Tag Archives: slowhappyliving

Back in the saddle again!

Spring in the Pacific Northwest is a magical time of year. The days get longer, quite obviously, increasing by minutes from day to day. At yesterday’s solstice, we enjoyed a full 16 hours, 4 minutes of sunlight, bookended by long twilights. It’s hard to sleep much past 5:00 AM this time of year.

The long days couldn’t arrive at a better time! With my April marathon and June half marathon now behind me, I’ve turned my full attention to cycling. The Seattle to Portland (STP) ride is now less than a month away. That’s 206 miles, two back-to-back century rides amidst a throng of 10,000 cyclists. My longest ride so far this year has been a paltry 47 miles, but at least I’m now riding almost daily and spending as many hours as possible in the saddle.

Given that I live in the Pacific Northwest, that often means riding in the rain. I found myself cringing at the idea of riding my expensive road bike on a trail that, while paved, can get muddy in places. So I bought a second bike. I call it my a-rainy-day-is-not-an-excuse bike. The geometry is essentially the same as my road bike, but it’s heavier and sturdier, which means it’s a bit less twitchy and a lot less fussy on messy surfaces. I’m enjoying going back and forth between the two bikes — now when I get back on the road bike, it feels even faster!

I do most of my training rides solo. I stay close to either home or the car, riding a series of long loops or out-and-backs so that I’m not too far out in the middle of nowhere should anything go wrong. On those rare occasions when CFL and I can synchronize our schedules, we’ll do a longer ride to a destination together. For the most part, however, he does his training his way and I do my training my way.

His way mostly involves riding up hills. Last year, in preparing for Ride Around Washington (RAW) I rode at least twice as many total miles as he did (and spent many more hours), but he did a lot more hill-climbing. To my surprise, he came through RAW at least as well as I did, so this year I’m trying to include more hill training.

We are fortunate to live right at the foot of a world-class hill! Hurricane Ridge, at 5,242 feet, is one of the highlights of Olympic National Park. It’s also considered one of the best, most scenic cycling climbs in the USA. I live at an elevation of 300 feet. The top of Hurricane Ridge is 18 miles from my front door. That’s a lot of hill climbing in a very short distance!

For me the climb is a long, slow slog. The grade varies from 6-8%, which is not impossibly steep — but it’s nearly constant. It certainly gets the heart pumping, especially near the summit when the elevation becomes a factor. So far this year I’ve only made it halfway up, whereas CFL has gone the whole way several times. The views are spectacular, and the adrenaline-packed descent is the final reward for the climb.

Two short weeks after STP, we’ll do Ride Around Washington again. This year we’ll ride 437 miles in 6 days from Walla Walla, WA to Metaline Falls in the far northeast corner of the state. Although it’s another huge goal, it’s not as intimidating as STP because there are only 250 cyclists, and we are well-pampered with catered meals, hot showers, and luggage services. It’s a sort of traveling summer camp.

After that, I’m flirting with the idea of doing a duathlon. There’s a local one planned in mid-August: a 5K run, a 22-mile bike ride, and another 5K run. A triathlon is out of the question because I refuse to get in the water… but run/bike/run? Yeah, that’s tempting.

It’s good to be back in the saddle again!

Picking up the pieces

How do I pick up the pieces after not blogging here for six months? Obviously, I’ve been doing a lot more slow happy LIVING than writing about it. Generally, I like it that way, although I do feel pangs of guilt when I visit my blog admin page and see that no one comes to visit because there’s never anything new to see.

After our big cycling tour last August, I parked the bike and returned my focus to running. I had only nine weeks to train for an October marathon. That didn’t end well, as I wrote about elsewhere. It was late October before I felt like doing much of anything again. The bike stayed mostly parked, and I rode it only a few times before the weather turned too wet for pleasant cycling. I ran a 10K in December, immediately before we made a road trip down to California.

We drove 3,300 miles in ten days and visited a handful of relatives and friends along the way. It was hectic. At least the weather cooperated… except for the day we drove through a sandstorm in 25 degree weather with 30 mph winds. Good times!

