up, down, and bushwhacking around on coffee water

Well, y’all (read this like the weird-talking Alaskan I am, trying to speak Okie)… After a wild couple of months, I finally was able to run with a little more focus and consistency, and even added a hill repeat day back in the mix. Just one, though, because the next day, I started feeling that spot on my tibia that fractured in the fall of 2016. I thought maybe it was muscular because I was feeling a similar sensation on the left leg, too, but perhaps that was just me willing it to be soreness from amping up the intensity this week. I took a day off of running and then opted for softer, kinder terrain on the Arcadia trails. I only ran six miles and some change, and although the sensation didn’t get any worse, it didn’t feel any better. I couldn’t even really call it “pain,” but my doc would say that means nothing because my pain threshold is too high to be a true barometer. I’m sure that’s an Adi-specific evolutionary effect of lifelong clumsiness. In any case, it was enough for me to change this weekend’s long run from 12 miles on Mount Scott + 6 miles on Wichita Wildlife Refuge trails to one solid power hike up Mount Scott and let anything else be bonus.

My two girlfriends and I had been anticipating this camping trip for weeks, and come hell or high water, we were going. Of course, Mother Nature opted for high water, as we drove our stubborn asses down there in the middle of a torrential spring storm downpour. How very Oklahoma of you, Oklahoma. If ever there was a moment that would make me believe in a power higher than nature, it would be the moment we pulled into the campsite and it stopped raining long enough for us to set up our tents and clear a spot to drink wine and play cards in the back of E’s CRV. The rest of our evening was spent lighting a fire, and if that sounds like an embellishment of the effort we put into burning three pieces of wood, it’s not. Also, if it sounds like there were three camping noobs out there, there weren’t. Sometimes people have a random, inexplicable struggle moment with the basic things, and we, randomly and inexplicably, were all having the same struggle at the same moment. Whatever. At least we had plenty of old insurance cards, junk mail, and grocery store receipts in the car to burn long enough to cook dinner.

road to leadville muddy camping — Mother Nature did us a favor

a small break in the storms to set up our tents

road to leadville galoshes — forever grateful

for rainy camping & galoshes when you need it most

Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of wild turkeys and the smell of a skunk, and I hadn’t felt that content in many, many months. We all moseyed out of our tents, and a French Press of coffee water (oops!) later, we were on our way to Mount Scott. For those non-Okies, at 2464 feet high, it’s what we get in the way of mountains; and, although it’s not technical AT ALL (the road to the top is paved), the grade is a steep, steady three mile climb, and it’s fully exposed, making it a decent training spot for races with lots of elevation gain. All that, and being located in the wildlife refuge, the views are beautiful - not just beautiful for Oklahoma, but inherently beautiful. In any case, we were heading to the top.

road to leadville new shoes — brand, new road shoes

to take me to the top. and keep me smart?

Those poor girls. Every few minutes, I’d give an unsolicited update on my leg, and after every exclamation that I couldn’t even feel the spot, they were excited with me. All twenty-seven times. Or six. Whichever. I was proud of myself, though. Instead of pushing as hard as I could to the top, we hovered around a 15 minute per mile pace, and I didn’t run one step of the way down. My tibia didn’t even whisper to me for the entire 90 minutes, and it wasn’t until I, later, put on my trail shoes to go exploring that it made a sound. Hmmm… I’ve newly been running a lot more trails, lately. Maybe that’s the issue? We bushwhacked our way through the refuge, climbing the big boulders and making our own trails before tossing our muddy gear into the car and heading home. I wouldn’t call anything that we did training for Leadville, but those 24 hours have a proper spot in this little corner of cyberspace because I decidedly didn’t run so that I can stay on this road.