Twilight Scramble. Didn't Die.

     I entered 2020 injury free and in good condition, so I had my event calendar out and was looking forward to a year of adventures. But then 2020 happened, and we all know how that went. I did do the CrossFit Open in 2020, '21 and '22 (placed 84th in my age group globally, so *yay me*). But doing a competition in your home gym, fun though it may be, is just not the same as showing up and getting the job done.

    Enter 2022. Managed to remain injury free (since there were no grueling events to be had recently) and once again got out my event calendar. I've been cycling, swimming, and running with the plan to do the Gator Grinder Triathlon in Canby back in May. I signed up, got serious about my running training, got new handlebars and tires for my Motobecane 529HT bike (yes, it's a hardtail mountain bike, but it's the lightest of my bikes and has good gearing ratios). Then, realized too late that I had a weekend of wildfire training to get my Crew Boss (FF1 S-131) NFPA certification that same weekend *boo*. Oh well, my entry fee went to support the Canby swim team, so it is a worthy cause.

    Okay. That brings us to this last weekend and the Twilight Scramble Adventure Race on Mount Hood. My training has faltered a bit because I caught the cold virus from hell, so rough that I Covid tested three times just to be sure. Three weeks of congestion and lethargy. I managed to keep on top of my indoor cycling and weight training though, which was my salvation.

     It was a bit alarming to show up at the Sno-park to see a number of Search and Rescue vehicles, and wondering if there was something that I should know. But it turns out they were just finishing up a training session. This event is an afternoon race, 5K across gnarly terrain, no trail just "follow the marking flags". And they were serious when they said, "No Trail." The weather has been absolute shit this spring, and Saturday was no different. Cold and drizzly, with a chilly breeze blowing down off the glacier. I decided to pretend I was racing in March not June. It was a small group, very small, only about 20 people registered and of those only 10 of us actually showed up. I was the oldest by at least 20 years, which was cool. We were all excited to be back on a trail adventure, despite the weather.

    The races started with a decent uphill run of about 1/4 mile on a gravel Forest Service road. It was enough to get my heart rate up, for sure. Then a hard left turn up a steep gravelly slope. And I mean hands and feet steep. Then we were into the woods and trotting along. I managed to move from last to 8th (my main goal was to not be last). This was probably the easiest part of the course, but it was too good to last. Down a steep gravelly slope in a controlled slide/crabwalk and onto the flat rocky approach to the first crossing of the White River. The White River is glacier and snow fed, and it is feckin' cold! I spent a few minutes finding a decent section to cross that wasn't white water, meanwhile the couple I had passed caught up to me. But I crossed first, only getting wet to the knees and elbows. Across more rocky ground, a creek crossing over narrow log, to another scree covered steep slope. This was the steepest so far. Scrambled up, crossed an area full of bear grass and naked huckleberry bushes, and then into the snow zone. The course was about 50% snow covered. It was slow going. I did take advantage of the steeper declines by just sitting down and sliding. Snow interspersed with small sections of clear ground, over logs and boulders, always keeping an eye on the trail markers (I did not want to get lost).

     At about the halfway point it was back down that same steep slope, just further up the river. I was feeling optimistic and fit. Back down onto flattish rock strewn ground. The came the snow fed creeks. 12 creek crossings, easy-peasy, but cold and wet. Clambering along over rocks and sand and back to the Whit River for the second crossing. There were no good places to cross, so I just had to pick the lesser of evils. It was swift and powerful. I slipped, getting doused to the hips, trying to get my feet under me and out of the water took a few minutes, and it was bitterly cold. Painfully cold. I managed to scramble out, cursing loudly, and realized that just a few minutes in the 32 degree water and my feet were numb. I was so cold and my muscles were fatigued so I started having some trouble not tripping over any small obstruction. I fell a few times before making myself stop and take a moment to readjust my brain and body. It was time well spent. The ground opened up and I was soon running on nice pine needle blanketed ground. It felt great to be moving at a decent pace, my optimism came back in full force. I felt like a goddess. The came the soul-crusher.