We brought our bikes with us on the off chance that we’d have time to ride with a friend in San Diego. Indeed, we had just enough time for a leisurely 13 mile ride around Mission Bay on Christmas Eve.

We’re always very careful about securing our bikes and usually don’t let them out of our sight. When we travel we lock them onto the bike rack on the back of the car. Wherever we stop to eat, we try to grab a window seat so we can watch them. At night we bring the bikes into our motel room with us.

When we finished our delightful San Diego bike ride, we left the bikes locked on the rack for an hour, while we showered at our friend’s apartment in a nice neighborhood. Then we walked outside to leave.

You guessed it. Our bikes were gone. The lock was cut through, cleanly and professionally.

My bike was insured; CFL’s was not. We both learned a very expensive lesson. No more external bike racks for us, no matter how expensive or sturdy-seeming the lock. We’ll carry the bikes inside the van — and we probably won’t let them out of our sight even though locked inside the van.

I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted in my next bike, so I’d ordered it within a couple of weeks. When I bought my last one, disc brakes weren’t yet widely available on road bikes. But disc brakes are so much better on the wet, slick surfaces that are so common in the Pacific Northwest! And on my long hilly rides last summer, my hands took a beating trying to stop my bike with its old-school caliper brakes. So disc brakes were a must for me. While I was doing that favor for my hands, I figured I might as well go the next step and get electronic shifting — push-buttons are so much easier on small hands than the long throw of the shift lever! And well, I wanted lighter wheels too. The insurance settlement (which took depreciation into account) covered less than half the cost of my new bike.

Bottom line, I ended up with a very nice bike — a bike that I’m still afraid of because it’s SO nice. I’ve only ridden it 42 miles in the month that I’ve owned it. One reason I’m not riding much is that CFL is still waiting for his new bike… which is back-ordered until May. The other reason, off course, is that I’m marathon training again. After April 2, I’ll be ready to focus on cycling again. Well, except for that half marathon on June 5.

But then, when our local trail looks like this, it’s hard to get enthusiastic about cycling! Yes, it’s mudslide season again.

We call this one the Big Puddle. It’s at least 10 yards long and several inches deep. Some people go around it on the berm at the right, but the berm itself has become so muddy that I don’t attempt it. I simply turn around at this spot.

Come this May when the puddles are a distant memory and CFL finally has his bike, we’ll get serious about cycling again. We have two big rides planned for this summer. We’re doing STP (Seattle to Portland)! We’ll be somewhere near the back of the pack of 10,000 cyclists for this 2-day, 200+ mile bike ride. And we’re also doing RAW (Ride Around Washington) again. On this year’s route, we’ll pick up where we left off last year in Walla Walla and ride 437 meandering miles through the Palouse region, all the way to Metaline Falls — the tiny town that is as far north and east as you can go in Washington state. We 250 cyclists will outnumber the good citizens of Metaline Falls.

Thus while we may be getting off to a relatively slow start in 2016, we have many long training rides ahead of us. To say nothing of hikes, long runs, and the utterly non-negotiable daily walk. I’m averaging nearly 20,000 steps a day so far this year. For me, that adds up to nearly 10 miles a day on foot.

Now, it’s almost time for my daily walk. See you on the trail? Watch out for that puddle!

 

Spring has arrived!

Spring always seems to take forever to arrive here in the Pacific Northwest, but when it does, it comes with breathtaking speed. You go along for seemingly endless days and weeks of frosty rooftops and mere glimpses of the sun, and then suddenly the cherry trees are blooming!

Given the weather extremes that many people in various parts of the country have experienced this winter, I can hardly complain. The winter of 2014-15 was exceptionally mild in my part of the world: much warmer than any of the dozen-plus winters that I’ve experienced here. While I’ve enjoyed the opportunities to get outside and be active, the snowpack in the Olympics is now at something like 10% of normal. This doesn’t bode well for our summer water supply, as we have no reservoirs but rely on snow-melt as our water source.

Yet no matter how mild the winter, every year by the time early March rolls around I am more than ready for spring to arrive. As the days start getting noticeably longer, I begin to search eagerly for the subtle signs of approaching spring.

As the sun begins to swing northward, the light changes. It seems more luminous, shimmery — even on a cloudy day.

