White Mountains 100

On May 28, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Endurance Races, Mental Health, Other Adventures, Uncategorized2 Comments

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.

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.

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

The Bomber Traverse

On April 8, 2023April 12, 2023 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Mental Health, skiing, UncategorizedLeave a comment

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!)

Radical Hope

On May 21, 2021May 24, 2021 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Cycling, Endurance Races, skiing, Uncategorized4 Comments

In the past months I have started and stopped writing more times than I can count, thinking I needed to find the right words for the right audience but I’ve realized that I don’t do this for you I do it for me and if I’m trying to craft the right words for the right reader well then that will never happened because who is the right audience (like besides my parents who already get mini life updates 3-4 times a week).

I still spend a lot of time working on COVID so it still occupies a lot of my mind (globally, we had our highest daily case count this week) but with the vaccines coming online here it feels like I can breathe easier knowing my parents, family, friends, and community are protected. Then I feel guilty because all of those individuals who still can’t access the vaccine while still tracking everything that is happening worldwide and knowing that our individuals actions can have large and lasting impacts beyond our immediate contacts. I’m sure it’s been a wild ride for my therapist and she’s probably learned more about pandemic preparedness and vaccine deployment than she probably ever anticipated knowing about. And it’s been exhausting to see peoples’ response and while I won’t get super deep into my thoughts I will say that I hope when this is over we invest in public health, education, and mental health resources.

Alvin did become a pretty good trail partner

To catch you up from last fall I drove through Canada while the border was closed, with Alvin- the best backseat driver. I didn’t think I could handle an Alaska winter during COVID and it was the longest I had not seen my parents in person like ever (which is very fortunate). We left here in late October (figured if there was a coup during the election resources to Alaska would be cut off first– and that was only funny to joke about until an insurrection happened).

When I drove up to Alaska I promised on my return I would not do it in that amount of time again, I’d take like 2-3 weeks really make a trip of it, well I at least kept half of that promise and did not do it in the same amount of time, but rather quicker. The border was closed (and still is) except for essential travel. My plan was to drive most of my things down before the roads got too bad in case work was like hey we need you in DC and honestly was not sure I could handle Alvin flying beneath me in cargo, let’s be real. I had to show way more documentation to get into Canada than I thought was possible (they did not even seem to care that Alvin was vaccinated). I was given strict instructions and a number to call if I developed symptoms on the drive. It wasn’t too bad just long, and having Alvin at least forced me to stop every few hours to get out and walk around.

When we got to the US border I was met with one question, “where did you stop” and well because I’m me had a list of all places that I had stopped even briefly in case they needed to contact trace, I handed them the list and he goes “oh no, we just need to know if you have any fruits or vegetables that could be carrying something” I looked at him as if I was not the potential carrier of something. I said I had no fruits or vegetables and he waived me through (again not concerned about this wild village dog). I turned my paperwork into the Canadians to avoid getting a bench warrant on me and entered the US. After another 12 hours of driving, and quarantining before hand, I finally made it to my parents and was oddly relieved to see them alive (even though weekly Facetime calls told me they were).

I planned on going back to Alaska and decided to sign up for a running race the first week of March figuring it would give Alvin and I something to do while we were home. And it did, I spent most of the time hiking, trail running, and entertaining both Tenzen and Alvin.

I found a friend to run with who knew the trails in Wind Cave, which I had never spent much time in because too many snakes in the summer but with winter only had to do a few bison detours. And she was even down to run 15 miles without thinking twice about it.

I left Alvin at home when I came back to Alaska because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying for. It was incredibly challenging, because we had basically spent the past 9 months together like all the time and obviously very worried about traumatizing him by leaving him with Tenzen but he seemed unfazed by it, probably had to put up with more in the village. I do get daily updates and pictures from my parents, and my sister has sworn that she will not be getting a dog (as my parents are currently watching both Frank and I’s…)

I came back to Alaska and continued running and started skiing more which was similar to a baby giraffe figuring out what to do with its legs but had kind friends who would take me out, share tips, and wait for me as I side stepped steep hills (you’re welcome mom).

I did the Homer Epic and raced (ran) 30 miles, it was a time trial start with each participant spaced out by about 30 seconds so I started alone and spent most of the day alone. I figured it was a good way to get to see Homer, albeit a bit slow but it was a blue bird day so could not complain.

I felt great until mile 12 and then the snow lost it’s firmness and it became soft and squishy with a sideways wind picking up the snow and whipping it around me, reminding me that it was in fact a winter race. I made it to the half way mark and recognized one of the aid workers from previous bike races, we briefly chatted and then I took off again. Because of COVID I didn’t make any plans to stop at aid stations and carried what I thought I would need in my backpack and then Kevin carried other things I thought I might need and met me at two points, mile 10 and around mile 21.

After the halfway point I started what seemed to be the only climb of the day, or at least memorable one, it seemed to go on for about 3 miles. It started with a short climb that made me think it was over but upon cresting the summit realize there was still more to come, I started the downhill before getting to the next uphill approach when a woman rode the opposite direction towards me, she yelled something like, “woohooo go lady!” And that was enough to make me cry, like full on sob, I think because in that moment everything felt so normal, like every other race before there there is always someone yelling “go lady” or “girl power” or cheering in some form and it felt just like that, except it wasn’t, we were (are) still in the midst of a pandemic that had claimed so many unnecessary lives, caused so much financial upheaval, and torn at the very fabric of our society. So I think it was a culmination of things, plus having ran like 17 miles before maybe didn’t help my ability to control my emotions but then I cried most of the way up the hill and just like embraced it, like let it all out and it felt real good (or maybe it was the runner’s high).

I met Kevin at mile 21 and was very much looking forward to the processed turkey meat I made him haul out for that mile. I ate the food from him, lamented on how much I wished I was running on concrete since the soft snow had been my nemesis for the past 10 miles. Kevin packed up to ski back to the finish line, but it was rather anti-climatic as he never fully disappeared from my viewpoint for a few miles. I finished in around 8 hours and got 2nd (but the field was very small, although more than 2). The finish was pretty anticlimatic too, I almost tripped going across the finish line and then walked to the car and convinced Kevin to get takeout food from Alice’s Champagne Palace and that was it.