    The Barkley Marathon is said to be "Where dreams go to die," this phrase soon came to mind. The Soul-Crusher was a gorge with a 45 degree slope covered in snow that we had to traverse along the side. It was probably 1/2 mile of treachery, and visions of blown knees. Definitely slow going. The worst part was that you could never see the end of it, I would come around a rise hoping to see dryish ground, but the snow and slop just kept going. Finally I could see where the marking tape would be visible from the ridge, so I climbed a little higher to gain access to the flatter drier ground. I worked my way along this, keeping an eye on the flagging tape below me and finally reached the spot where the course came up and joined me at the high ground. I was elated to see the course head off back into the woods with no snow, and not many obstructions. Finally burst out onto the Forest Service road and knew I was getting near the end (thankfully, because it was getting darker and colder). 

    I broke into a run, elated to get a chance to stretch out my legs. Optimism returned full force. It was less than a kilometer to the finish line from there. Yeah, I was definitely gassed and my legs were tired, but it felt good. Crossing the finish line to a crowd of one, the woman timing the race, I pumped my arms and said, "Yes! Totally crushed my age group!" (Truth, I was the only person in my age group). She laughed and congratulated me. 

    I returned to my car, Jack the Adventure Wagon, to no fanfare except my own exhilaration at finishing something so hard. I did a little cooldown, stretched, grabbed my warm dry clothes and got changed quickly. Sat in my car, smug and tired while having my favorite post-workout food: black coffee, PB and honey sandwich, and a banana. This was, without a doubt, the hardest 5K I have ever covered. Honestly, I could have done a half-marathon in the same time and with the same level of exertion. It was Painful and Hard but Challenging in the best of ways. But that is what makes it great.  

    Yes, I got a gnarly leg cramp in my right leg on the drive home and managed to not drive myself off the road. Didn't Die. No Injuries. No Regrets. 

Hiking With Hugo

    It has been a long time since I posted here. It is long overdue. Lately my adventures have been small, though fun. Not so Grand, really. But, adventures don't have to be massive.
    On that note I wanted to put my current plan out into the universe. A simple plan, but one apt to be filled with fun and adventure. In my head it is "Hiking with Hugo."  Hugo, for those of you who don't know, is my big, red, lunkhead dog. 85 pounds of loyalty. Hugo loves the woods. He loves going for rambles. He loves finding creeks and rivers to wade and swim. He loves to chase squirrels, sniff coyote poop, and meander through the underbrush. I used to take him walking/hiking every day, but then we moved out to an area that, though in the country, is a lot further from dog friendly hiking areas. So we fell out of the habit. Recently though, we went on a quick trip to Eastern Oregon, John Day area to be a bit more precise. And I was reminded just how much the two of us enjoy being out in the woods.
     It was on the drive home, just a girl and her dog, stopping at a few decent spots for short hikes, that the idea came to me: I want to take a solid week for a road trip. I want to take Oregon Highway 26 from the Oregon Coast to John Day, then head south, hook up with Highway 20 to head back west. Go all the way to the Coastal Highway 101, up to Cannon Beach, reconnect with Highway 26 and head for home. Basically a loop around Oregon, seeing the vast array of sights. Coastal rainforest, to high desert, fossil beds, and petroglyphs. Ocean, rivers, lakes. Mountains, plains, volcanoes both intact and blown into giant craters. I want to take the bare minimum: a pop up tent, foam pad, decent sleeping bag, essential clothes, a good pair of hiking boots, sunscreen, my journal, a rockpick, and my dog. Stop to hike and explore when the desire strikes. Camp where I want, eat what I want. Drive as much as I need. Maybe we won't make the full loop. Maybe we will only make it a few hundred miles because there is so much to see and do in any given region. I don't know. But I want to do it. I will do it. Road Trip with Hugo.
    With that in mind, I am already planning. I have started gathering bits of essential gear: hiking poles, a good daypack, hiking shoes are on their way. Training for me and the big red dog has already started. He needs to get back in shape, and I am always striving to get into better shape. It will add a great panache to winter training.  I am looking at maps to find good areas for us to get in our training miles. It will be good for both of us. It will be fun. It will be an adventure.

