Be Happy

"We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry."

-E.B. White

Mistakes Made Lessons Learned

My dad noted that, after each of the seven marathons he's run, he's added a few more items to the "lessons learned" list.

For me, this year's Denver Marathon was, glass half-empty, a uniform disaster; glass half-full, an opportunity to add several items to the "lessons learned" list.

Experienced racers will likely note, I suppose, that these are lessons I should have already learned early in the course of a 20-plus-year racing career, but hey, everything old is new again, and if you ask yourselves honestly, I'll bet that every one of you has pulled a jazzer move along those lines in the not-so-distant past.

Lessons learned: Denver Marathon, 2009

1) It is best to get to the starting line more than 5 minutes before your race.

I got to the starting line late, and found that it was impossible to get through the fence to runners in my goal pace group (my goal was just to run a Boston-qualifying 3:40). By worming my way through the throngs, I was able to get in behind the 5-hour marathon pace group, so had to work my way around runners for the first four miles, at which time I decided that it was not pre-race nerves and I actually did really, really have to pee....

2) Take care of business before you get to the starting line.

I lost another 2:30 waiting in line behind just one person at a three-port-o-potty stop (apparently, the 4 a.m. wakeup call prevented a lot of people from getting in that all-important pre-race deuce), but was feeling relaxed and gradually making up about 15 seconds per mile to get back on my goal pace, when I started experiencing stabbing pain in my right knee at mile 7.

3) If continuing to run simulates an attack with an ice pick, it may be best to stop running.

Instead of dropping out, which would have been the sensible thing to do, I stuck it out. By shortening my stride by half, I was able to get the pain in my knee to the point where it just felt like an ice pick was lodged in it, instead of feeling as though someone was palpitating the entire inside of my knee with an ice pick. I kept hoping it would go away, and that I could make up the time, but by mile 13 I had reached the conclusions that: a) it wasn't going away and b) there was no way I was going to be able to achieve my goal time.

4) Pride goeth before a fall (or in this case, before a very, very slow time).

Unfortunately, unlike every other marathon I've done, Denver, as far as I could tell, has no designated medical stops along the way where you can exit gracefully; instead, they had volunteers patrolling the course who you were supposed to flag down. With the pain-clouded remnants of my brain semi-functional at best, by the time I figured out it was a course patroller and not just a spectator riding by on a bike, they were out of range; plus, I was nervous that this would involve calling an ambulance and the associated embarrassment, looks of pity from fellow runners and spectators, and expense.*

5) Intense bursts of pain effectively simulate an acute asthma or panic attack.

So, I sucked it up and kept shuffling one foot in front of the other, and only occasionally had flashes where the pain was so intense it made me hyperventilate, until I could calm myself down enough to be able to breathe through my nose again.

Sample thought process:

Heather: "Thank God! Only 5 more miles to go."

[pause]

[dawning horrified realization]

Heather: "Oh my God, at this pace, that is going to take me almost another HOUR. S***!"

[cue pain- and terror-induced bout of hyperventilation]


The weight of the medallion placed around my salt-crusted neck was heavier than usual this time, and didn't seem to lift completely, even after I'd placed the medal in my warmup bag. Time to reflect, revisit these old mistakes lessons, and hopefully, avoid repeating them in the next go-round.

I limp to race another day.



*That "bus" fare tends to be pricey.

St. Patrick's Day is about more than green beer.

St. Patrick's Day is tomorrow--time to shop for your ingredients for "everybody's Irish" day! May I humbly suggest a menu of recipes derived from The New Irish Table:

First Course
Roasted Parsnip, Apple, and Ginger Soup with Parsnip Crisps, from Brewley's Cafe, Grafton St, Dublin

Second Course
Blue Cheese Potato Cakes with Creme Fraiche, Cafe Paradiso, Cork

Main Course
Cornish Hens with Apricot, Port, and Balsamic Sauce, Lettercollum House, Timoleague, County Cork

Dessert
Grace Neill's Chocolate and Guinness Brownies, Donaghadee, County Down

Enjoy!

The Ides of March...

...not just for Roman dictators anymore.

