About a year and half ago I felt like the cage opened up and I was able to create this wildly, abundant, and exuberant life– knowing for the most part that it wasn’t sustainable long term. I kept saying that I got a pass, I could do whatever I want and figure out the things that mattered to me again. It was like going from total control to unfettered freedom. But I knew it wasn’t sustainable, at some point the pendulum would swing back and I’d find that equilibrium that was missing for so long. Maybe that’s what made it all the more sweeter, knowing how fleeting it would all be, still is.
Last year I had about 70 days on backcountry skis, which is by far the biggest season I have had considered I started in Winter 2020, had about 3 days, 2021 about 8 days, 2022 about 12 days. I thought about that number about half way through this season and realized my trajectory probably won’t put me to achieve more than that this year. Does it matter if we aren’t always on a positive linear trajectory with what we’re doing? Is it naive to think that each year will just be a stepping stone to the next level without any back steps, maybe, maybe not. I’ve talked about this with friends in terms of the healing trajectory like once you open up the door to the dark closet where all your shame is you still have to go through all the muck to get to the light and sometimes the current carries you and other times you’re swimming against it and losing ground. But as long as you’re still moving, right? Does it matter if it’s forward or if you’re moving how you can, meeting yourself with grace, taking a breath and figuring out the line down.
Despite me knowing that I was getting off the accelerated train from the past year I still signed up for some big races/events(tbd?). Which means that I have been skiing when I can and trying to build and maintain the fitness that I’ve acquired. On a more recent outing I went down to Turnigan with Charlotte and despite reading all the avy forecasts and looking at surface angles I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. On the skintrack up I had the feeling of what if I just tumble over the side, or the whole side of the mountain just detaches and that’s it. Every trip outside remains a meditation on mortality. Once on top I still couldn’t really shake this weird feeling. Misplaced anxiety is what I’ve come to call it. Charlotte skied down first and once she was at a spot out of the way I pushed off.
My anxiety was accelerated and any sluff that was coming off put me in a heighten state of all the snow just fracturing and carrying me down with it. I got to the bottom and we skied back to the skin track deciding to take another lap. On the way up I told her about my anxiety with the snow, she said she noticed as I kept turning to look up. It was a weird feeling but saying it out loud took away a lot of the power and the next run seemed a lot smoother, at least from an anxiety perspective but maybe also a helpful hack of singing Kesha to myself on the way down…
This is a bit of a weird post because I’m in a bit of a weird place. I was at yoga last night and the teacher said that if you’re wobbly and uncertain that’s where you can grow, figure out the wobbles and find your footing. I’m sure he was talking beyond me finding my footing in dancer pose and that’s what it feels like, figuring out the wobbles and where I’ll land, what will be certain, what am I creating that will be certain, or is it just the fact that there is no certainty and that’s all we get. The impermanence of it all is all the permanence we get.
I’ve had some really great days out too, mostly with Charlotte as we have similar schedules but long days with Hailey as we’re resurrecting our long slogs home, Ana and I have done some boot packing to burn off some excess energy, and team couch (Ana and Grande) got me out the door for my one fat bike a year ride. Sadly, no photo evidence exists of that ride as it was like like -7 and I was cold. And have done more skate skiing this year than years prior with the Hot Laps group and squeezing in the occasional lunch break with others.
I’m set to do the Last Skier Standing race this weekend in Maine but my skis are still in Canada and it’s been a bit of a cluster to sort through. I’ve been grappling with what to do all week– do I race on rentals and piece together the other equipment I would want or just scratch it and go do something else. I was convinced I was going to scratch yesterday, calling Rosie to gain perspective and mostly support my decision to not race.
Then the race director reached out saying they have skis ready for me and anything else I need to get to the starting line and then that’s it. The wobbles– where is the solid footing. What part of me is wanting to race and why, Rosie posed this to me. I hadn’t thought about that. I thought back to when I registered, the excitement of getting to explore more of me in a new sport, a new area. But not wanting it to be like this– but how often do we not want it to be like this and learning to adjust to bend before breaking. Wobbles. Flashbacks to being stuck in O’Hare and not making it to the bike race in Iceland, am I becoming the person who signs up for races and just is accumulating DNS? Or is it me ignoring messages again and again until I finally learn the lesson– is there any meaning to make from this mess. Wobbles.
A friend recently stated that they have limited free time so they try to be intentional with what they do. I thought back to my philosophy professor in college who always talked about when she was a corporate lawyer and from the outside it wasn’t viewed that her external values aligned with her internal values so she changed course, moved to Boulder, got a PhD and started teaching philosophy. Don’t we all have limited free time and where we put it and how we spend our time is our message to the world, to the outside. Do my external and internal value system align, do people know what I value by what I do? Wobbles.
I recently watched two movies, Earthside, a tribute to Hilaree Nelson (having watched it twice now, I cried both times) and the Maah Daah Hey Film that focuses on Kelly Magelky and his last time lining up for the race (unbeknownst to him at the time). Both of these athletes have inspired me in my athletic pursuits in similar and different ways. Kelly and I have talked over the years about the challenges in sometimes even getting to the starting line, finding the balance, going after big objectives while also balancing life– racing is easy, everything before it, well. Finding certainty in the things you can control and letting go of the things you cannot. Wobbles.
Besides these two individuals, I’ve found a lot of inspiration in my life from those I’m surrounded by and the grace that they show while navigate tricky situations with motherhood, careers, marriage/relationships, chronic and terminal illnesses, reinventing themselves after loss, big objectives, changing course, getting to the starting line with grace and going from there.
I guess this is me still trying to figure out the footing, the certainty, the optimal line down, the getting to the starting line with grace and going from there.
In November 2019, Grande told me about the White Mountains 100 and I put in for the lottery and got in. In March of 2020 the race was cancelled (for good reasons) and I never made it to the starting line. This past November a friend reminded me of the lottery and I put in. I got in, along with Grande, Ana, and Holly. In a lot of ways it feels like this year is the year I was planning on having in 2020 without the whole pandemic thing. It’s been weird to think about, almost like the past few years didn’t happen.