Pump Time

    Adventures, grand and minor. There have been many since I last posted. I could wax poetic about my half-Ironman, which was an epic adventure that has inspired me to take it to the next level, a full Ironman, which is an ongoing adventure in and of itself. But tonight, what has me inspired and full of visions of the future, and dreams realized, are the baby steps towards being a full fledged apparatus operator, and pump operator for Engine 485. "My" Engine. The beautiful, gloriously red, amazing machine that I have the privilege of not only doing a weekly apparatus check, but that I also get to drive. No, I am not signed off to drive it to an emergency, yet. Yes, I am signed off on the Rescue Rig now, and last night was my first chance to drive Code Three, lights and sirens, and I had to force myself to not be grinning like an idiot. My Captain, Eddie, knew though, he is a good natured old-timer, and the guy that has taken me under his wing, been my champion, and let me get in as much drive time as he possibly can. He calls me "Kid," I call him "Boss." We are a good team. But I digress, I will pull myself away from the elation of Code Three to what is really on my mind tonight: Pump Operations. Yes, what may seem banal to most, not the glory of manning an attack line on a blaze, is what I really want to learn to do. It is a strange mix of simple and common sense, and yet complicated and vital. Tonight was my second chance to get in pump time during drill. As I see it, 2 hours down, about 28 to go. This will be a long process, but it is not to be rushed. No one wants to be inside a burning building with an inexperienced pump operator in charge of their life line. I know I wouldn't. So, I will be patient, and glad that the small bunch of guys at our undermanned little out-station are taking me under their tutelage, and training me from the ground up. I know I can be impatient to reach a goal when I really want it, but this is one case where I will be as patient as need be, taking as much time as they deem I need, before I am thrown into the thick of it with the responsibility of providing water on the fire grounds. Fortunately I am surrounded by experience, and they are happy to share the knowledge. I am excited. Not in the over the top way of getting to drive Code Three, but in a quiet, respectful way. Knowing the heavy responsibility that goes with the label "Pump Operator" gives me a tingling chill deep in my marrow, makes my pulse race just a bit, and my mind buzz with the immensity of it all. Two years ago who would have thought that I would be living life with a pager at my hip (when I am in district anyway), getting to drive a fire engine in all it's fabulous glory, getting medical training to be a First Responder, and now building on the base of firefighter training to become, hopefully, a full fledged pump operator someday. Someday. I can be patient. It is worth the time. Pump time.

