Susan Talks the Walk

I’m sitting at my desk which faces a window. Outside is the apple tree we’ve been trying to nurture into good health. It completely blocks my view of the front of the property and the road. It is as though I work in a secret arbor, though it is just the one tree and I am inside.

The songs and calls of many varied birds reaches my ears, but I sit watching the one that is bouncing from branch to branch. She is a cardinal. I only guessed it the first time I saw her with her orange beak, reddish crest and with a hint of red in tail and wings. One day she arrived with her partner, he in crimson glory.

So today, I won’t share much. Just the images from my desk and a quote for the day:

“Nature will not be admired by proxy.” Winston Churchill

If you’ve not gotten outside lately, I recommend it! Best, susan

The Percha Creek runs through the village. This morning’s miles had me crossing the bridge twice. Beside is a dead tree, barren branches reaching toward today’s cloudy sky. I think of this tree as “vulture perch”…today there were some dozens in it and the tree behind. They seemed to be asleep, though more than one perched as though a carved totem: motionless with wings spread wide enjoying nature’s air-conditioning. The big birds creep me out ever so slightly, their feigned sleep a cover for beady eyes watching my every step. It is my habit to mutter, “Not today, boys, not today,” as I pass beneath them.

Today, the sense of being watched was even stronger and so my gaze fell to the creek below. Three mule deer stood on a gravelly break of land between the flowing fingers of the creek. They were frozen waiting to see if I would notice them. When our eyes met, they turned and ran, clattering up the bank on the far side of the creek.

I was tired today when I woke. Today’s miles had to be decided upon - the urge to skip them strong. I’m glad I went. It’s not every day I enjoy so many spectators!

Best, susan

Hey all,

I’ll warn you right now, if you don’t like my stories, you might want to discard this asap.

That said, my conscience is clear and I’ll get on with it:

I get tired of carrying a water bottle with me even for reasonably short distances. Living in the desert as I do it’s pretty much a requirement to have water handy, especially in the summer. Today is overcast with the tag end of Edouard trying to act like it’s still something but so far no rain. I like overcast. It’s also breezy which means when I looked at the enticing elliptical machine in the studio and weighed some time on it against outdoor miles, well outdoor miles won.

My goal was to do half my miles to the west and back, then half to the east and back. I don’t have lots of options for roads, so this would all be on Hwy. 152 with my place in the middle. I figured I could go half my miles without water, so I filled a bottle and set it out in the yard waiting for my return at the half.

Then came Huey. Huey is a chow who lives some 3/10 or so of a mile to the west. Every morning he trots by on his way to the village and pees on our trees or our cars or whatever else is around. He’s very smug and I can tell when he’s around as my three dogs go nuts when Huey wags his haughty-ass past the property. It’s because of Huey that I have one dog who has learned that jumping the fence is fun.

Slim is two. He’s half bird-dog and probably half lab or retriever of some kind. We have fussed at him for jumping the fence, we’ve put him in solitary for bits of time, we’ve even raised the fences. The dog thinks he can fly. He especially hates me catching him because I’m the mom and he hates me fussing at him. “Naughty” and “You’re not being a good dog” are about as rough as I get, but he receives no pats on the head or rubs on the tummy right after an escape has been discovered and he knows it.

Last year when I’d fuss at him, I’d find reconciliation presents in the trail between the front cabin and the back studio. I’ve been given everything from dead badgers to a raccoon to a beautiful but dead pheasant. Such trifles didn’t appease me when Slim would be caught clearing the fence (now at 6 ft.) and so my presents eventually stopped. It’s monsoon season which means now we have to deal with leg bones, horns and hooves from some rotting cow that Slim has discovered. At least they’re not intented for me!

Anyway, this morning I left the property heading west and hadn’t gone far when the dogs were triggered. Here came Huey back from the village and then here came Slim. I was not in the mood to put him in solitary (the room where they all sleep), so I escorted Slim back to the front yard and ordered him over the fence. Slim waited to make sure that I was not going to walk alongside Huey (who had sashayed on like he wasn’t responsible in any way for the ruckus). Once it was clear that I was not taking up with Huey as an escort Slim reluctantly and effortlessly cleared the gate and was in the yard once more.