Rachel and I on a ride in January 2020–I have learned so much since then including how to dress on the bike now
But of course they did and certainly left wounds that have become scars and speaking from the scar is certainly easier than speaking from the wound. In a way this month has been one of the harder ones with memories coming back in pieces– the stark realization of how much my voice didn’t exist and the things that I took on, the sink I became for emotions, the projections that happened, the suspended space I lived in. I pointed out to some friends that I feel like I still bring things up that happened and they were like of course you do because you didn’t talk about it for so long, we had no idea what was even going on. My therapist says that it’s because I’m more out of the fight/flight mode and no longer in survival mode so have a different perspective. I mostly spent much of April getting outside with friends, going for big ski objectives, and surrounding myself with those that didn’t leave me with feelings of being disposable.
Annnnyways parts of April still felt like I was speaking from the wound realizing at all that had come out last year and at some point I’ll share more of the story, the dark places my brain took me but for now back to the Whites.
Grande, Ana, Holly, and I were all in for the White Mountains 100 which I was grateful to have others to help figure out logistics. We found a friend to stay with and Grande rented a u-haul van. Oh, that was easy now the part where I hadn’t done much (re: any) biking since October. I did a ride the week before the race with Grande and Lil’ snugs– reminding myself what it was like to pedal. I borrowed Dusty’s bike and boots for the race since I still haven’t bought a fat bike. Charlotte was able to come up for the weekend so we left on Friday afternoon, which meant I was able to be somewhat lenient with what I packed still not exactly knowing what I would be needing.
We headed up the Parks Highway and I was reminded of how long it had been since I drove that road, at least summer of 2021. The road in the park has had some erosion and has been closed for some time so in terms of biking it, there really wasn’t an appeal to go up for only about 15-20 miles of road. But driving back up, I was reminded of the first time I drove to the park and how captivating it was to see Denali so close. We got stuck in between a few military convoys but made it to Fairbanks without much fanfare. We stopped by the grocery store and then headed to the house.
I went to the airport around midnight and got Ana and Grande, despite my optimism we could not fit 3 bikes and 3 people in Charlotte’s car but Ana was able to find a truck that served as a taxi and follow us back to the house.
The next morning Charlotte headed to the local ski hill, Grande picked up the U-Haul and Holly from the airport and we all went through our things to be race ready— mostly building up bikes and laying out gear, another run to the grocery store to stock up on more food for the race. Later in the afternoon we headed to the race meeting. It’s a mandatory race meeting and if you don’t check in, it’s an automatic disqualification.
It’s also the only race meeting I’ve ever attended that had a PowerPoint. There was some good info about overflow and trail conditions, but I left the meeting feeling more like I hope I don’t die than any type of excitement for the race. I conferred with the others and they agreed that it seemed more doom and gloom, I lamented that I hadn’t even thought to pack my puffy pants and what if I had to sleep out next to the trail. I didn’t think it would be longer than 15ish hours at the most but now I was concerned that I would miss my flight that was schedule for Monday evening (36 hours after we started). The pre-race meeting was filed with information about the harsh elements that could meet us out there and a reminder that the most remote place in the lower 48 is 24 miles from a road (this doesn’t seem accurate) and the race is 27 miles from the road, and if people scratch it can be hours or days before a snow machine can get you. Lovely.
Ana and Grande had done it before and reassured me that it probably wouldn’t be that bad. Holly was on skis and depending on trial conditions, we could all end up having very different experiences. We made dinner that night and caught back up with Charlotte about the ski hill conditions. We filled her in on the pre-race meeting and then all settled into the familiar routine of catching up and dancing back and forth between life (houses, relationships, work, school, books we’re reading) and race conversations.
The morning of the race we all worked in harmony around the kitchen preparing a big breakfast and doing last minute adjustments, I put extra layers into a dry bag and stuffed it into my sack, along with my inhaler, inreach, battery pack, and emergency sour patch kids, all for safe keeping and stuffed it into the bottom of my bag. I had decided to run a camelback and knew that I would risk freezing the hose for the race but also planned on putting a small bottle into the pogie on the bike to keep that from freezing.
We loaded up with three bikes, one pair of skis, and all our gear in the back of the U-Haul van. We caravanned up to the start, grateful that with Charlotte’s car we all had seatbelts. Charlotte was going to head back to Anchorage at some point during the race- I figured out that even if I somehow finished in under 10 hours, driving back would put us into Anchorage super late for the Monday work day so I’d take a flight back Monday evening and Charlotte would head back in time to get to work on Monday. We arrived at the start– really the parking lot to the start as we all had to meet at 7:50 to cross the highway to the start. I shuffled back and forth between Charlotte’s car and the van putting on layers, debating things, and finally feeling ready.
Except I couldn’t find the water bottle I was going to put in the pogie. No matter, I had my camelback and would just put warm water in as I got into the checkpoints. Charlotte was a life saver by being able to take our puffy jackets from the start right before we lined up, meaning we could keep them on for another 9 minutes before we released them– I shivered anticipating the cold I would feel throughout the day.
I had slotted myself next to the others and when the gun started lost them all in the chaos as the wheels started to move next to me and realized I needed to go too. I followed a group up from the parking lot on the course, knowing it would be a mile or two of uphill to warm up. I was worried that I would get slung off the back but was able to hold whatever pace was being set in front of me. This wasn’t like the fatbike rides I had done before, there was no leisure happening and I was just hoping to not cause a calamity on the trail.