March brings unsettled weather — showers and sunbreaks instead of ceaseless drizzle. On the afternoon of St. Patrick’s Day, as we were walking downtown in search of appropriate libations, we were rewarded with a stunning full double rainbow. I decided I wouldn’t try to capture its scale with my phone camera, but when it produced THIS visual effect I had to photograph it. A double rainbow with a checkmark — surely there is a pot of gold at the end of this one!

The best I can figure is, this must have been a reflection of the rainbow, straight up out of the water.

Last Friday, shortly before the arrival of the Vernal Equinox at 3:45 Pacific time, I went out for a long walk along our waterfront trail.

The salmonberries actually began blooming a couple of weeks ago, but just before 3:45 I came across this nice patch and had to stop and capture them at the moment the northern hemisphere crossed into spring.

Just moments later I came upon this small flock of buffleheads. Mating season has begun! The six males (black and white) were jockeying for position and intently following the three females (dark).

A bit later I encountered this little guy who’d ventured out for a spring walk. I believe this is a rough-skinned newt.

Lest you think all is rosy out there, this is the time of year when I can never take the Olympic Discovery Trail for granted. This winter’s rains (being of the downpour variety rather than the usual steady mist) have really taken their toll. In the next town to the east, a river jumped its banks and partially destroyed a pedestrian bridge, rendering that section of the trail impassible. When we ride our bikes over that way, we have to take a long detour on a busy road.

Closer to home, the section of the trail that I use most often runs for nearly three miles at the base of an extremely unstable bluff. We’ve had mudslide after mudslide. Our city does a good job of cleaning the debris off the trail, but on any given day there might be one to several new slides. This makes planning a run of a specific distance difficult because I never know how far out along the trail I’ll be able to run before being forced to turn back. I usually end up doing a lot of short out-and-backs between slides to get the distance I want.

Last Friday, because I was walking, I didn’t mind the slides. Rather than turn back, I carefully ventured across a couple of them, all the while with a careful eye turned to the bluff above me for signs of new movement.

This is a typical sight: a couple of shallow-rooted alders will just sort of walk down the bluff and come to rest astride the trail. This type of slide I can easily detour around.

The mud flows are more annoying. This one was about 20 yards long and a couple of feet deep in places. It’s tough to cross this type of slide without getting my feet muddy and/or wet.

Hence while I’m delighted that spring is here, I’m eager for warmer, sunnier weather to dry out that bluff and improve conditions on the trail. I’m running a half marathon here only eleven weeks from now!

Meanwhile, I’m content to watch and catalogue the ongoing signs of spring. Yesterday dozens of turkey vultures flew overhead. They and hundreds more are gathering just west of here. One day soon, the winds will be just right and they’ll all make the big flight across the strait to Vancouver Island and beyond. And soon enough, it will be summer again.

What about you? Are you noticing signs of spring in your part of the world? I hope you have many chances to get out there and enjoy it. Slow and happy!

So many wonderful moments, such a grand life!

I usually focus on the upbeat in this blog. With a title like Slow Happy Living, that’s to be expected. But life is lived in moments, and not all moments are happy ones.

My father passed away last week, one week after his 87th birthday. Per his wishes, there will be no service. I would like to write something by way of a eulogy but the task may be too big for me, at least for now. So I’ll just reflect a bit on his life.

His passing was not unexpected. He’d had a stroke several years ago from which he’d largely recovered. A second stroke this February was more debilitating, but he had come home and was adjusting to the use of a walker or wheelchair. He insisted that he surely would drive again soon and that he and my step-mom would take one more vacation together. Yet he worried constantly about the next stroke that he was sure would come.

The third stroke in late March was massive. He could still speak, but he was confused. He could do almost nothing without assistance. There would be no coming home from the nursing home this time. Although doctors said he might live for several more years, he never talked again about his plans for the future.

Last week he suddenly developed complications from that stroke. CFL, my daughter, and I made a quick trip south to see him. He recognized and acknowledged us. The next day he slipped into a sleep that took him away peacefully early the following morning.