Five minutes wasted, I made a mental note as I’m timing myself to make sure I really have lost that extra minute that seemed to have attached itself to each mile when I was sick in June - and I have.

It was a great morning for miles. I was almost chilly! I clipped along at a comfortable pace and decided that the Gila was beckoning so I did more miles west of home than anticipated. I figured all I needed was to get to the first mile marker east of home on the return and I’d still be at the total I sought for the day. It meant I was pushing some extra miles, though, without water.

I was glad when I could see the big cottonwoods that mark the front of my place. I think I actually lost a normal half-minute as the thought of water urged me forward. Then I spotted the place where my water bottle had been - no sign of my stash. There were three dogs in the yard, and he-who-thinks-he-can-fly was looking rather guilty. I was ticked as I figured I was now out one good water bottle. Surely the beastie boys would have chewed it up or hidden it from me for future fun.

Putting it out of my mind and continuing on without water I finished my pre-appointed miles. Then I turned into the drive and saw my bottle lying on the ground just inside the gate. It looked to be intact. Slim lurked a bit behind the other two until I stooped to pick up the bottle and inspect it. Not even a tooth mark was visible. The spout on top was a little grimy with dirt, but from its appearance and Slim’s behavior I had the feeling it had been “saved” for me. The boys crowded around for pats and coos and even Slim received reassurances. He looked at me as if to say, “You forgot it and any ole dog could have come along and grabbed it. I am a hero for bringing it into the no-Huey zone.”

As I unfolded one of his ears that had gotten tangled in some moment of frivolity I told him he was my baby and that I loved him. He looked back at me with eyes I’d describe as “questionably innocent.” And in that moment I knew.

If I want water during miles in the future I will be lugging it along with me. Peace in the family has to come first.

Cheers! susan

Hey all,

It’s rare these days to receive personal mail, but a week ago an envelope thick with several pages inside arrived from overseas. It was from friends I made when I hiked the West Highland Way a couple of years ago. They’d sent several short articles from “Country Walking” - a magazine published in the UK.

Anyway, I took a break from other business to read the articles. Several are worthy of mention for the distances and circumstances under which these people did amazing things. No apology for the subjects being walkers - they are simply terrific stories about people going ultra distances.

Since it’s impossible to replicate the articles here, I thought I’d share links to websites that should get you there:

Jason Lewis spent 14 years circumnavigating the glove on his own two feet - sometimes on rollerblades, but always on his own leg power. Both his legs were broken when he was hit from behind by a vehicle in Pueblo, CO. His book (at time of mag. publication the book was untitled) is due out in Sept. - publisher is Fourth Estate. His blog: www.expedition360.com

Tom Isaacs, diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, decided to take a journey that he’d dreamed of since he was 14 yrs. old…to walk uninterrupted around the entire British coastline. His walk was some 4,500 miles. The book is titled “Shake Well Before Use” and is available from www.cureparkinsons.org.uk

Mark Olver is a stand-up comedian who decided that when he’s touring clubs he never sees the country, so he just walked from his home to the Edinburgh Festival - some 400 miles. His blog is featured on a British retailer’s site: www.berghaus.com

The last story is of two ordinary walkers who walked from Land’s End to John O’Groats (LEJOG). One, Carol Pollock, walked in memory of her daughter who died of brain cancer. The other is Steve Bleases. His route was 1,096 miles. His book is “End to End” and is available through www.landsendjohnogroats.co.uk

Now I’ve got to go order some books!

Best, susan

As you know I had a bit of a setback a few weeks ago when my book was rejected. From my desk I thought the publisher made the rejection quite personal and which made the rejection more startling as he’d been quite encouraging up to that time. So, I’ve not written much while waiting for a few trusted readers to give me some feedback as to whether or not the story even merited telling. I sent those early pages to a person who doesn’t know me at all, but who has the creds to be trustworthy when it comes to appraising manuscripts. I also sent it to two friends who know my other books and who’ve been after me to write another. Since they know my style and are very trusted friends (even brave as reviewing a manuscript takes some guts) I know they’ll be honest with me. First words back to me were encouraging and had some great valid suggestions on how to improve what I’ve started.