After the initial uphill there was a few miles descent which helped to spread the pack out a bit more. Grande and I were close but kept leap frogging and I could still see Ana in front of me. My main concern was that I didn’t want to be hours behind everyone and they would be waiting at the finish for me. As I figured, my hose froze before I had the chance to drink any water. My new plan was to drink as much as I could at the aid stations and not plan so much on drinking any in between. I stopped to adjust the seat height (I had never ridden the bike before the race– thanks again for the loaner, Dusty!), take off a layer, and rejig my hose to run under my armpit in the hopes that the warmth would thaw it a bit. I got behind Grande’s wheel but at the first aid station (mile 15 or so) she kept going and I stopped to drink something. This was also the last point where you could self bail and head back to the start without having to wait for a rescue. I noted it but didn’t think about it and drank some warm tang before peeing next to the bike and getting back on my way. I was mostly by myself at this point and my mind was pinging between thoughts, “should you eat something; oh wow, look at that; I wonder what skiing this would be like; how do people even run this; how did I get so lucky; I hope my body holds up; this isn’t what I expected but so much better”. I saw Grande in the distance and thought I would catch her shortly but then I saw something on the trail that stopped me, an antler. I got off the bike and went back to it, it was pretty cool and I figured when would I be here again to find something like this. Most of it fit in my bag and the remainder stuck out but was cinched down. I got back on the bike before realizing that the smell of death was literally chasing me. The antler gave on a distinct musk, dense and heavy, and when the wind blew just right a pungent smell would hit me and I’d be reminded that I picked up this dead thing from the trail to take home as a souvenir. Motivation to ride faster?
A few miles later I saw Grande in the distance and worked to try and catch her realizing that riding with her would be better than riding by myself, plus I hadn’t printed off course directions. I was able to catch up to her after a bit and sat on her wheel while we chatted, we would take turns in the front with me leading the on the descents and her leading on the climbs but coming back together on the flats. We rode this way to the next check-point, Cache Mountain Cabin (mile 40), both deciding that we didn’t want to take too long. We got to the cabin and they had boiled potatoes, I loaded mine with salt and bacon and ate it before pocketing two more potatoes for later. I filled my camelbak with warm water as the hose had melted out and I had been able to drink some water in between aid stations. We made small talk with the volunteers asking about trail conditions, where they snowmachined in from, and one commented about the antler in my bag. I grabbed some more tang and we headed out. The next section would bring us over a pass and onto the ice fields.
We wove our way into the forest to begin the climb up to the pass, Grande would relay what the section had been like the last time she had done it and how it compared to now. I was grateful for all the knowledge that had been passed onto me and the tricks that were given. Grande had brought extra trash bags for us to all grab and use for the overflow. I had stashed them into my pack with some ski straps making them accessible when I would need them. I joked with Grande on how we had both been in for the 2020 version of this but now we were doing it three years later. When I moved up to Anchorage, I met Grande and her husband Dusty on one of my first weekends in town. I joked that I paid for them to be my friends because I had signed up for a bike packing course that they taught and after that weekend we became good friends. When I was in the throws of it in January of 2021 we went on a walk and she reminded me that she knew me before I was dealing with COVID and in a relationship and assured me I would get my mojo back, I certainly didn’t believe her then but it was comforting to hear. Someone who knew me prior, it was like those who knew me prior knew I would return even when I had my doubts. I tell her this in snippets, half joking if it’s weird that her and Dusty are married since I think of them like older (wiser) siblings.
As we were about to start the real climb up onto the pass we ran into a biker coming the other way. Grande knew her so we stopped and chatted for a bit, they were doing the route backwards and had been bikepacking for a few days. After departing I said it would definitely be cool to come back and bikepack this and really take in the views.
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
As we were about to crest the pass I turned around to see Holly making her way towards us. I yell ahead to Grande to let her know and we both got off the trail to cheer her on. We briefly chatted about her skis (she had been debating which ones to take beforehand) and quickly started following behind her. She was able to pull ahead of us on descent as the firm snow turned into loose powder and we both had one foot out to steady us as we descended. Grande had mentioned that in previous years she actually had to walk up and down the pass because of snow conditions and I was just grateful that we weren’t having to do much hike-a-biking.
We got to the anticipated ice fields that would have the overflow but were pleasantly surprised at them actually being ice fields and no overflow. We picked our way through and seeing a clear path, I was in front when my wheels lost traction and I went down, sliding along with my bike. I got up and did a quick assessment, bike was okay, I was surprisingly okay, not even really being able to indict what the first impact was (don’t worry it was not my head) as I seemed to just disperse the impact on my left side. I got up and we continued on, I was a bit more tepid and followed Grande’s lead when she would get off and walk on the ice. The ice lakes had no overflow and while we walked some spots we were able to move quickly through the sections and before I knew it we were back into the forest and headed towards the third check-point. The views here proved unlike any that I had seen in Alaska with dramatic limestone cliffs jetting out from the drainage we were in. We approached Windy Gap Cabin and headed in.
We asked how far ahead Ana and Holly were and were both excited when we heard Ana was in the lead and Holly wasn’t too far in front of us. I took some rice and then in current state decided to put some tang powder on it– after a few bites I immediately regretted it. I felt sheepish about asking for new rice so ate some of it quickly and shoved the rest into the trash. I grabbed a handful of other treats and we took a few extra minutes at this station than we had previously done. I still had plenty of food that I had brought and had been supplementing ‘real’ food with sour patch kids every few minutes to keep my sugar and energy levels up. We left the cabin and stayed in the drainage weaving in and out of trees for the next 10 miles and hugging the limestone rock. We crossed the intersection to another cabin which wasn’t on the race route but someone had set up a chair and bike as if they were spectating but we didn’t actually see anyone. After a brief little climb and descent, the course felt more enclosed and some of the view points were obstructed by weaving in and out of the hills. We saw signs approaching the last checkpoint and parked our bikes at the bottom of the little hill to walk up to the cabin. A high school ski group was running it and we ran into Holly here — we talked more about the race as we independently grabbed food and filled water. Woohooo! Almost done, right! We took a few photos, thanked those who were out here and took off again. Grande and I headed back down to our bikes with Holly out in front of us.
We got back on the trail and remained in the drainage with a few more frozen creek crossings. We caught up to Holly and I was jealous of how easily she was able to navigate the slick creek crossings on skis. Watching people who are really good at their sport is always really inspiring, there is such beauty and grace in how their bodies and equipment flow together. Holly and Grande are both two prime examples of this. After the creek crossing we jumped back ahead of Holly as she stopped to make and adjustment. We climbed our way up towards the final trail shelter, there is no support here except some water and a duralog if you need it. Seeing it meant we were close to the end but the Wickersham Wall loomed in between us and the finish line.