On the Front Range, March 15* is the date to start planting cool-weather crops. From now through April 15, seeds that can be sown outside include beets, carrots, chard, kale, lettuce, onions, peas, radishes, and spinach; roots and tubers that can be started now include onion sets, seed potatoes, rhubarb burls, and garlic (for slackers like me who forgot to plant it last fall--get your garlic cloves in the ground now, and the bulbs'll be ready to harvest in mid-September).

For those of us non-Colorado natives, gardening in Boulder's high desert climate can be a challenge; plants' need for consistent, near-daily watering doesn't always work well with out-of-town weekend running and cycling races! Try to recruit a friend with a different racing schedule to water your garden while you're gone, and be sure to reciprocate. Also, don't forget to give your garden soil some compost lovin'!

Don't go gangbusters on everything yet, though. Go ahead and buy the seeds now, but hold off on planting seeds for beans, corn, squash, sunflowers, and other cold-sensitive annuals like basil and zinnias until May 15. If you buy the plants from the garden store, melons, peppers, squash, and tomatoes can be planted at this time, also.

A great source for seeds is Broomfield-based, family-owned Botanical Interests: they offer a huge array of All-America, heirloom, drought-tolerant, and organic seeds--they're available in local gardening stores and even some grocery stores, like Niwot Market. All 500-plus varieties of seeds are also available online--they ship across the U.S., too. Be sure to get a packet of the Goldy Honey Bear sunflowers for your favorite honey bear--they're drought-tolerant and make gorgeous cut flowers!

Good local gardening resources for Front Rangers include Sturtz & Copeland, who feature a comprehensive Boulder-area gardening guide on their web site (from which I gleaned most of the above information); Botanical Interests; and Colorado Gardening.

Get your cool-season crops planted now, and you'll be enjoying, ahem, Caesar salad by May Day.

*Yes, I'm aware that I actually posted this on March 16--what can I say, I was out planting the garden all day yesterday!

Devil's Thumb

This winter, we're renting a cabin in Tabernash, Colorado with a group of friends. The cabin's a mile from Devil's Thumb Ranch, with great views of the Ranch Creek Valley, Winter Park ski area, and the Continental Divide.

I took these sunset photos from the cabin's front porch on February 7, 2009.







Devil's Thumb Ranch was named one of Outside Magazine's best romantic getaways in this month's issue; it's not hard to see why.

The 40-foot, hand-stacked, locally-quarried stone fireplace mentioned in the article:


View from Morningstar trail:

Cabin Creek Stables:

Meadow trail:
Devil's Thumb would be an impressive place to stay for a no-expense-spared weekend of luxury accommodations, outstanding local, organic, and seasonal cuisine with panoramic views of the Continental Divide, spa services, romantic horse-drawn sleigh rides, and over 100k of groomed cross-country ski trails...

...for us mere mortals, at $18 a day for a trail pass ($12 for Boulder Nordic club members), you can ski at Devil's Thumb for a week for the price of one lift ticket to fight crowds and dodge out-of-control snowboarders at Copper! And enjoy the same glorious views, pristine trails, and unparalleled sunsets.

If you're ever in Colorado, Tabernash and Devil's Thumb are definitely worth checking out.

Stuff White [Boulderites] Like

Tonight Alan and I went to a reading by Christian Lander at the Boulder Book Store. He read a few excerpts from his book, Stuff White People Like, especially selected for Boulder, including: #61: Bicycles, #94: New Balance Shoes, and #101: Scarves.

Cold days, hot food.

From all reports, the weather's been pretty miserable back East. My personal philosophy is when it's too cold and snowy outside to ski, it's a good time to be inside, ideally curled up in front of a fire with a warm blanket and a good book. And something special to sip or nibble.

These scones--hot, fragrant, and fresh from the oven--fit the bill. I modified Ina Garten's cheddar-dill scone recipe from The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook.

4 cups all-purpose flour
2 Tablespoons baking powder
2 teaspoons salt
3/4 lb (3 sticks) cold unsalted butter, diced
4 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup cold heavy cream
1/2 lb extra sharp cheddar, shredded (you Upstaters had better use Heluva Good!)
1/2 cup diced chives

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer.

Add the butter; mix on low speed until the butter is almost fully incorporated into the flour.

Beat the eggs...

and mix with the heavy cream; quickly add to the flour-butter mixture and combine until just blended.

Add the cheddar...

...and chives to the dough; mix until almost fully incorporated.