All that said, I was still licking wounds and sitting the fence about continuing the project. I even considered starting an online magazine - not just for my own stuff but for the many great stories that never get told because publishers aren’t necessarily the best judges of what’s good and/or interesting.

Then Monday I received a phone call from a friend in the village. She was having a few other people over for a luncheon on Tuesday and was inviting me to come. I didn’t know the other women except one by reputation - she’s the author of a book that was turned into a successful movie some years back. I’ve wanted opportunity to sit and visit with her, but our paths don’t seem to cross. I was then told the other women invited are all authors as well.

I’m not much of joiner-of-groups. I got a little panicky over the thought that this might be the start of something and what if I was the odd woman out? Silly to be nervous, but hey, I’ve been in the art and literary worlds long enough to know I’m more comfortable in the running and walking worlds. I like us. We’re rather down-to-earth and you should take that as a compliment - all of you!

Anyway, I went to the lunch and the food was good. The conversation was even better. They didn’t know my books, I didn’t know theirs, but when they learned what I’d been through with the publisher recently - whoa, the stories I heard about that particular publishing house and their opinions of it. I immediately felt better.

Then, the oddest thing happened. Legitimate advice started flowing my way. I have a whole page of notes now on places I should submit the manuscript and various articles to. One person even gave me the name of her contact at a publishing house and encouraged me to use my new friend’s name in way of introduction. Wow.

I don’t want to read like a bumpkin, but this was almost as good as the support runners and walkers give each other in online forums and when they get to visit on event weekends. My habit of using ultras as metaphor for life and vice versa has been questioned (mostly kindly) by a random reader from time to time. I’m even guilty-as-charged of dragging writing and publishing into the metaphoric maze, but without wanting to be tedious I have to share:

I left the luncheon feeling as though I’d suddenly gained a pacer or two. The woman who really stepped up with advice and leads followed me home to get copies of my books. She just called to talk more. She’s got an agent and contracts and royalties. (I’ve had a contract and still get royalties, but no agent…sigh.) She told another in yesterday’s group that there are three things necessary for one to be a successful writer:

1. talent
2. persistence
3. contacts

Now those don’t all translate to the running world, but the persistence certainly does. As a person who has more than once in her life been told “you are so damn independent” I am not used to such support. I was told today, “You’ve got books to write.” I don’t think my new pacer is going to let me slack off.

It’s all got me thinking (I can hear you saying, “Oh no, here she goes again…”), but even the most independent of us here has had pacers. We apply their hard-earned tips and suggestions on everything from gear to blister remedies, and even if they don’t run alongside us in an event, their words echo in our heads. We come to that spot on a course and remember the advice given on how to survive that hill or that dangerous patch of scree. We remember what we’ve read about pacing through the many miles, and what it means if our hands are getting puffy and we’re feeling disoriented.

So I have to conclude that no matter how solo we may think our runs or walks are, we’ve all got pacers. Just because they’re invisible on race day doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Next time I’m out there, I’m going to nod when I look over my shoulder, even if no one else knows why! susan

It’s the high season for some pretty impressive ultra events. In the last few weeks I’ve enjoyed reading reports on (in no particular order): the Vermont 100 (miles), Hardrock (little more than 100 miles) up and down through the Rockies, Badwater (135 miles through the Mojave in July), the Big Horn 100, and most recently Vol-State (300+ miles on roads from one end of Tennessee to another).

The people who share their experiences from these events inspire those who read their reports. They share generously from their successes and their failures. I, as an onlooker, am always in awe that they even dare to dream of such things.

And so they have me thinking. My book was recently rejected on the first 59 pages by an editor in chief whose criticism was that there wasn’t enough life-threatening drama in those early pages. His main complaint was that I prepared so thoroughly for my trek across the Jornada del Muerto and up toward Santa Fe that I’d eliminated all risk. He then went on to patronize me and explain that good travel or adventure writers not only introduce a place to their readers, the writers also give the readers knowledge of themselves (the writers) and others they meet along the way. His suggestion was that I didn’t reveal myself in my words. That I have issue with. As Matt says, “You’ve gone beyond painfully honest to just simply completely honest.” I have wondered if the EiC even read the pages he received, but that is a little off point.

