Down & Out In Yellowstone

Ugh. My head feels like it's going to explode. I have been dealing with a monster head cold for the past few days, and am sooo over it. I guess I should have expected something like this to happen, though. One doesn't spend multiple nights in the Yellowstone backcountry, with the temperatures consistently dropping down to 20, without experiencing some sort of ramification. It's not like we weren't prepared; we packed in more than enough cold-weather gear, and had fires every night, but I'm learning that my poor body can only take so much abuse. Five straight days of hiking 13 miles, with a 50-pound pack on my back, took its toll on my body and my immune system, leaving me exhausted and sick. So, we opted to end our expedition a tad early and seek the refuge of a hotel room. I'm going to be honest, I've never been so happy for a hot shower and comfortable bed. (It's amazing what a couple of weeks of roughing it can do for my appreciation of modern conveniences.)

Thus, we ended up spending the past couple of days recovering and relaxing in Bozeman, a quaint college town. Today, we head back down to Jackson Hole for a fun Saturday night. I'm just hoping this darn cold gives me a break long enough for me to enjoy myself...

Backcountry Bliss

There are certain times in my life when I look around and know that I am exactly where I want to be; no matter the minor blips, my life is just as I hoped it would become. Hiking the backcountry of Grand Teton National Park these past few days has afforded me many of those moments. Sure, I was dirty, tired, and sore, but I also felt so incredibly alive and enraptured with the absolute beauty around me.

Originally, we had planned for a 3-day, 30-mile loop through the backcountry. These plans were thwarted by the lingering snow pack, as we had no desire to mess with cramp-ons and ice axes. Luckily, the alternative we settled upon turned out just as spectacular. We ended up hiking a mere 3 miles in to Phelps Lake, where we set up camp and were able to reach both Death Canyon and Open Canyon as day hikes. The scenery was breathtaking. The waterfalls flowed freely. The wildflowers were just beginning their summer bloom. We saw black bear, moose, and deer. And - most importantly - we rarely came into contact with other people. (In fact, the most contact with had with anything living was the button buck who hung out at our camp each night.) This excursion proved to be an ideal trek into the wild.

Tonight, we're recharging in Jackson Hole. Tomorrow, we're headed up to Yellowstone, where we're going to embark on an epic 7-day, 70-mile expedition into to the northeast portion of the park. Wish us luck!

Outdoor Therapy

There's nothing like being in the great outdoors to wash all of my worries away. We arrived in Grand Teton National Park last night, and the Boise debacle already seems lifetimes away. It's chilly up here, but also stunningly beautiful. It's just what I need to recharge my body and soul. We're taking it easy for the next couple of days. We car-camped at Jenny Lake last night and are in search if some hidden sites at the northern edge of the park today. Tomorrow, we're headed into the backcountry for some solitude. I can't wait.

A Lesson Hard Learned

I'll be the first to admit, triathletes are a crazy group of people, doubly so for those of us who enjoy the longer distances. We take pleasure in punishing our bodies with insane workouts, trading lazy weekend mornings for grueling training sessions. We don't have the luxury of being fair-weather athletes, either, so we learn to tough it out, rain or shine, blistering heat or freezing cold. Thus, I like to think triathlons have turned me into one tough chick. I've trained and raced in some pretty rough conditions. But yesterday, I learned even I have limits.

We knew the weather come race time wasn't going to be ideal. Even though Boise had been enjoying clear skies and temperatures in the mid-70s for days on end, we were well aware we weren't going to be so lucky Saturday. Nevertheless, I stayed positive as the day approached. I refused to give in to negative thoughts and continued to hope for the best. Besides, I thought I was prepared, both mentally and attire-wise, for the imminent inclement weather. Boy was I wrong.

Yesterday, I learned that sometimes no amount of preparation can ready a person for certain situations. It didn't matter how many hours of training I had logged, how much gear I invested in, or how tough I thought I was. Sometimes, you just have to know when to say when.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but yesterday's race was that moment for me. After suffering for hours in 43 degree weather at the Lucky Peak Reservoir, bracing ourselves against high winds and sleet, my racing partner and I had to make the call. It was gut-wrentching, all of that training and travel expenses gone to waste, but we knew we had to walk away. The risk of severe hypothermia was just too great for us chance it. I sobbed tears of frustration as we turned in our timing chips, my pride and self-identity taking a massive blow. Even now, I feel sick about it.

Still, I know we did the right thing. I would have been risking my well-being if I had stubbornly insisted on getting in that water. I was already frozen to the core, my body wracked with violent shivering. I never would have been able to recover after the swim. Even though the officials had already cut down the bike course to 15 miles (rather than the usual 56), due to the dangerous conditions, I knew this just wasn't my day to race. So, I forfeited. It's my first DNF and, I hope, my last.

Sure, there were people who went ahead and competed, and I am impressed with their persistence. Maybe they can withstand colder temperatures better than I can. Maybe they're just made from tougher stock. None of that matters. I have to keep my chin up, knowing I made the right decision for me.

I'm still searching for a silver-lining in all of this. I'm doing my best to come away with some valuable lessons, other than recognizing my own physical limitations. And slowly, I'm recognizing there are things I could have done differently, mainly in respects to my cold-weather gear. I also think the race organization, itself, could have done more for the athletes (a rain tent, perhaps?), but those decisions are out of my control. So, now I need to let this entire debacle go and start looking forward to the next race. Because, there is no doubt that there WILL be a next race...