We had been able to see the Wickersham Wall for the past few miles, raising 600 feet in just over a mile above the valley floor. The crest of it would take us back to the finish line. We started up it and after a few pedal strokes both got off to push our bikes up. We laughed because at one point Grande had told Holly that she would just be able to fast feet up it (moving her hands and making a noise to denote how quickly she’d be able to ascend). I joked that I wish I was able to do the same mechanics now. We got to the top and then took pictures of each other (like a proud mom moment). Over the past few years one of the sayings that Grande and I have passed back and forth to each other is, “You’re doing great sweetie” (it’s a references from the Kardashians when one of the daughters is crying during a shoot or something and her mom tells her that).
We started the descent and Grande took out her light, I waited to take mine out as with the summer sun coming back there would be few opportunities left to soak in the darkness. I followed her tracks and settled into the feeling, the flow of being at ease with the movements, the stillness that comes from knowing your own body and mechanics. This didn’t last long as I realized I would be real dumb if I crashed because I didn’t have a headlight and stopped to dig mine out. I caught back up to Grande after she waited for me and then she yielded the trail for the descent. I ran into a guy I knew from the area who was out running and who had done the bike and he was like, “oh we all thought you were on skis” and I was like, “absolutely not”. The tracker showed that I was on skis for the whole race and for not being a known skier everyone was terribly confused by this. The confusion cleared up when he saw that I was on a bike. We followed the trail back down into the parking lot that we had started from, crossing the line together. Ana met us having been done for a bit (she crushed it, winning the race, her second year in a row!) and had moved the U-Haul van closer for us to have easy access. I went into the warming station to grab some hot water and then immediately when back out when I hear more cheering and Holly crossing the finish line. Grande, Holly, and I all finished around 13 hours– much better than the 36 I had started to expect after the race meeting.
We all finished relatively close to one other and a brief rest in the U-Haul van we got packed up and headed back to the house. Ana and Grande had an early morning flight to catch with Holly and I leaving later on Monday evening.
By the time I woke up to start work the next morning at 5am, Grande and Ana were gone. I worked most of the day and then packed up my bike and did a short walk around the river with Holly. I shared with her some of the parts of the panic attack, the anxiety, the intrusive thoughts, the feelings of OCD, the demise of my sense of self and relationship. And also talked more about female athletes and the culture that exists today to operate in, she was reading Kara Goucher’s memoir so we talked a lot about the issues women still face today in the sport, from the elites to middle school level.
What came out of the bike pogies
The weekend was really fun and it had been a while since I had done a race with other people. People asked if Grande and I planned to ride together and we never talked about it prior it just so happens that after 20ish miles we seem to be the same pace and riding with someone else is always better than riding by yourself (at least for me). I spent a lot of time during the race dipping in and out of my mind and processing all that had existed during the past year.
Dad, if you’ve made it this far, feel free to stop reading here.
It’s hard to find the words of what transpired over the past year(s), but the feelings certainly were there. I thought a lot about coming into the White Mountains with very little bike training, but I knew my body and my history enough to know what to anticipate for 100 miles and could be prepared for it. I think about the Tatanka 100 a lot—it was the worst race I ever had (in a lot of metrics). I loosely thought I’d be going for the course record and then everything went sideways, I got lost, I bonked, I had to hike-a-bike over so many boulders, I laid on a cardboard slab for an hour, I thought of pulling the plug so many times and I cried and I cried and I cried. I hated that course so much when I was done—it took me to the darkest places I have ever gone bike racing.
Because of that race I know so much more of what I’m capable of—if I have to hike for 50 miles during a race, I’ll survive, if I get lost, I’ll survive, if I spend 4 hours crying, I’ll survive. In a way it’s given me the confidence to be more sure of what I can sign up for and attempt. I think about this a lot now in terms of life—the trauma of the past few years—the perfect storm—thinking back to being asked “what will happen if you [I] have another panic attack”. That question no longer startles me with the potential tizzy it would send my life into. But instead, this place of acceptance of having some confidence that if I do go to those dark places again, there will be a trail of a light that I can follow to get myself out. Maybe that’s why I’ve written about it so much in my blog in case I need to find my way home again.
With the Tatanka 100, I realized that so much hurt came from this place of expectations versus what actually happened—the outcome that I was attached to. In life, this chasm exists the expectations of how things will unfold, how people will show up (or not). The timeline I had for healing the expectation that one more meditation, journal entry, yoga class, would be what healed me. But we never actually get to this place of arrival of enlightenment, we are constantly growing (or not). But I think that’s what keeps drawing me back to the various trails, they hold no expectation for you—they meet you where you are.
I heard someone say recently that they couldn’t tell a story until there was a happy ending—and I don’t think there is ever really this happy ending but this place of acceptance, of fulfillment –of learning to not get attached to the outcomes, the expectations, the behaviors of others and myself. I always found it strange when people would say that their goal is to be happy, happiness is a fleeting emotion, it’s not realistic. We’re all happy humans and none of us are happy humans and we get to experience it all, this full range, this joy of being human, of dancing with the darkness and re-finding the light again and again and again.
I was reminded of this while out skiing in New Hampshire recently, someone asked us if we were having a good adventure and Alexi replied that if you’re looking for adventure you can find it anywhere. I think for me in the past I was clinging so tight to what I thought this life and adventure should look like that I didn’t realize how much was beyond the walls I had built around myself. But isn’t part of being human learning to no longer seek out the homes that do not (cannot) hold us.
I had to do this exercise in therapy where I listed all the ways I have grown in the last year (from post-traumatic stress comes post-traumatic growth) and I told her that every day (if not multiple times a day) I have a realization of wow, I can do this thing and there is no problem and all the freedom that has come with it in deciding how to show up. In this exercise I went back to the writings from that time, reminding myself of what I used to carry in me. The writings from that time don’t fit anymore- they feel panic, urgent, chaotic, but they fit who I was then, this comet on her way to dissolving upon reaching the atmosphere, the fleeting feelings of almost arriving, of almost being whole, of almost being enough. That narrative doesn’t fit me anymore because I don’t fit in that tiny box anymore- the uncertainly still exists, as it always has but it’s more tempered, at ease, at realizing that burning up the mess of restrictions allows for reclamation– of my talents, my energy, my priorities, my values. They say you can’t heal in the same environment that made you sick— I remember writing that in my notes at his house, realizing the end would be coming soon, new soil would be tilled, different seeds would be planted, and I’d be allowed to bloom in conditions that were conducive to my growth and creativity.