I am the first to admit that I prefer not to have life-threatening experiences during my adventures. Sometimes they happen anyway and make for dramatic stories. So far I’ve been lucky and have never suffered more than a cold dunk in a river or a few bumps and bruises. Most people who undertake adventures plan carefully, train if required, and don’t hope for death-defying moments.

In my writing I relate closely to those who have gone before me. Oh, I am not an academic and so my relationship to people from another age is a bit organic. I find history interesting because of the humans involved. So, in my crossing of the Jornada I thought a lot about the preparation the early caravans went through. Expeditions, whether across such challenging land or even over the ocean from Spain, would have required incredible planning. To forget or run out of supplies would most certainly been life-threatening.

As I read the many reports of those who have successfully covered their 100 or 300 miles and of those who have stumbled in their efforts, I have to admit that I am inspired. No one I know in the running and walking world ever wants to hear of another seriously injured or even dying because of the sport. We know it can happen - so we train and take our best care to push ourselves to new limits without crossing into life-threatening situations.

For me, my adventures might be tame to an Editor in Chief sitting in his office. He wrote me that my book certainly wasn’t going to be as exciting as say, “Rafting Down the Boh.” (The Boh is a river in Borneo - he explained such to me.) I suppose locations close to home do not seem so challenging or very exotic, but then he didn’t have the whole story.

Which brings me to something that has been nagging at the edges of my daily thoughts. There is a difference between life-changing and life-threatening. Even tame adventures can be life-changing. I think of those who just completed Vol-State. They will be forever changed by their experiences. It may take a while for all the lessons to settle. I often think we gain little wisdoms from such experiences. They may be insights into ourselves, or small changes in our perception of a place, people, even the world. Little wisdoms gained in such experiences are life-changing in both subtle and large ways. They influence people as people allow them to.

If I move forward with my book (and I am still not sure) it will be the story of at least one adventure of just me - an ordinary woman living life the way she needs to. I would hope to share some little wisdoms and to entertain.

Life-changing may not have the dramatic tension of a life-threatening situation, but life-changing adventures whether they are big or small are important. What’s more, they are accessible to everyone.

I’m not angry with the editor in chief, nor am I defensive. He has the right to accept or reject any manuscript he chooses. What is interesting is that he made it so very personal. Most rejections are simply “While this is no reflection on the quality of your work, your manuscript does not meet our needs at this time.” Something I wrote must have really bothered this man.

In the meantime, I am doing what I need to. I have already had my miles today, I am dreaming of future adventures, and I am waiting for inspiration. I am even writing some. For those who have been battered and bruised and blistered and bloodied with their involvement in the summer ultras have inspired me. They, regardless of success or failure, have had their lives changed and by their sharing of their experiences they have touched others’ lives as well. To them I am grateful.

As I’ve been writing I’ve been thinking on how to close this. It’s a little more serious than I wanted but such it is. So on a note that expresses my sentiments in a way I probably wouldn’t write, but do appreciate I’ll give you a quote from a movie currently in theaters. “Wanted” is definitely violent, incredibly far-reaching, and still entertaining. The last line of the movie, the hero looks at the camera and says,

“What the **** have you done lately?”

I know how he feels.

Today I was supposed to go for 10 training miles on pavement. No one is dictating my training program, it’s self-imposed (or self-inflicted?) and right now includes cross-training on an elliptical machine. I’m charting the total number of minutes I exercise each week, and try to do something in the way of exercise 5-6 days per week. So far so good.

Until this morning. It’s the time of the full moon and I’ve not been sleeping well. I live where there are no street lamps near and am used to dark nights. The full moon illuminates my bedroom and I wake up at 1 a.m. or 4 a.m. thinking it’s time to start my day. I don’t want to put black-out curtains on the window during the summer because the window is open to help cool the room at night.

So today I procrastinated in bed debating which of the local two roads available I should get my 10 miles on. There are advantages and disadvantages to each road, but this morning I was feeling a bit tired and a bit bored with my options. Matt likes my Sunday morning miles as he usually drives along as my support vehicle, enabling me to not have to do an out-and-back walk like I do when he’s not around. He also watches for my safety when I’m out far from where anyone would ever hear me if I needed help.