Another Day, Another Tri

Well, here I am, the night before another big race.  Wasn't I in this exact position a little while ago?  It seems like just yesterday I was stressing out about Big Sur.  And yet, here I am in Boise, only six weeks since the marathon, contemplating the Half Iron Man I am about to throw myself into.  Just like Big Sur, I don't feel ready.  And just like Big Sur, I'm seriously doubting myself right now.  I'm nervous about the weather.  I'm nervous about the ride.  I'm nervous I'm going to disappoint myself.  But it's too late to back out now.  The race fees have been paid.  I made the long trip up here.  My bike is sitting in the transition area.  So all I can do is remind myself that I have put in the time and training, and I just have to give myself and my body a little credit.  Wish me luck.  I think to tomorrow just might hurt a tad...

Kayaking the Colorado

As if we hadn't pushed ourselves enough on  Saturday, Mouse and I decided to add a little more excitement to the weekend.  That's how we found ourselves paddling fiercely up the Colorado River  as the sun was setting behind the Arizona canyons, desperately hoping our riverside campsite would show itself before darkness enveloped us. (Yes - we actually were headed upstream.) We had made this trip before, and knew we were close, but were becoming slightly more nervous with every stroke.

We hadn't intended to push our luck like this.  We had had every intention of getting an earlier start. As soon as we got back to Vegas on Sunday afternoon, we switched out our gear, grabbed our kayaks, and headed past the Nevada border to kayak the portion of the Colorado River just south of the Hoover Dam.  But, of course, one thing always leads to another, and we ended up putting in at Willow Beach Marina much later than we had intended.

Initially, I was thrilled we had launched at the later time.  The heat of the day had passed, making our paddling much more comfortable.  After battling the blistering climate of Zion the day before, I welcomed the lower temperatures afforded by the shaded protection of the canyon walls.  Even better, the upstream current was almost negligible, making our paddling a breeze.  But my excitement faded as the daylight diminished, and we passed mile marker after mile marker with no campground in site.

True to form, we spotted our intended destination as night was quickly closing in, and skimmed our kayaks up along the sandy shore just as the last tidbits of light vanished from the sky.  If we had been a moment later, we would have had to navigate the river in complete darkness.  Leave it to us to arrive just in the nick of time.

The Arizona hot springs is one of our favorite little hideaways.   The only way to reach this semi-remote camping area is either by boat, or a fairly long hike from the highway, so it often feels like our own private getaway.  Unfortunately, we weren't so lucky this trip.  A very large, loud, and boisterous group of girls had already set up camp by the time we had arrived, their music and shrieks of laughter dashing our hopes of a peaceful night.  Fortunately, we were still able to find a secluded spot tucked back into the canyon, which allowed for a little solitude and some sense of tranquility.  We sipped our wine, chilled by the fire, and welcomed this chance to relax after such a strenuous weekend.  It's moments like this that remind me how lucky I am to live the life I do.

Tumbling Through Telephone Canyon

I know I've been saying this quite often lately, but I truly am beginning to question my sanity.  I found myself doing it again early Saturday evening, as a group of us trudged up the steep slickrock in Zion National Park.  We were all exhausted and incredibly sore after a full day of tackling Telephone Canyon, but there we were in the 100+ degree blistering heat, trying to find the trail that would lead us back to civilization.  We all moaned and groaned as we climbed further and further up the massive rock formation, but we had no choice but to continue on.  This is when I began questioning myself.  My feet ached, my quads burned, and my mouth felt like cotton.  The lukewarm water in my Camelback had ceased being refreshing hours ago.  I wanted nothing more than to be sitting at camp with a cold beer in my hand.  I could almost taste the bitter effervescence...

Dehydrated and spent, I had no one to blame but myself for this one.  It was definitely my fault we were here, after all.  Mouse would have been content spending the weekend by the pool.  I was the one who had pushed for this trip to Zion and for a day of canyoneering.  It had been way too long since we had visited Zion, and I had been craving a good day in the canyons for months.  I'm no newbie to the trials and tribulations of the canyons; I knew what I was getting myself into.  So, I did my best to keep my mouth shut and soldier on.

As we traipsed through the backcountry and I thought about the day, I had to admit it had been pretty good, despite my current state of fatigue.  There's just something about being in Zion that makes me feel alive.  And there's something about completing a canyon that makes me feel like I can conquer the world.  We descend into the unknown depths of unforgiving rock and hope for the best.  Sometimes, we swim through icy cold pools.  Sometimes, we wade through muck.  We didn't have to do either on Saturday, as Telephone is bone-dry this time of year, but we did have to contend with a series of incredibly awkward and challenging rappels.  I knocked myself around quite badly on a few of them, and am now sporting the scrapes and bruises to prove it.  But I also found myself in awe of the magnificent views as we delved further into the heart of the canyon.

Eventually we found the trail leading us back to the main part of the park.  Not long after, we found ourselves sitting at the campsite, knocking back ice cold beers, and trading war stories with our friends who had tackled other canyons that day.  Crazy or not, I can't think of a better way to spend my weekend.

Back in Vegas, But Not For Long

We rolled into Vegas yesterday, as the sun was dipping down into the horizon. We thought that by arriving later in the day, we could avoid the worst of the heat.  We couldn't have been more wrong; even without the sun beating down on us, it was still a blistering 103 degrees. The heat radiated off the blacktop in waves, magnifying our exhaustion. At that moment, unloading our things sounded like the worst idea in the world, but we didn't have a choice.

We may have said good-bye to Newport, but we're not quite ready to say hello to Denver yet. First, a road trip of epic proportions, with many nights spent in the back-country. So, for now, our possessions must reside in a storage unit in Vegas, while we roam the West.

Tonight, we head out to Zion. Tomorrow, we will hit a canyon. So hiking, rappelling, and slot-canyon swimming are in my near future. It's going to be hot, dirty, and exhausting, but it's also going to be exhilarating. Let the fun begin...