I took a few weeks off and putz around going back to skiing and lifting and then realized it was March and should probably start thinking about biking–got a little thrown that spring was here given how much snow was still around. I loosely started training and have some things in mind for what I want to accomplish this summer/fall but feel like it’s still too premature to state concretely that I’ll be doing these things, like I’ll somehow jinx it and will spend another summer grieving for time that keeps marching on. It’s been nice to get back on my bike, last summer I struggled without much structure in place, among other things, and I feel like my risk factor assessment was skewed in being able to properly assess what was required of me and others.

My academic training taught me a lot about how to prepare for pandemics but in all of those years studying I never once stopped to think about the day-to-day life of the people living through an outbreak– again law focuses on facts and not feelings. But now I realize how detrimental it is to neglect feelings and human behavior and I’m sure all the behavioral scientists are like yeah, duh. After the Exxon/Valdez oil spill a lot of researchers moved to the area, scientists, toxic marine biologists but also sociologist and anthropologists. We had never dealt with an oil spill of that magnitude and weren’t exactly sure how to respond, like after the crash happened nothing happened for 3 days, the oil just stayed in the water while people tried to figure out the best course of action for retrieval, the 4th day a huge storm moved in and displaced the oil up and down the coast of Alaska going from an isolated area to impacting many small communities that rely on the water for fishing and other ways of life. A class action law suit happened, with something over 30,000 plaintiffs but as my dad will point out, justice is not always swift with the lawsuit dragging out for more than a decade. The lawsuit got appealed all the way to Supreme Court and they did in my opinion a terrible job of articulating what punitive damages are for– basically reducing them from an initial award of $5 billion to then $2.5 billion at the Court of Appeals and finally to the Supreme Court saying that punitive damages for maritime related cases should not exceed compensatory damages which was an award of $200 million. So Exxon went from losing one year of profits in punitive damages to 1-2 days. But in exchange we’ve recovered 8% of the oil that was lost. Why did I just tell you this rather depressing information, well because in addition to this legal information, we have sociology and anthropology research that came out it too. I’ve often found the law does an awful job of telling the true realities, which makes sense because you want facts and not feelings making legal precedent but as I’ve written about before, law school only teaches case law and not the human emotions that go into walking into someone’s life on their worst day, as I often felt when walking into a patients room to complete a Will so they could be discharged into hospice and die. My story stops at completing their will and their story stops shortly after but there is no mention of the turmoil one goes through in having weeks to get their affairs in order before leaving this earth. So what did a lot of the behavioral research show after the Valdez oil spill, well it showed that communities come together when dealing with a natural disaster (i.e., disease outbreak.acts of God) but they get torn apart based on acts of humans. Basically technological disasters (acts of humans) were more psychologically stressful than natural disasters, n=177. In addition to the trauma response to the disaster, the community became divided because the longer it went on the more people were split on how it should have been handled- if it should even be litigated vs. just moving on. But there is no playbook for things like this, there is no trauma response class in schools, some people going through the legal system is healing, for other’s it’s putting salt in a wound they don’t want to have open anymore. This is all to say that I’m not sure this leaves us post-COVID, it’s been hellacious seeing our response and I often think of the 1918 Flu because we don’t have a lot of information on that, and some of that was in part because of the sedition acts but I think a lot of it was it was probably really traumatizing for individuals. Now we have all the information but will it get suppressed because of human behaviors. I don’t know but that’s what I spend time thinking about, how do we heal, how do I heal.

I did my first big ride since before COVID this past weekend and it’s the moment I’ve been waiting a year for where this desire finally trickled up and I couldn’t put it off any longer (kind of like finally blogging). Before it wasn’t there, I would think about doing long rides and going on treks but just couldn’t get over whatever barrier was there in my mind. And they weren’t barriers put up by biking but more about how society functioned during COVID which I don’t need to get into here but they have been identified and working through it with my therapist. But I knew the moment was here when I was met with either driving 100 highway miles or riding my bike and riding my bike seemed easier and more enjoyable. Which I know you’re like what, and I would have been like what all last year too. And I was amazed at how quickly my body settled into the rhythm of riding, sure I’ve done longish rides at this point but nothing really over 2-3 hours. It became mechanical again when to eat, when to drink, like I had never stopped doing it. I got done and finished at 95 miles, Kevin suggested I go ride 5 more for a century but I thought best not to over do it right out of the gate.

Why ride 5 more miles when you can go eat hot dogs

I guess my hope is that whatever you have endured this past year, whether COVID related or something else, whatever barriers you had that made you stop, take a break, and question everything that you know, that when you pick up you don’t just think about going back to where you were but are in a place where you get to think about how to make things better than they were before for yourself, your community, wherever you feel called. I also got sent this article this morning by a friend on how the pandemic mental wounds are still wide open, it helped me so maybe it will help you.

I’m headed to Valdez this weekend, it’s been on my list to go for a while and missed the opportunity to get there this winter. I have a lot more thoughts I feel like I need to get out but seems like the best thing for me is to ride 300 miles and see how this community healed after trauma. And in a way all these things tell me that I’m healing.

“If you insist on entertaining hopes you might as well be ambitious in your desires do not bother fantasizing about a return to how things were before you might as well be ambitious in your desires hope that things will be better than they were before” -Plague Poems

Photo by Rachel Heath and I hope everyone has a friend like her in their lives

The Law of Nature

On July 20, 2020July 20, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Global Health, Uncategorized2 Comments

In all my studies about pandemics I would always think about what one would look like today, we have made so many scientific advances since the 1918 flu but it’s now clear one thing hasn’t changed and that’s human behavior.

My dad talks about getting taken to the gymnasium when he was a kid to get his polio vaccine, and how grateful his mom was that there was one available. Polio killed but even more so it maimed in a ferocious way that children were put in iron lungs or if they were lucky only wheel chairs for the rest of their lives. The first big outbreak happened in 1916 in New York City, before that it had circulated but did not strike in the way it did that year. Until a vaccine was created in 1955, theaters and pools would shut down every “polio season” as they were often seen as hot spots in an attempt to prevent the spread. Those who could leave crowded cities often would escape to the country side in an attempt to avoid it and children often had to carry records showing that they were not infected with it. The March of Dimes came out of polio research and really spurred early philanthropy beyond the ultra wealthy. FDR took it upon himself to call on Americans to send dimes to help fund polio research (hence the name). Even when there were no known cures people would seek out remedies, FDR would escape to a bath house down in Georgia believing that the water helped with his rehabilitation (probably an early form of water therapy).