I could have chosen either of the roads, or even a dirt road that goes into the wilds and is not far from home. The thought crossed my mind that I could simply bag the idea of going anywhere and stay home, laziness presenting itself as fully tempting. Then I thought about my desire to stick to my regimen, to work my way back toward my fittest self. I knew if I did nothing it wouldn’t really sit easy in the back of my thoughts.

Matt patiently waited in the rocking chair for me to make my mind up about today’s miles when I came up with another option: what about our heading to a trail in the Black Range mtns. - one that we could hike together? He was immediately receptive.

I hopped out of bed, threw on some clothes and sunscreen, grabbed a banana for breakfast, and we headed out the door with water bottles and trekking poles in hand. In my pocket was a ziploc with tissue and SPF 25 lip balm as well as my emergency whistle.

We drove about 25 minutes to Emery Pass. It’s a lovely drive, not so many miles but one with lots of curves that require the driver to take the road carefully and slowly. There’s parking at the trail head, and there are even permanent camp toilets. Ours was the only car at that fairly early hour.

The temp was in the mid-60s. The view was spectacular. We commented on the visible moisture in the air over the lower mtns. And then we walked. The trail is considered a moderate one. We started at just over 8,200 feet and climbed at an easy grade from there. Our goal was to hike for an hour, then turn around and come back down.

The trail was ours and ours alone for that first hour. There were a couple of spots with really magnificent vistas. More than once we spotted Hillsboro far below. There were numerous birds, old scat from a mountain lion, and fresher scat from a fox.

On our return we met a group of four from Silver City. They were headed to Hillsboro Peak. Then when we were close to the trail head’s parking area we came on a large group (probably two dozen or so) of people who belong to a plant identifying group. They seemed very happy to see us, though we weren’t sure why. Maybe it was just the camaraderie of people on the same trail, sharing enjoyment of the place? Maybe it was that we’d been higher up the mountain and were already returning and with no harm done? It could have been they were simply friendly people. Either way, we enjoyed the exchanges and were off toward the car before long.

During the drive home I thought about my decision. I was in a great mood, had enjoyed the hike with Matt alongside instead of in the car as support, and knew I’d had a good 110 minutes of steady exercise. It broke the somewhat rut I can easily fall into, and Matt agreed with me that it was completely relaxing.

Every day we make choices that impact our health. We choose what we eat, we choose to exercise or not. We can also choose how we feel about our progess toward fitness. Today I decided not to worry about how many miles or how fast I walked them, and instead simply went for an excellent hike alongside Matt. Oh, I know I still got my exercise in, it just felt more like I was playing than working out.

So, if you’re a runner or if you’re a walker and you’re struggling with another day of miles on the road, don’t despair and don’t slack off. Just go take a hike!

A friend of mine inspired me today. He went to Hardrock this weekend and covered a lot of miles. However, he didn’t finish. After a couple of days to recover he’s just let me know he’ll be at the starting line for the Vermont 100. His email came with perfect timing.

I was just sitting here thinking about how life sometimes runs parallel to the life of an ultra athlete. I just rec’d my rejection from UNM Press for the new book. If ever an adventure was suited to a press, my April walk was all about the land of NM and the history. I feel like I’ve suffered a major DNF, but am already considering the comments from the Editor in Chief who kicked me to the curb. Much of what he said has me wondering if he’d even read my pages, but one comment is actually useful.

Matt took the EiC’s comment a step further and is encouraging me to finish the book and maybe expand it from just the April walk to a collection of stories (short and long) about several of my adventures.

So, right now I’m counting the good things: I was really consistent in my training last week and we successfully assembled my new elliptical machine for cross-training, and we didn’t flood last night! I’m planning on something else creative for the next day or so. I won’t decide about the writing until later in the week. You might say I’m going to take the in-between days to recover from my DNF.

That’s one thing I have learned from ultra-athletes and ultras myself - if today isn’t the day, we get ready for the next one and sooner or later we make it to the finish line. Some days we might not achieve all the miles we hoped for, but we never really give up!