My father was a proud yet humble man, a Depression-era stoic with a sometimes-difficult childhood home life. Although he attended school sporadically through the first year of high school, he told me late in his life that he’d really only had a 4th grade education.

Despite his lack of formal education, he became a scientific glassblower, a man so highly skilled in his craft that engineers struggled to design a bulb-blowing machine that could approximate the intricacy and precision of the work he did by hand. Among other accomplishments, he made a glass sensor that went into the lunar astronauts’ backpacks. Those packs were left behind when the astronauts returned to Earth. My dad’s glass sensors are still up there on the Moon.

The Moon is an appropriate home for my dad’s glasswork. He was fascinated by astronomy and used to talk to my brothers and me about the vastness of the universe. He, who had no use for institutional spirituality, made the scientific idea of infinity meaningful for me. When I contemplate the stars I hear his voice.

He had an abundant curiosity and an amazing memory for facts and data, places and times. He did long division in his head. He pored over maps. He kept records of every gallon of gasoline he put into every one of our cars.

My dad loved to travel; we took regular Sunday drives to the mountains and deserts of southern California. We hiked. We camped. We collected interesting rocks. We climbed Mt. San Antonio (Mt. Baldy), the highest peak of the San Gabriel Mountains at 10,068 feet, when I was about 9 years old. While my friends’ vacations consisted of holiday visits to grandparents, we took epic summer vacations to National Parks. He took movies, which always seemed to start with a shot of his nose as he peered into the camera lens — if they had been sound movies, you would have heard, “Is this thing on?” Why he never figured that out, I have no idea.

He was active well into middle age. He used to get us up early for Sunday morning bike rides before breakfast. There were no bike paths in those days; we’d whizz around on empty boulevards while others were still sleeping. He rode 40 miles on his 40th birthday and vowed he’d continue that tradition through the years. He rode regularly until his early 60s when my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer; then he put the bike away and stayed close by her side. My mom and he took one or two more short vacations before she became too sick to travel. After she died he tried to start riding again, but found it difficult. He was in his mid-60s, and he was no longer comfortable out on his road bike.

When he met my step-mom, he became young and energized again. It was so good to see him smiling! They traveled all over the world together, up until just a few years ago. I am so grateful that she came into his life and made his last 21 years such happy ones.

Every family has its dynamics, and my dad was not perfect. But he taught me to love learning, to see beauty in nature, and to enjoy experiences more than things.

With my dad’s passing, I suddenly find myself on the cusp. My generation is next in line to go. I have reached that moment when I suddenly look around, see myself in a mirror, and finally, fully understand that I am no longer young.

CFL and I vow to stay active for as many years as we can, while knowing that someday we too will decline and fade. What we have now are moments, and we can only strive to make the most of each of them.

Yesterday I went out for a long run along the waterfront trail. As it happened, I was out there just as 250 cyclists from the Cascade Bike Club’s annual Ride Around Washington (RAW) were coming through on their tour. I was proud to share “my” trail with these riders. I thought about how thrilled my dad would have been to ride with them.

Just as long runs did for me after Kurt died, yesterday’s long run invited and created a safe place for cleansing, healing tears.

Dad, I’ll miss you. You were the best!

Now I’m going for a bike ride.

The joy of walking

I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits unless I spend four hours a day at least — and it is commonly more than that — sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields absoutely free from all worldly engagements.

— Henry David Thoreau, “Walking”

In recent days I have been doing quite a bit of sauntering, and as I saunter I often think of Thoreau. I had the privilege of visiting Walden Pond as a teenager. I was underwhelmed by its small size and its decidedly non-wild contemporary setting. It’s difficult to imagine the area back in Thoreau’s day, when he wrote:

I can easily walk ten, fifteen, twenty, any number of miles, commencing at my own door, without going by any house, without crossing a road except where the fox and the mink do. First along by the river, and then the brook, and then the meadow and the wood-side. There are square miles in my vicinity which have no inhabitant.

In my corner of the world, there are still places where it is possible to walk for some distance without seeing a house. I can even walk to some of those places from my own house, although I have to pass by many houses on the way to the trailhead. I wouldn’t want to live in total wilderness or total solitude, so that’s all right by me. Yet, like Thoreau, I do find peace and inspiration in those places that have not yet lost their wildness.