What was once a potential death sentence or a life filled with disability has been almost completely eradicated worldwide, there are less than 200 cases globally but without a vaccine it’s estimated that 17 million people who are otherwise healthy at this moment would be paralyzed. As of 2017, there were three individuals in the US who still depended on an iron lung to survive, which is one of the most inspiring and also heartbreaking medical devices we have. This article does a great job of painting the picture of those three lives. In the peak year of 1952, 60,000 cases of Polio happened in the US with 3,000 people dying, and an additional 21,000 paralyzed as a result. Polio gets into the body through the mouth then grows in the intestines, it can then travel into the blood stream reaching the nervous system where there it will attack the spinal cord or the brain, where it can cause paralysis. The death like most viral infections is not pretty, imagine a 6 year-old gasping for breath as their lungs become paralyzed and they essentially drown in their own secretions, parents only able to offer some comfort as they cradle their head as the rest of the body is in an iron lung working to force them to breath. Devastating. Jonas Salk started trials of a vaccine in 1953 (beginning with his own children) and by 1960s the reoccurring epidemics were 97% gone.

Why am I talking about polio, well with the current pandemic feel like I can finally spew out all this random knowledge about other diseases, and I still have a book due to the Notre Dame Library about it. But because I think a lot about polio right now with the discussion of schools opening up because polio mostly impacted younger children– but also if at it’s peak it killed 3,000/year by today’s measure we would have never focused on a remedy so maybe there is a lesson to learn about how society acted towards life during that time. There aren’t a lot of articles out there about movements during polio that contested the closure of areas; but I’m sure some mothers were exasperated when getting to the pool to realize it’s closed down and all the kids want to do is go for a swim. COVID-19 fortunately does not strike kids in the same way as adults and elders, or at least that is what current studies show but we’re still responding in real time to the virus so we still don’t know everything about it (the polio vaccine did a double blind study with 1.8 million school children). The most recent data shows that kids under 10 aren’t big spreaders of the virus, but with 1/3 of the cases in Florida being children that might change. A study that just came out of South Korea (n=65,000) shows that kids ages 10-19 are just as effective at spreading COVID-19 as adults (still limitations within the study). Those kids who are impacted tend to have preexisting conditions (much like adults) and symptoms are showing up differently with inflammation and rashes, and often triggering Kawasaki Disease (1/3 of kids who were diagnosed with this in NY had preexisting conditions).

Let’s take it back for all of you at home that stopped your science education in high school (and there is nothing wrong with that, that’s where my math career ended and always so grateful I have Heidi to message about math problems– and math is technically different than stats which I have painstakingly taken twice now for two different degrees….). A virus is a collection of genetic code (either DNA or RNA) surrounded by a protein coat that needs host cells to replicate itself, since it can’t replicate on its own. Viruses are different than bacteria–which are single celled organisms that can harm or help support life — think of gut bacteria vs. those that cause an infection. Viruses can’t be treated with antibiotics and instead need anti-viral medication or vaccines to eliminate them, non-pharmaceutical interventions are a way to reduce or mitigate the spread, think of hand washing.

Why does this information matter, well based on quite a few facebook posts I’m convinced that people don’t know how viruses function and behave. Because viruses can’t survive on their own, they need a host, and that host doesn’t necessarily have to be humans but most human infectious diseases are initially transmitted from animals. This is a great video that shows how host jumps happen. One more step that the virus has to take is going from just infecting humans to transmit the virus from human to human. H5N1 causes a severe respiratory disease in birds (avian flu) and human cases do occur with a 60% mortality rate but it’s very difficult to transmit humans to humans so the virus jumps from a bird to a human and there is no additional jump to another human– but if it jumped human-to-human and retained that mortality rate we’d have a problem.

Humans are hosts for COVID-19, it is transmissible from human-to-human which means each one of us is a potential host and potential spreader. How do we stop COVID, we make it hard for it to find a host. This is where all the non-pharmaceutical interventions come in that have been talked about; washing hands, wearing a mask, maintaining physical distance because we don’t have any antivirals or vaccines developed at the moment, and even if we did, a mass vaccine campaign is no small undertaking.

Right now the United States has 142,000 deaths from COVID–in the past two weeks alone cases are up 33%, hospitalizations are up 75%, and deaths are up 101% with 20 states being in the “red zone”. That’s a line of dead bodies that stretches 66 miles, or from my parent’s house to the nearest McDonald’s, pasture upon pasture filled with a person who was somebody to someone. So it’s been extremely frustrating and quite dismaying to see people’s response to this: “It’s not a problem here” “Masks are an infringement of my freedom” and “We just have to live with it” because we’re all potential hosts and we’re all potential spreaders. Even arguably those who have been previously infected because we don’t know how long immunity is lasting for, and it might not mean much if the virus keeps mutating beyond what immunity you had.

“It’s not a problem here”– this is really interesting to me because I think of 9/11, the twin towers didn’t fall in rural South Dakota and yet my community was shell-shocked on the attack. 3,000+ Americans died and it was enough that people felt called into action from around the country. I also think of what our reaction would be now to 9/11, how many would be quick to believe it’s a conspiracy theory, an inside job, a way to control the citizens, how much misinformation would have gotten circulated on facebook. If COVID isn’t a problem at the moment for your community, be grateful, but also work to take steps to prevent it from becoming a problem. We continue to take our shoes off at the airport, even though dying in a terrorist attack is a much lower threat than COVID-19 right now. Viruses don’t respect borders, it doesn’t stop at state lines or county lines.

“Masks are an infringement of my freedom” I’m not sure how this became such a rally cry or such a partisan issue. Masks aren’t an infringement of your freedom. Individual liberty isn’t an absolute. “In every well ordered society charged with the duty of conserving the safety of its members the rights of the individual in respect of his liberty may at times, under the pressure of great dangers, be subjected to such restraint, to be enforced by reasonable regulations, as the safety of the general public may demand” and that “[r]eal liberty for all could not exist under the operation of a principle which recognizes the right of each individual person to use his own, whether in respect of his person or his property, regardless of the injury that may be done to others.” (Jacobson v. Mass, 197 U.S. 11 (1905)). Basically you’re arguing that everyone should have the freedom to unfettered rights and that rights come with no responsibility.

Cheney and I agreeing 100% on something–not the Patriot Act….