Last weekend I went to Bellevue, WA (just outside Seattle) for the Seafair marathon and expo. I had a booth at the expo and gave a presentation on the origins of the marathon as well. It was much hotter than expected which didn’t bode well for marathon day.

Saturday evening I lucked out and ran into one of the Ghost Town 38.5’s alum - Eugene DeFronzo. He invited me to join him and others at the table so we had a pleasant visit during supper. As it turned out, one of the women from dinner was waiting for the first shuttle of the morning come race day.

Those of us staying at the host hotel (Bellevue Hilton) were fortunate to have a shuttle that took us right from the hotel to the start line at U. WA Husky Stadium. Our shuttle was 20-25 minutes late but we suffered mildly compared to those gathered at Bellevue Park for shuttles. There were organizational glitches with the buses that caused a 15 minute delay in the race start. Oh well.

I made a list of many of the good aspects of this event. Some are more personal preference, but for what they’re worth:

- Everyone on the staff was lovely to deal with.

- I thought the course was lovely. I participated in the half marathon so experienced the first 13.1 miles. It’s mostly hills with lots of vegetation and a decent amount of shade.

- Many people came to the event because of the mileage on the floating bridge. It was great mileage. The view from over the water was lovely and the temps were a bit cooler than when we left it behind us.

- I’m not a huge fan of city events and events with lots of people. I distracted myself in those early miles by listening to the many different birds in the sea grasses and rushes. The smell of a variety of growing things is always pleasant to someone from the desert. This race had many such delightful distractions.

- The aid stations were well-organized with water at one table and sport drink at another.

- Many residents along the way turned on their spray hoses to cool us down as went by. Two little girls offered us bananas. When one of my companions (read the story below) needed more water, they brought her a cold bottle from their fridge. God bless them and their parents!

- There were loads of volunteers at every driveway or side road that entered the main course. This was to keep us from getting lost but also to stop any traffic trying to turn into our route. I was impressed with the numbers of volunteers and police officers watching out for us.

- There was a full marathon, relay for the full, runners’ half, and walkers’ half. As a walker, I really appreciated the fact that everyone and everything was in place for the walkers as well as the runners. It was a great experience to participate in a the walking event. I didn’t feel like I was just a walker lost in a running event.

In writing a race report, it’s not fair to just include the high points, though it’s not my style to trash an event either. So, here are some things that I’m pretty sure the organizers will be working on before next year’s event:

- They ran out of certain sizes of the race shirt on Saturday.

- There was only water at the start line. Bananas would have been nice. There was no food at any of the aid stations. There was water and Glukos (sponsoring sport drink).

- The problem with the buses apparently left some runners stranded at the park and they missed the start of the race. Many of these were registered for the full marathon. They were given an option to then be shuttled to the half-way point so they could run the back-half of the course for 13.1 miles.

- They ran out of half marathon medals quickly. I did not receive one nor did most of the walkers and I imagine a number of the slower runners. I’ve been told mine will be mailed to me. It will be anti-climactic when it arrives. There is definitely something special about having a medal around my neck when I’ve just finished an event. That was missing. It was made more difficult because for the last few miles of the half we were passing a number of those who had already finished and they were proudly wearing their medals. My neck was bare when I finished and walked back to the hotel. Hmm. I was told they were short by as many as 1100 medals overall. Not good.

- I was with Eugene on the bus to the airport on Monday. I did not experience this first hand, but it is what I was told. The slower runners in the full marathon experienced a course in their final 11-13 miles that was closed for the most part. They knew they’d be on the sidewalks after 6 hours, but there were no open aid stations, no traffic cones, no volunteers, no police officers at the intersections. They resorted to stopping vehicles to ask if there runners up ahead so they knew if they were on the course or not.

While this was just a half marathon for me it will probably be my most memorable. I have a fairly short story that will explain:

I was moving along alright, feeling still a bit poorly. I was breathing better than I had in the previous two weeks. On Friday I’d taken a short walk and had to rest on a bench for 20 minutes after the first mile. At least I was doing better than that, but I was in a “why did I think I should do an event?” mood. Those who know me know I prefer solitary treks. I had signed up for this event because I felt it was a good thing to keep me training with a goal in sight.