At walking speed I see things that I would have missed while running or cycling. Recently I spent a few moments watching two river otters in full courtship dance. No photos, sorry… while I’m watching something like that, reaching in my pocket for my phone to take a photo is the last thing on my mind.

In an effort to make peace with the place where I fell and broke my arm, I have hiked several miles of the Olympic Adventure Trail. It’s an easy, pleasant, relatively level trail. In several places the trail meanders through recent clear cuts — so it’s not exactly pristine — but those clear cuts open up views southward to the Olympics or northward to the strait and Vancouver Island.

At walking pace I was delighted to find calypso orchids on the OAT! There are at least 100 of them in the first mile from the trailhead. I have never noticed them on this trail before.

I’ve often put orchid photos in this blog, but to refresh your memory here is what they look like. They are tiny flowers, not much more than an inch across.

Calypso Orchids

The other day on the OAT, in the midst of all of these “normal” calypsos, I came across a pair of unicorns.

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Those, my friends, are “albino” calypso orchids! It’s not the greatest photo, but I hope you can see that the outer petals are pure white while the inner petals are muted compared to the “normal” flower. Over the past three years I have inspected hundreds of calypso orchids but I’ve never seen any like these before.

Yesterday we went out to the mouth of the Elwha River. I haven’t been to the mouth since before the dam removal project began. The mouth is now at least a quarter of a mile north of where it used to be! The silt that has flowed downriver from the dams has created a broad, easy-walking silty beach.

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At the water’s edge the river and the tide are joining forces to create small canyons, cutting vertical mini-cliffs through the silt. I took this photo looking straight down. The water here is about a foot below the edge of the silt.

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The configuration of this river delta changes from day to day, but the clear trend is growth of the land northward into the strait. A few hours after I took these photos, I was standing on a high ridge line looking down toward the strait, where I could clearly see the river’s current fanning out and outlined against the saltier water of the strait.

While I deeply miss running (and eagerly look forward to the day when I’m cleared to run again), I’m finding deep happiness in hours of leisurely walking. These are all steps in my journey, and each of them is to be savored. There is no going back, no other way but forward.

By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing back
one sees the path
that will never be trod again.

— Antonio Machado

Slow and happy — here’s to the joy of walking!

Good news and bad news

I had good news and bad news from the orthopedist yesterday.

The good news is that I had a very clean break! Just a sliver of separated bone. There is little to no swelling at the break site. There will probably be no ligament damage. I have full feeling everywhere on my arm, and full movement everywhere below the shoulder. Therefore I am already cleared to take my arm out of the sling for moments to hours (whatever feels comfortable) with only a few restrictions:

  • no movement of my arm laterally away from my shoulder
  • no weight bearing activity whatsoever with my left arm
  • if I feel any pain, stop doing whatever triggered the pain.

She encouraged me to walk as much as I like and was agreeable to the idea of a bike trainer (a device that turns your bike into a stationary cycle machine) as long as I don’t use my left arm. I don’t yet own a bike trainer but now I’m looking into getting one! She did warn me that I’ll quickly lose muscle strength and endurance over the coming weeks, and that I should not be looking for another PR when I run (or walk… we’ll see…) the NODM half marathon on June 1.

Now for the bad news.

My arm broke in a way that should not have happened from a “standing fall.” That is, the force of the left forearm hitting the ground is not normally enough to crack the humerus where it meets the shoulder. However, I was running (which added X amount of force) slightly downhill (which added another Y amount of force). You’ll remember from your high school algebra that X and Y are unknown and variable. Maybe it was enough force to justify the break, or maybe not. We don’t have any data on the forces at play in this case.

But I have a history of a previous fracture that “should not” have happened. I broke a bone in my left foot when I missed the last step of a flight way back in 2001. The chronic, lingering foot pain after that accident was the very thing that inspired me to start running in the first place! Now after 5+ years of fracture-free running I may have increased my bone density from the hips down. Everywhere else may be a different story.