Who knew this would be such fertile soil for me to bloom on
I sat on this post for a while and went through multiple iterations, sending a draft to Jane, talking about it with others, deciding how to share. In the end I edited a lot because those that know me probably have heard more than enough at this point and as a friend reminded me those that know me know what I’ve been carrying – so in a lot of ways it’s like looking at a result sheet and only seeing the time but no idea the story of how one got there (like obviously contact me if you want the tea and the dark places my brain went—I’m an external processor and always happy to share). Narratives don’t form in vacuums and in being able to talk about what happened during COVID has allowed it to be molded in the world outside of me—and the pain becomes something outside of me allowing new things to grow in what was holding space for the trauma. I think of it similar to the Tatanka 100, where it was just a perfect storm of having the rug pulled out from me and everything going sideways at once—and it’s hard to parse out what was what and what caused the foundation to crack—but it doesn’t really matter as they say the only benefit of looking behind you is to see how far you’ve come. Just like the Tatanka 100 when I got to the end, Barb greeted me with a big smile and congratulations and held space for me to tell her all about my adventures from the day. The tears dried quickly and was replaced with more of a “I cannnnnot believe this happened” and turning it into a hilarious bit of the worst race of my life. I was able to move to a place of acceptance rather quickly, put that race behind, and carry the lessons I learned from it forward. Grateful for all of those who have held space for me to process everything that has transpired– I think societally we have a larger reckoning with what happened during COVID, all that took place, things that emerged, how we’ve arrived after. And just like the White Mountains 100 it’s sure fun to be surrounded by a great crew to get you to the starting line and meeting you at the finish line of some of life’s biggest trials [trails].
Anyyyyyyways, I could probably write a book on all the ways the healing process is like an endurance race but will stop here because I’m sure my dad stopped reading paragraphs ago- ha. The White Mountains was fun and realized that it was the last time I rode my bike but headed to Iceland in about a month for a race so training looks little different this year.
If you have it made it this far, thanks for sticking with, I realize this post is a bit all over but welcome to my brain.
The gear scattered is similar to my brain scatter sometimes
In a way I’ve been completely unprepared for my life to return after trauma but thankfully my friends were prepared enough for me. I thought this the past weekend when I cancelled my therapy appointment because there was a weather window for one of the ski objectives Charlotte and I had this year. It’s been a year since I started working with my trauma therapist. I thought back to that first session– it was almost 3 months after my panic attack and the dark abyss I had been lost in was a lot. My therapist had her work cut out as this wasn’t a narrative I had ever envisioned having to navigate. The faulty narrative I was carrying around was holding me back, in that period I had no flexibility around the story and couldn’t see anyway it would ever be reframed. Now I figured a long day out in the mountains would do as much good as a 1 hour therapy session– plus the weather window. And if anything over the past few years Charlotte has seen me in most emotional and physical states of being.
Charlotte and I discussed the logistics for the day, we’d leave town at 7am and I decided to bring my heavy/wider skis. I’m still waiting on a replacement part for my race skis but also with the variable snow conditions that we’d potentially run into figured that would be a better bet. We headed out with our (Charlotte’s) Gaia track following the trail up to Gold Mint Hut. It was a mild grade and we chatted along the way and also making note of potential routes up and slide paths. I had never been back in the area in the winter and only once in the summer. The summer trip was in July 2020 when I was in the throws of it, I remember being out there overnight and sobbing in the tent because of how much uncertainty I felt– every time I went into the backcountry at that point I was always worried about what I would be coming back into when I gained service. The silence and solitude did not provide comfort then, instead only amplified how much noise I was missing out on. And then I cried harder for ruining the trip for others. That’s what I was bringing into this space.
We traversed the mild slope before reaching a point to start climbing up towards the Mint Hut. We talked about the different routes, opting to cut more to the left and to try and avoid extra time under a slide path and headed up. The line we took was a little icy and the side hilling didn’t provide for great traction. We kept space between us just incase something released. I was navigating up first when I saw a hole in the snow and looked in, some animal waste was by the opening– my mind thought to a bear den, is it too early, hopefully it doesn’t cave in and I wake whatever might be sleeping below me.
I know those of you outside of Alaska reading that are probably thinking what an irrational fear (like riding over a snake and having it get caught in my rear wheel and flung up on me) but this actually happened where a skier disrupted a bear den and the bear attacked him. I moved past the hole and waited on the shoulder for Charlotte to come up. We weaved our way up towards the hut and then stopped before we started our approach of backdoor gap to get some food and make some gear adjustments.
We kept our skins on and headed up but it soon became apparent that it was too steep and icy to skin so we’d have to switch to boot packing. I had been waiting for Charlotte to traverse so stayed put while Charlotte transitioned. Our plan was that only one of us would be exposed to a potential avalanche at a time while the other stayed out of the slide zone underneath some rocks. Charlotte started the first leg of the boot pack and I stood watch not wanting to transition too early in case something happened. She crested and was tucking back into the rock section when I had started to transition and looked up and didn’t see her– is that avalanche debris new or old, surely I would have heard something if it released. I transitioned quicker and called to her on the radio. No response. I got my skis on my back and crampons on my boots and looked up, she had popped back over the zone I couldn’t see her and was perched below a rock. I took a breath and started making my way up. Because she had put the bootpack in, my ascent was a bit faster and less laborious. I got to the top and we diagnosed the issues with our radios and got them working. I stepped out and navigated a route up towards another rock outcropping to take shelter in. I’m not great at boot packing and deployed all the tricks I had been working on, heel down, knees forward, push up, disperse weight over the polls. As I got near when I said I would stop, Charlotte radioed to see if I was still going, “yeah, almost to the spot.” I got up and radioed down to let her know it was clear. She came up and met me and we kept working towards the top with only one of us moving at a time.