Anyway, around mile seven or so I came upon a trio of walkers: one woman and two men. She had on a shirt that indicated she is a cancer survivor. I was about to pass them when I heard her say something to the effect, “I can’t do this. I think we should quit. It’s too much.” I fell in alongside them and asked if she’d like some company. I volunteered to tell her the story behind the marathon (it’s a favorite - doh) and we’d try a mile or two. If she felt it helped, we’d go along further together.

Well, we went that first mile. And some more. She still has cancer. As a matter of fact, Monday she started her third series of treatments. This time it’s all experimental. Her form of cancer is not one I am familiar with, but it’s now inoperable microscopic malignancies in places like the forehead part of her skull. She has 5 and 9 yr. old children. The two men with her were her husband and brother. They didn’t know what to do to get her through the race. The husband carried a large bag of meds. We stopped for her pain medicine. A few miles later we stopped for her calcium because she was going numb on one side. I chattered on, sometimes making her laugh, all the time praying I could find things to keep her entertained.

She apologized when we had to stop on a hill. I didn’t cry though I wanted to. Instead I said something ridiculous and got them all laughing. She talked to me of the failed treatments and her hope that they’d give her a shunt for the IVs. She’d have two IVs on Monday - one to build her bones and the other to fight the cancer. She has to have the one for the bones every week now for who-knows-how-long. She spoke with a lot of “ifs” about her future. She nearly quit again on the last hill. I told her we’d finish under 4 hours and she was doing great. She continued to move forward. She told me that even though she wasn’t saying much she was happy to listen to me as she explained, “The guys don’t talk.”

The finish line was in sight and I encouraged the trio to go forward to the mat together. My son Samuel was along the barricades applauding me in. The clock said 3:43:++ We were all teary-eyed but laughing. I hugged them and blessed them and went to join Sam. I am grateful to Crystal and her husband and brother for giving me the best half marathon I’ve ever experienced. Sometimes, it’s not about the clock.

I live at a mile high. It is not the low desert. Today it is so hot that when I took the laundry from the washing machine it felt almost dry. The washer stopped only an hour ago or so.

Two of my dogs are miserable. They dig shallow places under the trees and still they crossed with me when I came back to the studio. They stood with heads pressed to the door, a lethargic begging to come inside. They were through the door before I was. Now they are stretched out on the tile floor in the jet stream from the swamp cooler. I hear them panting.

My older one likes the heat. He is arthritic. He is the smallest of the three and only wants to be inside once it’s dark. He knows there are big bad guys lurking about. Once he could have outrun them. Those days are gone for him as the arthritis is especially bad in his hips.

So, the laundry room is attached to the back porch of the cabin. The cabin sits beneath two mammoth cottonwoods. I find that word “mammoth” to be interesting. Why not “mastadons?” The heat is getting to me.

On the back porch, in the shade, is a large wall thermometer. Fifteen minutes ago it read 107. Here in NM because our heat is dry we figure another 10 degrees in the sun. We will not reach the summit of our day’s heat until close to 5:00 pm. The coolers will have to run all night tonight.

From where I sit in the studio I can see the sky is filling with clouds. They will do this for some days, maybe weeks. We like to think our monsoons begin with the Fourth of July. That used to hold true. It also used to be that a day over 100 was the rarity. These clouds are too white. They do not hold the rain we need. They are too high. If they did give forth moisture it would evaporate before it ever reached our treetops.

It is too hot. I do not know if the entire west is so hot right now. I just know what is here. Two weeks from now I will be returning from Seattle. I’m going to speak at the Seafair marathon expo, to see two of my kids, to walk the half marathon. The kids tell me to expect temperatures in the low 60s. I hope to live long enough to get there!

Today I’ve been writing about the third day of my April walk. It was one of the hottest days. Just thinking about being outside right now makes me want to lie down on the tile floor like the dogs. Thing is, if I did, they’d want to come over and be near me. It would hurt their feelings, but I know I would encourage them to give me space.

Today I am thinking I was smart to go to the Arctic last July. Today I am glad I am not going to be at Western States or Badwater. Today I am thinking of all of you who will be. Many blessings to you all.