Bottom line, the doctor is almost certain that I have osteoporosis. This doesn’t surprise me. I’ve known for years that I have almost all the risk factors:

  • I’m female
  • I’m white
  • I’m slim and always have been
  • I had an early (surgical) menopause
  • I now live at a high latitude where I get little sun exposure for much of the year (I do take supplemental vitamin D)
  • I’ve had a previous fracture
  • A DEXA scan at the time of my previous fracture showed that I already had osteopenia (borderline low bone density)

As for the few risk factors I don’t have:

  • I don’t have a family history of osteoporosis
  • I’ve never smoked.

As I say, this doesn’t come as a surprise. I run, cycle, hike, and walk with a conscious awareness that these activities are good for my bones (and for lots of other reasons). But somehow I’ve never gotten sufficiently motivated to do any weight training or other exercise above the hips.

All of that is about to change. Time to break out the hand weights! Time to start hiking with a heavier pack!

I’m scheduled for a bone density test in a few weeks. I’ll be tested in at least two places (my wrist and somewhere lower) so I’ll get an idea of how helpful the running has been for my bones.

After that, I suppose there will be a treatment plan, which I hope will include an exercise program to limit the damage and keep me as active and healthy as possible. I recently met a runner who took up running after her osteoporosis diagnosis and is doing just fine. So I have every reason to be optimistic.

Meanwhile I’ll start physical therapy on my arm on April 17, which will be two weeks after my injury. I’m looking forward to that!

And later on this misty, mild April afternoon I’ll go for a nice long walk. The activity streak shall endure.

One step at a time!

Days and miles — flying by!

Wow! Three weeks into the new year and I’m finally finding time to do a little blogging. I always take it as a good sign when I don’t have time to write — it means I’m out there squeezing every bit of life out of the hours and moments of each day.

Today marks 21 days into the new year, and I’ve already logged 168 miles. Wow! I’m averaging 8 miles a day! I don’t think I can maintain this pace indefinitely. On the other hand, once I start doing some long bike rides I’ll possibly move the average mileage even higher.

I did my traditional “January in Santa Barbara” trip recently. Unlike last year, which was very windy, the weather was perfect! I ran all four of the days I was there, including three simply wonderful barefoot runs on the beach. In past years I felt like a hero if I could manage a mile of barefoot running; this year I did beach runs of 2.5, 3.25, and 3.7 miles. I continue to be amazed at the things I can do that once were out of reach.

Views like this kept me inspired and coming back for more:

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Although this photo was taken across the street from the beach, an encounter with a female Acorn Woodpecker provided the other visual highlight of my time in Santa Barbara:

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It was a warm day and she was determined to drink, so she was patient with me while I took several shots.

During my time in Santa Barbara I managed to sneak in a couple of visits to Santa Barbara Brewing Company, where I sampled several of their excellent beers. What is a vacation without a little beer tourism?

Speaking of beer, CFL and I brewed an experimental batch recently. I created a simple SMASH (single malt and single hop) pale ale recipe. We divided the wort and pitched two different yeasts (American and Thames Valley). After several days, we further divided the proto-beer into six one-gallon jugs, which we dry-hopped (or not) in different ways. Don’t our little jugs look cute all bundled up and cozy in their matching towels?

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We bottled them a week ago and we’re anxiously awaiting side-by-side taste tests next week.

Tomorrow I’m going to see if I can ride my bike a little further up the hill than last time… I made it up Hurricane Ridge Road to mile 2 the other day, but I still have 15 more to go!

We’re busy! We’re happy! We’re not always so slow, but that’s okay. There is SO much to do and SO many miles yet to go!

A shiny new year deserves some big, bold plans

Happy New Year! As years go (and so they do, faster and faster it seems) 2013 was a rather great one. CFL’s and my casual decision last January 1 to “be more active” turned into a 365-day activity streak that is still going strong as we begin 2014.

CFL’s approach to it was rather casual, but he never missed a day — even if it meant setting out on the 2.1 mile uphill/downhill neighborhood “lap” at 11:45 PM.  Me? Of course I kept a spreadsheet, which now allows me to regale you with some numbers that still boggle my mind.