The mask argument just shows how unwilling we are at the moment to take care of one another. I get there was confusion early on with masks, I didn’t start wearing one until end of March when I went out. A lot of the mask data we have is from antecedent studies because it would be unethical to have a control group without masks exposed to COVID-19. We continue to learn new information about this disease, and we’re responding in real time. We know to be infected it’s time + exposure. Because I live in Alaska when I go to a trail I don’t wear a mask (I also don’t go to very busy trails), but will have a face covering around my neck that I can pull up like a bandana or buff. It doesn’t have to be this all or nothing, we know that inside, poor ventilated spaces are great for transmitting the virus, and that masks help if you can’t maintain distance (inside and outside). On a personal note, I would love to see the data of those who supported the Patriot Act passage and those who oppose mask mandates, my guess is that there is a large correlation but I would argue the Patriot Act was a larger infringement on your individual liberty.

“We just have to live with it” Nope, nope, nope. No other country is willing to live with it, if this is your view point, ask how many more Americans is it acceptable to die. I get frustrated because the amount of deaths we have are wholly unnecessary, and I’m quite ashamed of our response. I have spent the past three weeks in the weeds of other countries law and policies related to COVID and I can tell you almost every country is performing better on this test. Are we suppose to be okay that we’re doing better than early model projections, that we don’t have 500,000 Americans dead? What’s the threshold for you to take action? Washing hands, wearing masks, maintaining distance are what should also be part of broader testing and contact tracing. Look and see if you are able to get tested in your area without showing symptoms? It’s not happening in a lot of places and until it does we will be in this constant catch up game.

This past week I was in a pretty dark spot because I can’t believe that this our response and that people are okay with it. Do I think if I got the virus I would die, statistically no, but there are outliers, do I want to have prolonged lung damage or neurological damage, no. Do I think my parents are at a higher risk, absolutely. Do I want members of my community to die or have their lives impacted, no. This virus doesn’t just kill but wrecks havoc on one’s body in a brutal way (and in ways we won’t know for a while), and I know what you’re thinking, but Kate, asymptomatic people, you wouldn’t even know you had it, except that lung damage is shown in those who have shown no symptoms. Imagine going for a hike or a walk with 75% of your current lung capacity. Breathe through a straw if you want a full effect.

As schools talk about re-opening, we’re missing the part of the conversation that talks about what we can do in the next 6-weeks to make that more feasible. I don’t have kids so I’m not writing from a place of needing to get them out of the house so I can focus on my work, but I feel for those parents who are navigating this work space and childcare/school work at home. I think ignoring the disease is not a great approach– and think there are concrete steps we can be taking to ensure our schools are safe for when they do open up.

Viruses don’t care about our families, our work, we can’t negotiate with them. It’s the law of nature, not the law of man that we are battling with. Do you want to be part of the solution or part of the problem? Everybody is a potential host of this virus to replicate in. We don’t have to be in total lock down or completely open, it doesn’t have to be this divisive. We’re all battling the same enemy, we’re all on the same team. Until everyone realizes that the longer this is going to go on. The longer issues go on beyond COVID, immunizations are down, mental health issues, domestic violence. A lot of people had an idea of fissures happening within our society but this has exposed large ruptures in a way that we should no longer be willing to ignore. For me this is the longest I’ve gone without seeing my family. And everything just seems a little harder to deal with most days– as if I was going to graduate from therapy any time soon…

As for Alvin and I’s adventures, we have gone canoeing, hiking, backpacking–oh and he ran away from the boarder’s for two days and ended up 20 miles away, yikes. We just sent out a breed kit to find out what he is. If you haven’t placed your bet yet, you can here.

Congrats, if you made it this far, my next therapy session is about 3 weeks away and the turmoil in my mind was putting me in not a great place personally so welcome to my current therapy session. Happy to discuss anything further or provide references to anything that I have. Hope at least the pictures of Alvin helped you get through it. I’m sure if you’re reading this you’re probably on a similar page with the COVID response.

Rationalized Risks

On May 22, 2020May 22, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Global Health, Hiking2 Comments

Did you know that only 25% of people who start the Appalachian Trail finish it. That leaves 75% that show up with the intention of completing it to call it quits, I’m sure only after rationalizing their decision. There are other (unverified) stats surrounding endurance events, one that I’ve heard about Leadville MTB is that only about 60% of the men finish; whereas 90% of women finish. One of the reasons is that men tend to overestimate their ability where women tend to underestimate their ability. Again, broad generalization.

After the bar I started reading a book about the Appalachian Trail course records, it went through details of those who attempted and ultimately achieved setting a new thru-hike record. At the time I tucked the book away with the tidbits of knowledge thinking I would rely on it for larger endurance mountain bike pursuits this year. Little did I know I’d be utilizing it for a completely different type of endurance pursuit, like staying at home and social distancing. I thought about it again, recently, when I stumbled onto this article. The slog we are in at the moment with the pandemic seems to resemble a really long endurance pursuit. At the start we’re all gung-ho, and then when you start to settle in you realize the daunting task in front of you and all of a sudden you’re questioning all of your life decisions (or really the federal government’s [lack of] response) that have brought you (us) to this point (usually like mile 55 of a 100 mile race). Now, with things opening up it’s like being at mile 70 of a race, where you’re cautiously optimistic that you’re going to make it to the end but realize that there is still enough time that a lot could still happen. And who knows maybe we’re at mile 70 of a 500 mile race instead of 100. Trying my best to remain optimistic but opening up offers a false sense of security because the virus hasn’t gone away, people have just rationalized the risks they are willing to take.

What will this nugget do when I actually have to go to work

Times remain weird and I deal with feelings of guilt being in Alaska (lowest COVID case count in the US) and with my access to the outdoors not being limited, mostly encouraged by officials to maintain mental health.

After car camping with Alvin, we decided he was ready for his next Pawnee Goddess Badge: Backpacking. Which meant I got to haul the 9 pound tent into the backcountry because we’re still not convinced he won’t damage the nice tent. Alvin was great on the trail and we kept him on leash for the most part because there were a lot of people and dogs. For as many people we saw on the trail we only heard a few others around our campsite.

I bring you a nice tent and this is where you want to sleep….

The next morning we decided to leave on a different trail, hiking up to the ridge line, going across the ridge, and then down. It offered better views and thought it would be better for Alvin to have him off leash more. We had him off leash initially but on the steep hike up to the ridge realized he would see a rock rolling and chase it down, and derp his way back up to us. We finally had to put him back on the leash so he would stop dawdling.