We crested the top and looked at the other side, a nice little cornice. We talked about the boot pack and the choices we made and then talked about the next section. I offered to drop in first, telling Charlotte the line I would be taking to another meet up point on the slope.
I pushed off after finding a small opening that didn’t seem like it was right on top of the cornice and cut left before turning right while trying to get out from underneath the potential area of snow fall fast enough. We regrouped and then party skied down the more mellow slope finding some nice snow and turns. We headed down but the slope was gradual and we tried to keep as much speed as possible to make it to the valley floor. It mostly worked with some awkward side stepping to get over humps but we made it down and then put our skins back on to head up to snowbird glacier.
The skin up was pretty uneventful, we had a track from someone who did it last year and just made sure that we were climbing towards the right ridge. We got onto the glacier no problem and traversed up to the ridge line to drop down. After transitioning we talked about lines and started skiing.
The snow was anything but powder and cutting through it proved cumbersome for turning. The views were incredible but hard to take in with all the survival skiing going on. We looked at the slope of what we’d need to go down and realized all the avy runs we’d have to cross. Fortunately, they had released at that point but the avy debris we had to cross made me realize how fatigued my legs were.
Going across the avalanche debris made me grateful that I had taken my wider skis, having to navigate around chaotic masses of snow, ice, and whatever else had been picked up during the slide. I always think about this when I’m out in the backcountry, if one releases (again, Mom, I’m never in those areas) and the turmoil of getting carried only to then potentially be buried under this massive weight (compacted avalanche debris will weigh in excess of 500 kg per cubic metre). It’s like the snow just settles and immediately becomes like concrete, something like 60% of avalanche victims who died whilst buried show something on the surface but it can take a large effort to extract them– and that’s if they survive the potential trauma. So at least there was some reassurance that they had already slid, until we reached a gully that had only had small tracks of avy debris in it. We stopped and talked about how quickly we could get across and which line. I went first and skied in and popped out as fast as I could hitting ice on the other side and traversing down the hill side to the next debris field where I turned and watched Charlotte. There is always a moment in these situations where you run through worse case scenario, if something slid. But worst case scenario didn’t happen and Charlotte popped up the gully and traversed down to where I was.
We both agreed that being in a gully in Hatcher is the worst thing and have deep reverence for the whims of mother natures. After that we linked up with Archangel road and mostly skated back to the car. We did it in about 11 hours, I ate 6 donuts among other treats. We talked about how we probably wouldn’t have gone too much faster on different skis and we were both really happy with the day and our set up. We debriefed on the spots that were worrisome and how we could have done things differently but some times you’re just responding and figuring out how to best move forward with the information you have.
A long day in the mountains did help and also when you’re out there for 11 hours lots of time to think about things—especially a stark contrast to the last time I was out there. In some ways I feel like my awareness has never been sharper and taking that to the mountains allows me to be fully present. I think about the COVID times and often think of it as my life was on pause—a friend recently corrected me saying it wasn’t on pause and showing up in that space how I did was just as authentic as I am being now. But in some ways I felt like my life was on pause because it didn’t feel like I was growing or able to. How I showed on that summer trek of the Bomber is how I was assumed to keep showing up– all these negatives assumptions piled up against me until I started to believe them too. I sat with that for a while because I think of how I show up now versus then and how different it feels, in all aspects. But that girl during COVID while in some ways felt like a shell of who I can be was still me—it’s like going out into the mountains and not having a blue bird day but still appreciating just being out there—or enjoying the darkness without having to contrast it to the light. And all this duality can exist and growth can happen, someone’s best day in the mountains can be your worst—I can hate a trail and then love it– I can be a shell of a human and still have light in me—someone can be a not great partner and still exist as a good friend– I can be upset that I had a panic attack and also so grateful for it shaking me into being. This growth exists in the mountains and in a way it’s easier to hold space for –the days that fall short of the objectives, leaning into the progression, the changes, the trails that I’ve come to love that once destroyed me—the spaces I inhabit that no longer scare me—the solitude that no longer comes at the expense of peace. And I’m able to hold all these dimensions together–I don’t assume a trail I’ve once taken will remain the same and instead meeting it each time where it’s at.
I think of the growth that has happened– the lens that I view things in and those that view me. For most of COVID I felt like my internal and external value systems were out of sync, what I valued internally wasn’t perceived externally. That’s been hard to stomach, like a coworker that told me she was startled when she heard me laugh for the first time (we had worked together for over a year before that happened)– or another unprovoked telling me how much happier I seem now– but harder to stomach is the conversations with friends, where things felt one sided, where I showed up with good intentions but my actions still caused pain. The negative assumptions that were held against me– if I hated this trail I will always hate this trail– if I didn’t enjoy something one day I would always feel that way– this growth that was paused, no new information was allowed. Realizing the friends that have extended grace to me in this period, those that allowed me to exist without ever knowing or suggesting I would return to my old (new) self– the darkness they invested in without knowing if there would be an endless summer to come. Now, figuring out how I can extend the same grace to others that fall short of my expectations or assumptions– I cannot anticipate the harm I will cause, we will cause, or that will be brought onto me, even with good intentions we have no idea what we are bringing into a space, what they are bringing into the space. Here’s the thing, you can show up in someone else’s story as the hero or the villain for the exact same behavior. We are neither the hero nor the villain in our own story but instead the narrator– and it’s our story to tell and rewrite, and edit, as we learn and grow and acquire new information. It’s like being on a long slog (more on those later) where you end up in a spot you didn’t anticipate and you can’t go back but only move forward, make the best decision for you in that time with the information you have but being flexible and adaptable as you make your way down the trail. At the end you look back and think wow, what a crazy story that is, but in the midst of the trail you can’t conceive how it will all unfold– and only when you get to the end do you finally feel like you can make sense of all the chaos in the midst. Anyways, thanks for staying with me on this one and for embracing the weird, chaotic amazingness that comes with being human– it’s my first time being alive (that I remember- haha!)