Fire

    It has been far too long since I have written. Not because there have been no Grand Adventures, but because there have been so many. Some large, some smaller, but no less Grand. I have hesitated to write of the most amazing adventure, though I have wanted to for weeks.  Why would I not write, spilling my excitement over the page, dripping with the sweet taste of adrenaline? Because my most epic adventure was at the cost of another's home. My first structure fire. The most exciting day of my life, but the worst day of another's life. It is a delicate subject, no doubt.
    It was Sunday, three weeks ago. I drove my pickup to Station One so I could do a long bike ride followed immediately by a run, the station being a safe place to leave my gear unattended. I cycled 34 miles, then ran 5-1/2 miles. I was cooling off inside, stretching, drinking some water, eating grapes, and talking to a brother firefighter when tones dropped. The call came in as a "smoke investigation." I didn't have my gear but was told there was loaner gear. A second tone hit, upgrading to possible grass fire. Okay, this was getting good. Out in the engine bay I tried on the loaner gear, it was huge and fit like a clown suit, Not optimal wildland gear, but better than nothing. Then one of my fellow probies showed up and let me use his bunker gear since he would be in wildland gear. Excellent! Tones dropped again! More firefighters arrived at the station but we were waiting for drivers. Finally, a Captain showed, as well as an engine driver. MY fellow probie, along with two of my favorite bros were told to hop on E405. First out of the gate, running Code Three, lights and sirens. The call was upgraded from a grass fire to a structure involved. Holy shit, this was getting good. Flying across the back roads, up into the hills, the call was pretty far out. Still a few miles away we could see the roiling smoke. Oh Holy Shit! Two of us were in bunker gear, the officer in charge turned in his seat, looked at us and said, "You are on the attack line to the structure, get packs on." My fellow probie groaned, "I hate you," since he couldn't fight a structure fire in wildland gear. The two of us assigned the attack line fist-bumped. I was excited, but not nervous or anxious. I did not get a debilitating surge of adrenaline like I had feared. We could hear the radio communications. There was one Tender on site, as well as our assistant Chief. We could hear the tension and excitement in their voices. This was no simple fire, this was going to be a hard fight.
    Nearing the call we could see glimpses of flames through the trees. We all muttered, "Holy shit," under our breath, and looked at each other with gleaming eyes. This is what we trained for. We were going in to do battle. We were the first engine on the scene. The only other vehicle on scene was the Tender, using the turret hose to keep the flames from spreading to trees. The only other crew on scene was the veteran that had brought the tender, and the assistant chief who was Incident Command, dealing with the nightmarish logistics of two fully engulfed structures, surrounded by trees, at the bottom of a long, narrow road, with other homes close enough that if the fire were to get away from us we could lose more structures.
   We jumped out, stretched a line and began to put the wet stuff on the red stuff, just as we were taught. There was no thought of entry, the home was already a total loss. At this point it was a matter of keeping it from spreading as we waited for more engines and manpower. We were so focused on our assigned task that I barely noticed when the others began arriving. We just kept putting wet stuff on the red stuff, though it felt like we were pissing on a bonfire. The heat was astonishing. The flames were high and glorious, terrible and beautiful. I have no idea how long we held our position before a relief team took over and sent us to rehab to cool down and get water. That was when I could see just how extensive an operation we had going. The driveway and property were too confined to allow more than a handful of rigs, as it were, if the fire got out of control we were at risk of possible entrapment. But we weren't worried, the crew was working the scene with amazing skill.
    We did have water problems. The closest hydrant was miles away. Ops set up a Tender operation to shuttle water to a location at the top of the road, and had lay down 1000 feet of supply line to reach our rigs. It was an amazing endeavor.
    My partner and I went back in three more times, until muscle fatigue got the better of us. But by then the fire was nearly out, and definitely in control. It was only later that we found out just how close this came to being a potentially devastating wildfire. Our wildland crews worked their asses off putting out the fires that had spread through the grass and underbrush. Spot fires had popped up 200 feet from the structure, and we were at the head of a canyon that could have funneled a blaze right up into the forest.
    We were lucky on so many levels: The wind was in our favor; the surrounding area was not as dry as it would be in a month; there were no unpleasant surprises like exploding propane tanks.
    But on several counts, I can say, it was not luck, but preparation: Our people are well trained and dedicated; we had great support from surrounding districts who brought Tenders and much needed manpower; and our I.C. kept his cool and made things happen. As they say, "Luck favors the prepared."
    Once the fire was nearly out came the long cleanup. Already tired muscles made to pick up muddy hose, stow it in a truck, ride back to the Station, then clean and restore hoses and rigs. It was 9:30 before I was home. Definitely tired, and with a soul deep sense of satisfaction. It was one of the best days of my life.
    I have met Fire face to face. She is glorious and terrible. It has given me a deeper understanding of so many things, including myself. I know it is wrong to say it aloud, but I understand the addiction, and want more.

OCR

    OCR. Obstacle Course Racing. Not my main focus, or my true racing agenda, but damn, what a f'king blast! Today I ran the Ash Kicker 5K with a good friend who is an avid OCR runner. She has done some serious races and trains specifically, and hard, to finish strong. Today, I was awake at 5:20, yes, on purpose, to drive north and play. It was cold and drizzly, grey, kind of dismal, but the weather rarely matters when you are running. This OCR did not have the ridiculously brutal and fear inspiring obstacles that some events specialize in (electric shocks? No, thank you.), but it had excellent physical challenges more along the lines of the traditional, Marine Corps obstacle course that was the original inspiration for these particular events. There were steep hills, narrow trails, a rope assisted hill climb (after shagging fire hose all winter, this one felt easy-peasy), traverse wall, belly crawl, cold water, mud, cargo nets, wall climbs, and near the end, an ice filled pool to crawl through. Lemme tell ya', that one sucked, big time. And running. I felt great, my legs felt good, my wind was excellent, the cool weather was perfect for racing. I got wet, muddy, sandy, frozen, and covered in bubbles (you heard right, bubbles). It was the perfect mini adventure; close to home, fun, new, and epic. If it weren't for my fear of damaging my knee before my Race, I could definitely see myself getting deeper into the OCR world. Maybe next year.