Knead the dough on a well-floured surface for a minute; roll the dough 3/4" thick. Cut in to 4-inch squares, then in half to make triangles.

Brush the tops with egg wash. Bake on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper for 20-25 minutes, until the outside is crusty and the inside is fully baked.

Serve warm, curled up in your favorite blanket, with your favorite Alexander McCall Smith book, and enjoy!

Alley Loop!

On Saturday, we had a fun time skiing in and around Crested Butte in the Alley Loop.

With cloudless blue skies and brilliant sun, it was quite a contrast from last year's race!



Alan and Rory celebrate at the finish of the 42k.


Selina, Tasha, Alan, Rory, and Keith unwinding after the race at the New Belgium beer garden. New Belgium debuted a new ale--Giddy Up!--brewed with lemon peel and infused with espresso. Sounds gross, tastes great!

Great race, everyone!

The grass is always greener...

...unless you live in Denver, in which case it's sort of a crispy brown unless copiously watered.

However, it's apparently a very desirable crispy brown, according to the Pew Research Center's Social and Demographic Trends Project.

1 part skiing + 1 part cycling + 1 part crazy=

ski cross

Debuts in the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.
Fascinating articles on the sport to be coming soon to the Journal of Orthopaedic Trauma.

Gwen

In the summer of 1999, after Jenny's graduation from Williamson High School and mine from Cornell, a scrawny, hyper Rottweiler named Gwen entered our lives.

Caught in Greece (a suburb of Rochester) this Rottweiler was in the city pound, awaiting euthanasia, when a representative from G.R.A.S.P. (Greece Residents Assisting Stray Pets) saw her. Despite being a street Rottweiler, she had a sweet nature. The GRASP volunteer decided to take a chance on her and arranged for her to live in a foster home in Greece.

Several months earlier, we'd lost our beloved Tasha, who since birth had been Jenny's constant companion. Without a dog, the house seemed somehow empty, and we began to look at listings from Lollypop Farm, the local humane society. At first, we consciously tried to avoid the Rottweilers, but have always been drawn to their intelligence and steady natures. Eventually, we saw a listing for the goofy-looking Gwen.

We arranged to visit Gwen at her foster home, and took her for a walk along the city sidewalks. Excited, Gwen jumped around and strained on her leash, the antithesis of steady, doting Tasha. Jenny and I were doubtful that Gwen would be able to transition from urban sidewalks and yards to acres of fields and open space, but Dad was sure she would adjust if given the chance. He arranged for Gwen to come out to the farm.

Gwen's visit to the farm was a bit of a disaster; overwhelmed by the new smells and strange sights, she jumped around, barked, and panted incessantly, even snapping at the horses in their stalls. In the house, she paced around, nervously carrying her Lamby Doll like a security blanket. Dad confidently signed the adoption papers, despite Jenny's and my misgivings--to us, it felt as though we were insulting Tasha's memory.

Over the coming days, Gwen settled in to her new surroundings: she was able to walk into the barn without barking at the horses, and stopped panting uncontrollably. To me, it was clear she'd adjusted when Lamby went from being a security item she'd carry around the house with her and sleep with to a tossing, thrashing, ripping-limbs-off toy.

As I was away working, and Jenny was away at school, Gwen became the primary topic of many conversations with our parents: we'd call to discuss classes, and end up hearing about the latest cute thing Gwenny did. Imperceptibly, years passed, and almost as imperceptibly, Gwen became the steady, loving dog Dad had seen in her from the very beginning.

In what seemed like overnight, Gwen's muzzle began to show a few gray hairs, and cataracts started to form in her eyes. Even as arthritis slowed her down, she would still do a happy dance when Jenny or I came to visit, though with slightly subdued wriggles.

Recently, Gwen's esophagus stopped working, and she began to spit up her food and lose weight. Dad had to elevate her food bowl, and awoke every couple of hours at night to feed her canned puppy chow and encourage her to sit up to digest her food. Sitting hopefully next to the dinner table, her struggling digestive noises earned her the nickname "Gurgle Girl," which she took in good humor.

Last week, though, Gwenny aspirated some of her food and became septic, unable to eat and only able to take sips of water. On January 15, 2009, ten years after she was saved from being destroyed at the city pound, our family veterinarian put Gwen to sleep, with Dad there to hold her and to thank her for her love and companionship.

We miss you, Gwenny.