In 2013 I completed:

  • 1,001.14     run miles (including 2 half marathons, a full, & a 10K)
  •    307.47     bike miles (including 33 miles with 15,000+ others)
  •    134.73     hike miles
  •    720.73     walk miles

     2,164.07     total miles

Oh, and I drove just over 11,000 miles — much of which was long-distance driving to and from events (bike rides, concerts, brewfests, and the like) and trailheads.

We brewed 21 batches of beer, and made the leap from extract to all-grain brewing. We have a never-ending list of brewing equipment that we want to buy (a bigger brew kettle to prevent boilovers, a plate chiller to cool the wort more quickly, a couple of pumps to save CFL’s back, the list goes on and on).

So what’s in store for 2014?

I think I’ll run a little less, since I won’t be training for a full marathon and doing the super-long runs. I think 900 running miles is a good goal.

I plan to do a LOT more bike riding. I don’t have a specific mileage goal but I do have some events that CFL and I want to ride. I’ve got my eye on a new bike that I hope to buy before the end of January. I weighed my current bike and was astonished to learn that it weighs 33 pounds — no wonder I work so hard going uphill! The bike I’d like to buy will be at least 10 pounds lighter.

I’m looking at my calendar and figuring out how I’ll weave together training for and participating in multiple running and biking events throughout the year.

So far, the event schedule looks like this:

February 23: Bike Ride
The Chilly Hilly on February 23 — 33 miles around Bainbridge Island with 2,675 feet of elevation gain. I’ll need that new bike for those hills!

April 26: Trail Half Marathon
The Oat Run (Olympic Adventure Trail) — I’ll run this one and CFL may be a volunteer worker.

June 1: Half Marathon
North Olympic Discovery half marathon — this local race will be my fifth NODM and CFL’s first; he’s going to walk it.

August 3: Bike Ride
Ride the Hurricane is a 17-mile 5,000 foot climb up the Hurricane Ridge Road in Olympic National Park, followed by a rapid 17-mile descent! The road is closed to cars for the day. CFL has done this a few times. He tells me I may be ready to tackle it this summer. I think he’s nuts, but we’ll see…

August 10: Bike Ride
The Providence Bridge Pedal in Portland was so much fun last year that we’re going to do it again. Just us and over 15,000 other riders, riding over ten (count ’em) Willamette River bridges on closed roads and freeways.

August 24: Bike Ride
The Tour de Victoria will be our first metric century — a 100K bike ride around downtown Victoria, BC and its surroundings.

October 12: Half/Full Marathon
We’ll be back in Victoria for this one. This is where I ran my marathon in 2013. For 2014 I plan to go back to the half (it will be my third Victoria half marathon), and CFL says he is going to walk the full marathon. We’ll see how he feels about that one when the time comes.

I’m sure other events will come up, and we’ll fit them in somehow. These are just the major ones that will require planning and preparation. We have several road trips planned as well, all of which will include some brewery tourism.

Yet even with all the training and traveling, we should have plenty of room on our calendars for hiking (I really need to do an overnight backpack trip this summer), walking around town, and hanging out with friends. And brewing, of course.

I’m guessing that we’ll end up doing at least 2,400 total miles this year. That seems like a worthy and achievable goal.

Right now, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking about an easy afternoon hike on a lowland forest trail. Although the sunsets are already noticeably later than two weeks ago, I’d better get out there while there is still plenty of daylight!

What’s on your calendar? What new goals have you set for yourself in 2014?

Slow and happy!

A moment’s pause

I was driving home this afternoon after going for a run. It hadn’t been a particularly enjoyable run.

It was chilly — about 45 degrees with a breeze as I started my run. As usually happens when it’s cold, my hands and feet promptly went numb. I was wearing gloves and waving my hands around, so that part wasn’t so bad; my hands warmed up within a few minutes. But it’s tough trying to run on numb feet. It took two and a half miles for my feet to thaw out, and when they finally did, I realized that (as often happens) they’d been slapping the ground rather hard while numb and were now sore.

I’d almost given up and turned around in the first cold mile, but I’d decided that today it was my job to be out there and keep running in spite of feeling less than stellar. I went on and completed my run (from a county park to an Audubon center/park and back, 7.6 miles round trip), patting myself on the back at the end for toughing it out.

