid.
We turned around of course. But as we sat and ate our lunch in a rare patch of sun, the train of hikers continued up the mountain and I noticed that not all of them turned around. I pointed this out and my friend Anne jumped on me, as she likes to do - figuratively not literally.
"Would you walk across if there was an 85 percent chance there would be a slide? What about a 95 percent chance? Or a 99.9 percent chance?"
At her last figure, I grudgingly nodded. I would probably hike across if there was only the slightest chance I would be hit.
"See? Everyone has their own comfort level" she said.
I saw her point, but I also wondered this: "How can you ever know for sure how big the risk is that you're taking?"

Monday, January 14, 2008

Finally, a blog

I've been feeling inadequate. How can I possibly be a journalist and not have a blog? Everyone I know who's ever remotely cared about anything has a blog. And then there's me and I write for a living and yet, no blog. But what to write about? I could pick a business trend, but that's what I write about for my day job, so no fun. And my daily life, well, it's great for the most part but I'm sure you don't want to hear about what I ate for breakfast or who I'm going out with today. Boring. (But if you are in the mood to check out a blog that's written well about someone's everyday life (and you happen to be having a quarter-life crisis), you should read my friend Jen's, she's great: http://onenjenifer.blogspot.com/ )
Anyway, I didn't think I could write about the outdoors, which I absolutely love, because I'm not, well, hardcore. Nope, not at all. I could hike or snowshoe or go backpacking every weekend, but you would never find me hanging from icy waterfalls or rappelling down canyons or even hiking anything harder than a Colorado fourteener. I don't think there's a problem with that and neither does my husband, Steve, who is hardcore - but he will tell you he's not. (Don't listen to him, he's lying.) If you think I have a complex with this, you're absolutely right. It's because I've lived in Colorado and I live in Washington, two states where if you're not obsessively active you're basically taking up space. So of course I feel like I'm not hardcore enough. But maybe that will change. Lately, I've been feeling like I should have an outdoor goal. And I think I know what it is: to climb Mt. Rainier. Which means I have a lot of work ahead of me, especially since I've never worn a cramp-on in my life.
So if you are one of those people who doesn't necessarily want to risk their life to have a good time outside, keep reading. And if you are, maybe this blog will make you feel great about yourself and you'll go out and buy even more Patagonia gear because after all, you deserve it.