The views, were amazing, even though Kevin was like “they’re okay” which leads me to believe there are more amazing views to be sought.

The first half of the hike was great, with almost no post-holing into the snow.

The second half, made us realized why no one else was up there as some of the ridge lines weren’t completely melted out. There was only one section that I was mostly terrified on and it was about 20 yards of being unsure if I was walking on snow covering the ground, or just snow that could easily break and carry me away. We made it and Alvin proved to be a better rock scrambler than me, not surprised.

I felt like an anxious mom the whole time watching him go over rocks and praying he did not fall off the ledge. We made it down and again ordered burgers to be ready for pick-up upon our arrival back into Anchorage.

Last week I think I did the most Alaskan thing you could do which was bike and pack raft– or as Kevin said, boats on bikes, bikes on boats, boats on bikes. We rode out on double track for about 20 miles, the last 3 covered in loose sand made me realize why everyone else had a fat bike.

We got to Knik Glacier, where Kevin and I were the only ones willing to jump in (thank you 8 years of ice baths from high school and college sports).

We unpacked our boats and then gingerly put the bikes on the packrafts, which are just giant rubber rafts, and seem easily pop-able (quite terrifying when borrowing an expensive piece of equipment and then putting more gear on it).

The Knik River was quite mellow, almost so mellow that we had to paddle the whole time instead of riding the current. I drew on the three times I had been in a canoe or kayak and tried to avoid catching any crabs (I think that’s the lingo…). It was great until we hit mile 13 and a nasty headwind, I didn’t really think much of it, other than I wish my paddle had a power meter so I could see how much power I was putting out to go nowhere, and was quite content to just stay in that same place for the foreseeable future.

Fortunately, Kevin was thinking a little more clearly and paddled over to the shore to get out and start putting his bike together. He was turned away when I made my approach to the shore but as I pulled up and went to get out the wind pushed me back into the water, this went on about 3 more times before I was finally able to get on to shore and out of the boat. We broke down the rafts (more so Kevin) and I put together my bike, loading the packs back onto our backs to pedal out. I felt tired at this point but the one thing I’ve realized with biking is that even when I’m tired my body knows what to do. We started biking towards the road with only some detours as we found the best dirt road back to the highway to loop around to the cars. It was fun and with racing on pause this season a new type of challenge and adventure to have.

Lifejacket on because #safetyissexy and I was cold

Sunday was mostly spent cleaning up gear. As of last Monday morning I was still planning on leaving for South Dakota. When I got into work (and by that I mean the spare bedroom) on Monday it was like the reality of closing all my cases or transferring them over and having to pack up and move this week hit me. I think in a lot of ways I felt like it was an either/or situation, like I was either leaving now, not knowing when I would be back, or staying indefinitely, not knowing when I would be leaving.

Plus not sure Alvin and I are ready to camp by ourselves

I didn’t feel like I could do an adequate job of finishing my cases and packing up enough that I wasn’t leaving completely disheveled (mostly my style but usually have my family to help me pack). I decided to focus on work this week and stay tentatively for one more month and reassess. The border might be open by then, which would certainly make travel easier, and South Dakota might not be the hot spot it is now. Selfishly, Alaska seems like the best spot for my mental health through all of this, besides being so far away from my family.

I think too starting last week I realized that I would be saying goodbye to clients, in my new position it’s more research and writing based and not direct client services. It’s what I want but certainly a change, some of the things I experienced this year are unlike anything I ever will – like when I went to serve a demand letter and interrupted a swat tactical take down– didn’t seem like we were going after the same person but I let them go first and called a colleague for reinforcement. It’s nothing I anticipated it would be but an amazing experience nonetheless. I’m sad that the timelines didn’t work out better for me to finish out this contract but I’m excited for what is ahead, even with all the underlying uncertainty…

Crossing one more thing off the bucket list–ignore my derpy “I’ve exercised for 10 hours” face haha

In what I thought would be my last weekend here, we are headed to Denali National Park. I felt like it was going to be one of those questions that after leaving Alaska I would hear all the time, “oh have you been to Denali” and I would have to say no, like saying no to seeing the northern lights, and saying no to seeing a bear.

As things open up I hope everyone realizes that everyone is operating under a different level of necessity and rationalized risks –financially they have to go work, for the sake of their sanity take their kids to camp or daycare, some people are comfortable eating in restaurants, getting their hair cuts, or not making any changes.

It’s kind of like being in the backcountry, everyone has a different comfort level and their own rationalization of the risks. I just have a problem if what you’re doing potentially threatens my or others health, well-being and safety. Personally, I’m still pretty cautious because I can be–and I’m kind of curious of what my natural hair color is at this point. I also understand that isn’t the reality for a lot of individuals. I do also believe that we can move forward into this space of thinking beyond ourselves, but understand that some don’t have the capacity right now as their very foundations and securities have become cracked and broken. Is that not just a juxtapose of a paragraph if you’ve ever read one. If you feel like you want more to explore I suggest reading about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.

Keep Moving

On May 8, 2020May 8, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Alvin, Global Health, Other Adventures, Uncategorized4 Comments

Alvin has taken to sleeping under the bed and even retreating there at moments during the day. After a quick google search it seems like dogs to do this to feel safe and to help them relax easier; after learning that I wondered if he had room for me under there.

The past two weekends I’ve been able to go camping. Which means life has simultaneously felt weird and normal. The Governor specifically addressed travel saying that you can go but cannot go into stores outside your community. The case count remains low here and with the physical distancing that took place early on gave the hospitals enough time to increase their bed capacity (and morgue capacity) so that if we do surge they are better equipped. As a result, some restrictions have been eased which I think we’ll know in about 2-3 weeks how that worked out.

The first weekend I found a friend to watch Alvin because apparently even the best trained dogs shred tents and not wanting to add a $300 tent to his running tab thought it was best to leave him home.

We headed down to Caines Head in Seward, I’m told it’s the trail that you take your out of state Alaska friends and also your girlfriend who doesn’t backpack. Perfect.

The trail beckoned us into the forest with lush tree coverage and dark, rich soil. We had an early start in order to make sure that we were able to cross a section while the tide was low and had plenty of time to spare. We topped off our water at a waterfall and headed to a fort that was used during WW2 to eat lunch but only after having to walk through the fort and hope that no bears were hibernating.