I half joke that the only reason I run is to stay in shape in case someone asks me to go to the Grand Canyon, it’s not really a joke and there isn’t much convincing needed on my part to go there but always nice to have a partner mostly to ease my mom’s concerns.
The last time I went to the Grand Canyon it was with Dave and Allison, and while I started that blog post many times I never finished it. We went down in a post-wedding celebration (of sorts) where I made them recreate multiple wedding photos at multiple locations and we all dawned bridesmaid dresses for one of the days.
We realized that dusty rose might actually be Dave’s color. We ran down to the river, got the world’s best lemonade and then made the trek back up. In the months that followed the panic attack, I lost my narrative, my sense of self, and sense of belonging. Most days I could not even believe that I was the same girl who had ventured to the depths of the canyon mere months before.
In November friends started putting in for cancelled rafting permits and one was drawn. The dates didn’t align for work but half joked that I could always run down to Phantom Ranch, say hi, and run back out. Joke is on me. As the plans transpired it was realized they would be at Phantom on Sunday which meant I could feasibly do that without running into a work deadline. It should be noted that I don’t mind dancing around work deadlines, I love my job, what I do, and feel incredibly lucky for the life it enables me to live. Anyways, more logistics flew and realized that a friend would be hiking out, cool I could join him and figure out who was taking his spot to go in with. More planning, Carly would also be hiking out, amazing, and Jordan a friend from Alaska and Avery (friend of a friend) would hike in. Done and done, I’d have people to hike in with and people to hike out with. The logistics seemed more complicated on my end with my return ticket being purchased before my departure one as I hemmed and hawed when I’d want to arrive so I could be stable for a late Friday work call. I opted to leave on Friday and enjoy the Sedona sun Friday evening before picking the boys up at the airport on Saturday.
I arrived and drove up to Sedona getting to a trailhead parking lot just as the sun was moving behind the rocks. I put my windbreaker on forgetting how cold the desert could get as the sun went down. I started jogging up the Cathedral Rock trail, the most powerful vortex in all the land. I ventured off the trail a bit to get in some different views before linking back up onto the trail. I climbed up to the top and perched out on the rocks watching the last of the light cease from the day.
A very common issue is that I think it only gets dark in Alaska, because people outside of Alaska always ask if it really gets dark there so it has convinced me that nowhere else gets dark. As a result,I left my headlight in the car, but with a clear sky and moonlight was able to dance my way down the trail, amazed at how my body navigated though the rocks. I was approaching the parking lot when I saw a change in tone on the rock and stepped on it with my right leg before I could change my footing, my foot had struck ice and slipped out, my left in an already downward step motion, bent at the knee and kept going as I slid down. I stopped and got up feeling a foreign pain in my left knee all the way down my leg, oh wow I haven’t had an injury in a while. I slowly walked back to the car taking in the stats of my pain, location, and any altered movements I was making. I could move and haven’t heard anything popped making me think it was just a strain but was a little nervous that I had effectively nulled my Grand Canyon trek. I stopped at store and picked up some epsom salt to soak it and KT tape for the next day. I soaked it and propped it up on a pillow for the night.
The next morning I taped it up and headed to a fairly easy trail for a loop to see how my knee felt. The trail started with a half mile descent to link up with the loop, I gingerly pushed off my left leg, altering my gate for my right leg to carry more of the load. How odd, my right leg has been the weakest and now it was picking up the slack of my left. I notice what caused a sharp pain, down step with leg fully extended and a heel strike. I wove around people and the rocks. The pain was intermittent giving me hope that I hadn’t done any real damage. Once the trail leveled I settled into a slower pace than normal and ran the loop around. Sully and I used to come down to Sedona to visit his parents, I remembered riding the trail with him but running it now I couldn’t believe this was one of the easier ones in the area. I made it through the loop and felt better towards the end with no actual residual pain. Definitely got lucky on that one.
I picked up Avery and Jordan in Flagstaff and after a few stops at REI, three grocery stores to get some of the requests from those on the river, the dollar store, and gas station, we headed north. We stopped halfway to do a short hike where a volcano had essentially melted in on itself. After about a mile or so of post holing, we decided we were good with going back. I asked Avery (he’s a doctor) about my knee, he basically said the fact I could walk on it means there isn’t anything serious wrong. Worked for me!
We spent the night packing, them mostly repacking to fit some of the groceries in. I messaged Evan about the possibility of actually needing to pack my camping things in. He thought they’d be to Phantom around 1 at the latest so we’d be able to hike out the same day. Perfect, more room in my bag for groceries. In what is the most bizarre pack I’ve taken down to Phantom, it included a large block of cheese, two bags of arugula, bell peppers, and cuties, in addition to my layers and snacks.
We left the hotel around 8 and got to the trailhead around 9:15, I figured out my layers and we headed to the trail around 9:30. I have never been to the Grand Canyon in the winter so was excited to see what it was like. I carried my micro spikes as we crossed the parking lot and upon reaching the trail junction, put them on. We started the descent, it was about 15 degrees on the top and a pretty good layer of ice on the trail.
We started down the trail, the familiar switchbacks revealing themselves as the spikes pierced through the layer of ice. I was just taking it all in as we walked down the trail. We fell into a similar pace and chatted about what those on the river were experiencing and when we thought they would arrive. Before I knew it we were at the first outhouse, about 1.5 miles down. We stopped to grab some water and snacks, I passed out some sour patch kids and then we kept going. About 800 yards later I took off my spikes, the trail had mostly tried with just some lingering spots of ice. I thought back to the times before on the trail, the versions of me that had existed here — sometimes I think I’m almost reclaiming spaces that I went to during COVID, as if a part of me has been left there for safe keeping and I was returning to pick her up. I didn’t share this with Jordan but we did talk about crystals and vortexes and also everything else, dog mushing, growing up in Alaska, skiing, relationships, families, on the trail anything is fair game— but I’ve noticed that death is coming up less frequently.