On the way home I stopped off to pick up some vegetables for tonight’s dinner. I also grabbed a bottle of fruit/vegetable juice to drink on the way home.

As I left the farm store, I noticed that the sky was quite dramatic. Heading west toward home, I was driving out from under dark gray clouds and into blue sky and broken clouds that were spectacularly lit by the late afternoon sun. I drove by two or three possible locations where I could have stopped to take photos. By this time, I was actually in a hurry to get home because my darned fingers were going numb again from holding the cold juice bottle (if you’re wondering, I have Raynaud’s phenomenon). So for a few miles my inner dialogue went: “Do I stop or do I hurry home to get warm?”

Finally the sky became so beautiful that I had to stop — fingers be damned! I pulled into a downtown parking lot and quickly snapped these shots with my iPhone.

It was a moment worth pausing for, don’t you think?

Some moments are just too good to let pass unnoticed. This is a lesson too easily overlooked, a lesson that demands we practice it, every day.

What did you notice that gave you a moment’s pause today?

October and half of November

Well, that was quick! I knew October was going to be a busy month, but I had no idea I’d be so swept up by events that I wouldn’t have another chance to post here until mid-November. While the living has not been so “slow” lately, it has certainly been happy.

October began with the Yakima Fresh Hop Festival, as documented in my last post. The following weekend was the Victoria marathon. As I’ve written here, I can now and forever call myself a marathoner!

The weekend of October 19-20 we went to Seattle to see the Moody Blues for what I believe to be my 40th time (CFL’s second). They never disappoint, and this was yet another great show by my all-time favorite band. The following evening we attended the 10th anniversary celebration for the local region of the sports car club that I belong to. As a charter member of the region, I was among those who stood up to share memories of our early days. Good times!

Our big travel event for late October was a trip down to Eugene, Oregon for a philosophy conference at which I presented a paper. My paper was a very preliminary attempt to make sense of what I have learned (and continue to learn) about running and personal transformation. I’m playing with the idea of the literal steps and place-to-place movement of my running “career” as a metaphoric movement through the course of caregiving, grieving, and re-creating one’s life anew. My paper was well-received at the conference, but I didn’t get enough feedback to determine which direction I want to go further with this.

Here’s the dilemma I’m mulling over in my mind. I think these life experiences that I’ve had make for a good story, but I want to frame them conceptually as something more than a simple memoir. As a scholar/philosopher, I want to put them in a philosophical context — which would seriously limit the potential audience. At the same time, as a person who has actually had these very real and human experiences, I do want to make them accessible to others — not as a slick “self-help” book, but as some sort of a guidebook for the journey. I’m sure there is a happy medium there between conceptual “navel gazing” and pop psychology, but I can’t quite grasp yet what that middle ground might look like.

So I think I will do some noodling around with alternate takes on writing projects and see whether the work finds the right direction, or at least the direction that it wants to go. Many times in the past, I have begun to write without having a clue where I might end up, and I have learned what I needed to learn in the process of writing. I sense that this will be another one of those times.

That was October. Now, what the heck has happened with November so far? I think I must have exhaled and collapsed!

We’ve brewed two batches of beer — a black IPA for Thanksgiving and an Old Ale for mid-December — and I’m tweaking my recipe for the imperial stout that we’ll brew next week to have ready for New Years.

We keep talking about a hike up the Elwha River valley before winter really sets in, but we seem to be so busy from day to day that we haven’t blocked out a full day for a good, long hike. We haven’t let up on the daily activity streak, however — yesterday was day 317, and I’ve logged just under 1,900 miles of running, biking, hiking, and walking since the beginning of this year.

This time of year, when everything changes suddenly and dramatically from green to gold and then to brown/gray, it can be difficult to escape a sense of the urgency and inevitability of passing time.

The “slow happy” mantra is a reminder to ourselves to appreciate and make the most of NOW. But it can be difficult to resist packing too much into each NOW.

Sometimes NOW needs to be a silent soaking-it-in time/place — even if we only get to be there in our memories or thoughts.

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I’ll try to remember to slow down and pay attention as I go about my busy day.

How about you?