After that we headed to South Beach, which I kept calling North Beach and set up camp. Unlike winter camping it was insanely easy, no digging a hole, no shuffling around on skis, no having to eat a snack before hand; tent set up and ready to go in less than 3 minutes.

Having so much time we wandered around the beach, watched some sea kayakers, filled up our water bottles for dinner, made dinner, walked around the beach some more, found a dead otter somewhat near our tent. In my mind I was like oh great, that will attract the bears not us, which the next morning I was told that it could make the bears aggressive and they could come for us–ignorance is bliss.

In the morning I crawled out of the tent, with just about as many layers on as for winter camping but without a -20 degree sleeping bag. Again, the break down of camp proved much faster than winter camping and we were on our way.

As we hiked up we lost track of the trail covered up in snow and in a few places had to post-hole our way through. As communities begin to open up I felt a similar feeling to apprehensively moving forward on top of the snow: is it safe, will it hold me, and then occasionally finding my leg plunging through the crust and only being stopped by my hip on the surface. I had no idea that the snow remained that deep in places (deeper than a whole “Kate Leg”) and feel like with COVID cases we are in some ways only on the surface (again, call your congressional delegates about mass testing +contact tracing). We got down from the snow coverage and back onto the beach were we (I) haphazardly looked for animals in the water. We got back to the car and had just enough snacks to hold us over for the drive back but did put a to-go order in to a place in Anchorage to pick up on our arrival.

Last week I had a roller of emotions. It didn’t help that I was also about to start my period (not to add stuff to stereotypes but should be noted). I took a new job, well actually I took it a while ago but it’s in Washington DC so was waiting for more information on when I would physically need to be there. Initially thinking June 1 but then maybe end of June and finally got word that it would be mid-late fall. Which means working remote starting June 1 until we can be in the same space, but with the caveat of having to work east coast hours (for those of you at home, Alaska is in a separate time zone) meaning 5am-1pm in Alaska time. At first I was really excited about getting to stay in Alaska, I felt like I was just hitting my stride and settling in, getting friends, a community, have a boyfriend, have an Alaskan dog, starting to do more activities, have a sweet work remote gig, the dream.

But at some point the reality of me having to get to DC with the logistics of a pandemic began to cast a shadow over this ideal situation, besides having to go to bed at 8pm every night for a 4am start to the day. I initially thought of staying till the end of my lease, through July. Part of me was like yeah, do that, getting to DC is a problem for future Kate to deal with. But that would mean either moving end of July and in all likelihood flying (which I was adverse to all the germs on planes to begin with so no thank you at the moment) or staying here until I could get to DC which realistically might not happen until after fall. I have time now to drive, and it’s not ideal because even though it’s essential travel I can’t stop anywhere except for gas in Canada. Thinking of going to South Dakota and hunkering down with my parents Tenzen and Alvin (still not sure which one would end up sleeping in my bed) until I needed to head to DC (a 20 hour drive from SD vs. 70 hour from AK). I’ve consulted with all my friends in public health and my therapist about what to do. I think with things opening up in about 2-3 weeks we’ll see how it’ll play out and the last day I can make a run for home would be May 25 in order to get there and start work on June 1. Right now I’m leaning towards going home but I feel like I’m leaving this safe cocoon in Alaska for a hot zone/inferno in South Dakota. It could be a game time decision.

Me telling Alvin to not embarrass me camping

Maybe some of this coupled with it being Alvin’s first overnight camp trip was on my mind when I had Alvin hooked around my waist and hiking up Point Hope. He’s been really good (mostly for maybe having no training in his life) but does pull sometimes. I was seated on the ground digging something out of my pack when he saw a puppy approach and he lunged for it. The belt had slid up above my hips and onto my stomach and so when he lunged, he performed the heimlich maneuver on me, which felt like getting the wind knocked out of me. And then just for good measure he did it two more times. And then I started crying, and it’s never about what you’re crying about–like when I bought the wrong size bed, it wasn’t about the bed it was about having a brain injury and dealing with that. It’s like all this uncertainty hit me and I couldn’t see how I was going to move forward.

Luckily Kevin un-clipped Alvin from me and took him to give me some space. Kind of reminded me of when your mom is on the verge of an emotional breakdown (as portrayed in TV shows) and your dad is like “okay kids, let’s go get some ice cream”. We made it to the summit without any other incidents and then Alvin took a nap.

Going down he was much better, probably from getting tired going up. We would alternate between jogging and hiking down with him.

We got back to camp and met our friends who also have a rescue husky. Talking to them made me feel a bit better as the owner told me she cried multiple times the first 6 months of having hers and now they take her biking, hiking, and running. Because the other dog was off-leash eventually we decided Alvin could go off too. In the moment of unclipping him from his tether saw the rest of my evening spent looking for him on the hillside. Fortunately, that did not manifest and he stuck close to us, the other dog, and the campsite. It was actually really fun to watch him play with the other dog and at some points it’s like he realized he was a dog. The other dog started digging a hole and then Alvin realized he too could dig a hole. Then came the moment of truth. Bedtime. Was Alvin going to hear a noise in the night and shred our newly acquired $25 craigslist tent (in case he did shred the shit out of it, would only be out $25….).

He was a champ and I’m not sure he moved positions the whole night, no holes in the tent, no holes in our sleeping pads. Here’s hoping I can train him to sleep more on my feet and keep them warm.

We packed up the next morning and shuttled Kevin for a pack rafting adventure. I walked around a bit with Alvin but mostly sat on the beach reading a book that had been on my list since September only pausing once to briefly entertain what my life would look like without the pandemic– no Alvin, more bike riding, I’d probably already be on my way to DC for the June 1 start so I could stop and ride my bike and see friends along the way. And yet, sitting on that beach felt completely normal.

We’re going backpacking again this weekend but combining the two last weekends into one: Backpacking with Alvin. Last weekend we just car camped with him, but will continue to haul that beef-cake of a tent around in the backpack just in case though.

Still trying to get that Patagonia sponsorship…

Creatures of Comfort

On April 25, 2020April 25, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Global Health, Uncategorized2 Comments

Did you know that without any social distancing, one infected individual with COVID-19 can infect more than 400 people over the course of 30 days. With social distancing that amount can drop to only 15 people over the same amount of days. Going forward even after the initial peaks I think as one person put it, we will be in a “hammer and dance” situation where there is an ebb and flow of restrictions put in place as the virus continues to circulate, at least until we have an effective vaccine, prophylactic, or anti-viral therapy. Not to make this start super depressing but the fastest vaccine brought to market took 4 years, which was for mumps. I don’t think we will be in this hammer and dance situation for 4 years because so much money is in the pipeline for research and development at the moment but yeah…

Fashion and function–thanks Kathi Deane!