Stubborn

    There is a downside of living a life full of new and grand adventures. Downside? Truth. Careening through life from one adventure to the next, or working out to prepare myself for more epic adventures, or starting a new job that is an adventure unto itself, leaves very little time for the mundane tasks that keep life flowing smoothly. This last week had the feel of an epic endurance race, with the added stress of starting a new, fabulous job. Between spending my workaday life in the glorious back rooms of a vast Harley dealership, stopping on my way home to swim my usual miles, an evening or two at the fire station, and trying to prepare delicious, vegetarian meals, I have barely enough time to sleep. I think that is the way of adventuring, so much fun to be had, so many important tasks to complete, so much, so much, so much. I am stealing time from sleep just in order to hash out a few meager words to let the world know I am still alive and coherent. Or semi-coherent. Definitely alive! Yesterday, what for most would have been a day of well-deserved rest, I woke at 5:30am, yes, on purpose. Woke in the predawn of a glorious Spring day to drive an hour out into the wilds of Washington County to spend my morning running around a lake. A 10.5 mile race around Hagg Lake. The furthest I have ever run. And I did run. I ran all but maybe 200 yards. Not fast, but in a respectable Hour and 51 minutes to place third in my age group. Not too shabby for someone who even just a year ago did not consider herself to be a runner. It was very nearly the one year anniversary of my knee surgery. Maybe some would not consider a run to be an adventure, but to me it is a stepping stone to an epic adventure. I needed to reassure myself that I am not an absolute lunatic for thinking I can do a half-Ironman at the end of the summer. The run has been my concern, and I know that I still have an enormous amount of training ahead of me, but yesterday made me realize deep down in my very core that yes, I am a runner. I was only a few miles shy of a half marathon yesterday, and if that had been the distance, I know I could have run it. Yes, I am a little sore today. Hell, who am I kidding? My quads are pretty sore, but no worse than after a hard workout. In two weeks I have my first trail run with obstacles, 5 miles, again, in the wilds of Washington County. I am excited.
    Yes, I am rambling on about running because it has made me realize that there is nothing I can't do if I decide I really want to do it. I have made epic changes in my life, my body, my mind, my heart, and my soul. I have worked hard, and worked out hard, to make these changes. I have set my sights on goals, and am reaching them, one by one. I am learning the lessons of faith in myself, persistence paying off, hard work, and the value of a stubborn nature. Maybe that is what is at the core of it all, I am too stubborn to give up, to stubborn to give in. And mostly, when I am told I can't, I am too stubborn to not want to prove them wrong. The world is wide open to me, because I have decided to make it so.

Relax. And Breathe.

    Today is my last day at the job I have held for nearly 7 years. I am down to about 3 hours. In truth, it has not really registered that this will be be the last time I shut down this computer and walk out that door. No more torturous freeway commutes. I will no longer be the only voice of optimism in the office. I will no longer feel my soul being drained by the pervasive gloom that hangs about with the heavy pressure of a pending thunderstorm. I am stepping into a new job, with a whole new cadre of coworkers, into a business that reeks of optimism, potential, and dreams. I tell myself to slow down, do not let the imagination run rampant with the possibilities I am facing, but that is not my nature. Instead I am seeing glorious possibilities, with the job itself, as well as the culture surrounding this new world. Not only will my pay be better, allowing me to catch up, pay off, and relax a bit, but the non-monetary potential is vast. I am already pondering how the connections I will be making will influence my future. The potential is mind boggling. For today, I just need to remember to relax, breathe, get through the next 3 hours. I do not think the reality will sink in until I walk through the door of my new employer on Monday morning. Then, then I will feel the reality of a dream realized. A hard fought, deserved dream coming to fruition. For now, relax, and breathe.