We continued down and about half way I stopped to take off more layers, cursing that I had left my shorts in the car. A few guys were stopped too and commented on the beer Avery was hauling on his pack, there weren’t a lot of people on the trail but those that were certainly were curious about the boys’ large packs and my tiny one, in addition to the beer. We explained and they were like oh next time you should send it down on a mule, it’s $80 but that’s what we do to get out stuff down there to camp for a few days… ohhhh that’s good to know.
We ebbed in and out of being able to hear the river. It’s intoxicating to think about something so wild, so fierce, that spent years carving out the canyon and is still a force to be reckon with #Goals. As we got closer we could see the beach and we saw a few kayaks, oh I wonder if that’s them. A raft approached confirming it was there from where we perched about a mile above. I joked with Jordan I could run down and tell them we were on the way, he said okay and I said really? Okay! And took off down the trail. As I was running I was filled with what I imagine is the feeling of immense gratitude, which I find myself having more and more of these days, this overwhelming warmth that radiates in my body. I kept running down the trail, elated that I’d be reconnected with friends I hadn’t seen in a few weeks and others a year. I ran through the tunnel and into the light on the bridge to cross the river. I heard them yelling and hollered back. I dashed off the bridge and looped around with the river crew getting covered with shrubbery. I kept going and stepped off the trail and made my way to the beach— ohhhh heyyyy
Roomies at the bottom of the canyon
We exchanged greetings and then a few of us wandered up to Phantom Ranch to get some lemonade and drop post in the mail. I heard more of their adventures from the river and told them about all my travels. I’m never sure what it is but the lemonade is amazing here.
We went back to the beach, this time Jordan and Avery were there and Carly and Evan were packing there things up. I took a few of their things in my bag and after saying goodbye we split up and they headed down the river to get a few more miles in for the day.
I’ve never hiked up South Kaibob, it’s 2 miles short than Bright Angel but doesn’t have any water on it. But since all the water is turned off in the winter figured it didn’t matter — and decided with Tom it was the best route for more sun exposure on the trail.
We started back up all the switchbacks I had just come down. I heard about their week, how it snowed on them early on, the rapids they encountered, and the food they packed in. I told them about Canada, Geneva, and DC. They both used to live there and I would usually spend my DC time with them. We talked about everything again, work, relationships, life, the geological time scale.
Going up wasn’t too bad but we made it a point to stop every mile to drink water and take a break. I half joked that we just needed to be near the top by 7 for my family FaceTime call. Even with the more frequent breaks we were taking we were mostly on track to reach that. We put on our micro spikes a little later after I had taken them off with the sun making the trail less icy over the day and more slushy.
Better to be safe than sorry. We kept going up and were able to see the last light of the day cast over the canyon before disappearing for the night. Fortunately, it was a clear night and enough light from the moon made it so we didn’t feel a need to bring out our headlights (but I did have mine this time). About 15 minutes from the top, I called in to my family, realizing that my text saying I was headed in never actually sent.
I told them of the day and Carly and Evan said hi too. We got to the top or as Carly said, rimmed out, packed up the car and headed towards the nearest McDonalds. After some food and coffee we drove back down to Flagstaff for the night.
The next morning, after barely making it to the hotel breakfast, we wandered around Flagstaff, Carly and Evan both served as my personal shoppers in the book store pulling a book on boundaries (these days I’m half in/half out the self help section with my reading). Given all they know I figured these options wouldn’t hurt and got a few postcards as well. We said our goodbyes with them driving out to California and I was headed down to Phoenix for a flight. I had enough time that I stopped for a yoga class on the way, and buying a tshirt from the place to do yoga in (this will be important later). I then stopped again in Sedona to head up to Cathedral Rock and see it in the daylight.
I squeezed out all I could to make it back to the airport in time for my flight. I dropped my car off at the rental place and hopped on the tram to transfer to the terminal. It should be noted that I don’t usually get to the airport very early (unless I’m traveling with someone who prefers that), the one time I did get there a few hours before my flight I fell asleep at the gate and missed my flight. On the tram I went to check in, except I couldn’t find any email with the check in information, huh, that’s weird. I looked at my account, nothing had ever been charged for a flight, although I do remember getting up to get my card information to purchase the flight but now wondering if I just didn’t wait for the transaction to get completed. Anyways about 30 minutes before departure I realized I didn’t have a flight. I also realized I didn’t have enough time to get to the ticket counter and through security. No matter, this was so exciting, I’ve seen this in the movies where someone goes up to the counter and is like, I need one ticket to DC and I have to be there by 9am tomorrow and slams the credit card down on the counter. In reality I did need to be back at work by 9am for an in person meeting. I walked up to the counter (while whispering big money big money, no whammies) and they asked if I was there to check-in. “No, I’d like to buy a ticket!” trying to hide my excitement, “you can’t do that here, only online or calling.” What? I imagined the plot of Home Alone getting rerouted. Well there goes any future spontaneity air travel. I quickly logged onto Kayak and found a red eye that would get me into DC at 7:30am. When I told my mom she couldn’t believe I got a ticket for $200, I responded that God works in mysterious ways- ha. But then I was at the airport a bit early so caught up on some reading and wandered around. When it came time to board, my mom Facetimed me again to make sure I was in fact awake and at my gate.
I arrived in DC without any time to go home and change. In my layover in San Francisco I managed to find some black leggings and a scarf to make it work. I got in an Uber and changed into my clothes, using the yoga shirt I had purchased the day before as it was the cleanest option in my bag, as well as putting a face mask on to depuff. I’m still not sure what rating the Uber driver gave me but no matter. I arrived to work to find out my 9am had gotten pushed back. I made it through the day and what did I learn, well not much actually because luck was on my side and behavioral economics was too. So I might just make sure I get an email confirmation on my travel before I get to the airport. I was joking with a work colleague that after feeling constricted for so long I feel like the pendulum is swinging the other way, with seeing how much chaos I can handle, turns out a lot when I’m not in fight or flight mode. Guess I’m back, chaos queen reigns supreme. I knew she was in there.
Don’t worry, my next post is all about rest, as I’m sure you (like most of the guys I seem to meet these days) are wondering when I actually have downtime.
No adventure is ever complete without commemoratory stickers
Kate Farrell Ginsbach 