This week proved to be a little harder as our society’s response towards social distancing measures has become more divisive, which I will just leave it at that instead of going down a rabbit hole of rights vs. responsibilities of productive members of society, not to mention court cases that support strong public health measures. Might I suggest listening to the Hysteria podcast for those who want to think more about this.

Alaska still has a low case count and the Governor has started talking about a reopening plan. He has, however, seemed to defer much of the response to our Chief Medical Officer who I have now started calling, Patron Saint Zink of the COVID Response. It seems that the response will be science and case incident driven, as I saw the other day, “I would rather have to wait a few weeks to get my hair done at a barber shop, than have the mortician do it.” And yeah, there is no way the mortician would know my dye numbers so for the record my roots are a 5R and the rest is a 6R, and not too many people who can tame this mane soo…. let’s all keep our space for the sake of our future dye jobs so they don’t become die jobs. Be glad you aren’t in my head all the time…

My family keeps shaming my hair but nowhere to go soooo

It’s been interesting to see how time has slowed down and even though the days seem to blur together I feel like I have more time because it’s more intentional. Or at least that’s the narrative I’m telling myself, as this article points out, “we can’t control the virus, we can’t control the government, we can’t even control whether our faraway family members and friends stay safe and inside. But we can control our own individual existences by making them that much less complicated than an outside world that weren’t not even allowed to live in anymore.”

Instead of spending 90 minutes in the morning getting ready and driving to work, I wake up, drink some coffee, take Alvin for a leisurely 30-40 minute walk while catching up on podcasts.

Then I walk to the bedroom next door with my desk to begin my work day. I settle into a makeshift work routine. Most of my client’s have multiple risk factors for COVID-19 so navigating that space has been challenging, both in terms of getting them access to programs they are entitled to while also having zero in person contact with anyone. In a lot of ways Alaska was primed for a situation like this, because they are so rural most court systems have operated with telephonic and remote hearings for a while, even for us in Anchorage. Some challenges have been worked through like having video conferencing for will signings, while others remain like getting notaries for power of attorneys. But time remains an illusion and simultaneously it all seems like an emergency and it doesn’t. Some days I finish what needs to be done by 2 other days its past 5 but in a world where nowhere to rush off to, it seems so arbitrary.

Quarantine has certainly brought a lot of challenges and I’m grateful every day this lockdown did not happen in January. It’s also brought more time and space to communicate with one another. Reflecting on the past year I thought a lot about death, more specifically seeing death all the time made me think about if I had a choice how I would like to go. I’d want something that would give me time with my family and friends and left my mental capacity in tact. And I don’t want to make light of the people dying right now because it seems absolutely horrific; one of the most impactful moments of my life was being there when someone died and I can’t imagine those who are having to make the transition by themselves.

In a lot of ways it seems like quarantine is creating that space for more time. I now have a standing weekly FaceTime appointment with my immediate family, the kids, my college friends, and am in almost constant communication with my Notre Dame friends and high school friends. Before with the time zones was often difficult to find a time that worked for everyone. I’ve talked more to my aunts and uncles in this time than maybe the entire year before this happened. I know not everyone is this fortunate but in a lot ways it’s like time is being created to have more meaningful contact and communication (even though I realize very limited in-person contact is happening).

And with people having more time on their hands it’s almost like we’ve all had more time to reflect and reach out. Like my first boyfriend from high school sent me this really funny message about when he tried to walk me to my door but slipped on the ice– legit thought he was messaging me about wanting legal advice haha–don’t worry got his permission before posting:

“Hey Kate, Hope you’re doing well! Congratulations on your progressing your career! This is rather random but I wanna know if you remember a story that has been told by Eamin every chance he’s gotten since it happened back in 2006. That story being the time we were “going out” and I dropped you off at your house. I said I would walk you to your door and you told me that I didn’t need to. I disregarded your request, got out of my car, and tried to hurry around to catch up to you. Mind you the shoes I was wearing were completely bald, zero tread. Also it was winter. Anyway I plant my hand on the front corner of my grandma car (pretty sure thats what I was driving at the time? might have been the Intrepid) and am completely betrayed by the snow and my traction-less shoes. I fell so fast, I’m pretty sure I was on the ground before my hand actually made contact with the car. By the time I recover, you’re already at your door. I basically said, “welp see you later.” And drove off. Possibly the most defeated/embarrassed I’ve been in my entire life lol of course I told Eamin immediately. This comes up at least twice a year and puts us into fits of giggles.” So naturally I laughed super hard at this and then went down the rabbit hole with him of assessing our awkward interaction as 16 year-olds new to the dating scene.

I’ve had other messages pop up with friends about times in college, events that happened after, or even weird dreams people are experiencing. Even a friend dropping by and talking to them from the porch while they stood on the street seemed like such a treat.

And the feeling of isolation remains but only in a physical restriction and I keep going back to Marina Keegan’s writings, “It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team.” How we emerge from this is still unknown but I remain optimistic that we will sculpt our future in a way that is more just and equitable for everyone– we should not be satisfied with the systems returning to normal, we should demand more. “You’re probably not spending the evening hours putting the final touches on embroidered pillow-covering when you’re worried about feeding your family, and you can’t curl up by the fire with a dusty old book when you don’t have a house, let alone a fireplace. You definitely can’t do it if you’re on a ventilator.” Molly Roberts.

We are able to give up comforts only if we have those comforts to begin with. This statement isn’t meant to shame anyone for doing things that they are now doing or not doing– and how they are dealing with the pandemic. More of an observation, like if my biggest inconvenience at the moment is only going to the grocery store 1-2 times every two weeks, then after this is over I hope we all work to ensure everyone has those same levels of comfort and security moving forward. After the 2008 economic recession it seemed the people turned inwards out of a fear based response that their securities were no longer secure, understandably so. Right now there is a lot of fear and uncertainty and hopefully moving forward we will not forget that we are all on the same team.

In case you clicked on this after seeing the imagine thinking it would be more photos of Alvin, sorry to disappoint. I’m going camping this weekend so at least will have something else to talk about next time.

Weird Times

On April 17, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Global Health, skiing, Uncategorized, XC SkiingLeave a comment

I’m not even sure how to start this post– honestly most days being in Alaska feels like I’m perched somewhere just watching the world burn. I’m grateful for the response that Anchorage’s Mayor took early on and Alaska as a state, our case increase has been a slow uptick, still under 300 and only a handful of deaths.

But we only have 880,000 people….cool, cool, cool.

Meanwhile, my parents in South Dakota still have no lockdown orders mandated state-wide. Some cities and counties are doing their part but most were slow to react and not everyone has an order. I’m proud of my parents for taking it seriously, finally got my dad to stop going to the jail (I wrote a motion on why inmate’s should be released– proud prosecutor’s daughter ha). Unfortunately, I also wrote a paper last year that focused on contrasting my community with another community which means I know there are 3,570 residents, 290 people (before COVID and people losing their jobs) without health insurance; 847 individuals have one or more disability and just over 1,000 individuals are over the age of 65. I know that our hospital has 25 beds and 2 ventilators. And I’m well over 3,000 miles away but even if I was closer, I know that if someone I love goes into the hospital I can’t go with them. And it’s terrifying because it’s like a ticking time bomb and we won’t know the extent of the damage for months to come.

Love the community that raised us– and yes after this is over I might be blonde again…

Beyond my family I think about the community that raised me, growing up in a small town (the same one as my mother) means that everyone knows everyone, so I think of my teachers, most of who are retired now, I think of my friends who work in the hospital, I think of the restaurateurs, the grocers, the ranchers, the funeral director, those in the assisted living facilities who became like second-grandmas.

Dug through some photos so needed to post more than one

I think of this virus and the response and I’m not sure I will ever forgive those in power who passively have let the virus wash over our communities. With recent cases, Sioux Falls just surged ahead of Chicago and Seattle with a higher per capita infection rate at 182.25 per 100,000 people [When I started this draft, SD had just over 600 cases, it’s now over 1,300 in the 2 days since…]. But I also know not every worse case scenario that is portrayed in the news is going to come true– but hard sometimes for my mind not to go there.

Did I need to find something to take my mind off of all of this, oh you betcha. Usually around this time I start training for the upcoming season but with COVID and most races getting pushed back haven’t felt the need to really jump into training–fortunately I planned on this year being most developmental and focusing on the Maah Daah Hey but now not wanting to suppress my immune system (check out this article my Godfather sent me about training loads during this time) and/or train for things that might not materialize means I’m actually in a pretty good mental state around bike racing right now (heyyyo, shout out to my law school therapist).

With physical activity focused less on gaining fitness and more on mental clarity, I decided to start cross-stitching again, it’s repetitive and I have to focus somewhat otherwise I tend to stab myself, perfect. I collected all my things and was engaged in a ‘this color or that color’ when my phone rang. “Hi, we have a dog that we think would be perfect for you.” As like most things in life until that moment I had forgotten that I put in an application for a foster dog. “He’s 6, we just got him in, he’s real sweet.” “Ummm, okay when do you need me to pick him up by.” “Can you get him before 3 today.” They texted me a few pictures and I confirmed with my roommates that they were okay with having a dog in the space. Alright, let’s do this.

I put an application in when I started working from home figuring it would be a good idea to take my mind off of everything– they said that they didn’t have any dogs at the moment so I mostly forgot about it until they called. I picked the dog up, he didn’t have a name, and they handed everything over to me, leash, food, poop bags, crate, and blankets. I got him home and unloaded all his things and took him for a walk. I had planned to go cross-country skiing with a friend later and one of my roommates said she would watch him so I could leave him out while I was gone. Perfect. I grabbed my gear and opened the door to leave when he squeezed by my legs–it took me a minute to realize what was happening, with Tenzen he’s allowed in the front yard because he stays there, when I realized this dog was not Tenzen I tried to grab him but he eluded my clutches and took off. I threw my ski boots down and took off sprinting behind him. I didn’t even have a name for him so couldn’t even yell anything. This dog is going to be gone and I’m going to have to tell these people, I’ve already failed. I kept sprinting with my heart rate not getting that high since cross nationals. Luckily the street he had turned down had a large fence at the end of the lane. He ran there and then kind of jogged around. I slowly approached without trying to spook him. Luckily, like most days, I had some jelly beans in my pocket so dug a few out and stuck them out to entice him to get close enough to grab his collar. Well my plan worked; in the 5 minutes I was sprinting after him I didn’t think once about the virus.

I had been mulling over a few names, I’ve had a few dog names in my mind for a while but only fostering him didn’t want to give him one of those. Upon catching him and bringing him back settled on the name Alvin. After Alvin McDonald, an early cave explorer in the Black Hills.

Since then we’ve settled into a routine of 3-4 walks during the day, which means I’ve reduced my running because I don’t want to leave him but have gained leisurely paced strolls with the occasional abrupt jerk when he pulls. It’s given me a reason to finally catch up on those podcast recommendations or call my family. After a week of feeding him several large heaps of dog food a day to get his weight up figured we were ready to try a short run. Run is a loosely applied term for what we did. It started off promising but with him being more interested in smelling things and I realizing he only has one speed (a bit too fast for walking sometimes, a bit too slow for running). We settled into some weird shuffle of 2.5 miles in 40 minutes.

I’ve worked him up to accepting treats, and now we’re starting to broach commands [although my Dad has pointed out, he has me trained], although I’m not even sure he even recognizes his name at this point. The first weekend I had him I left him at home for the adventures, still unsure of his capabilities. One day I did a very mellow alpine touring ski which required some stream crossing and bush whacking, only to get within range of the summit and have it disappear.

Not wanting to loose ourselves in the abyss we turned around and followed our tracks down where the clouds dissipated and the sun seemed like it had always been there. Going down felt euphoric, as my skis seemed to float underneath me.

To avoid the stream crossing we did earlier we ended up skinning up and thought we had found a good place to cross the gully but after getting to the other side realized it wasn’t a good exit. We ended up skinning a bit up in the terrain trap, which just means that if an avalanche were to happen that’s where it would likely go. Obviously we assessed the risk, extremely low, but if something did get triggered it would be less than ideal. Basically we were kind of like sitting ducks and at mercy of others actions– and again thought about the virus because feel to some extent we’re all just sitting ducks waiting, feeling trapped at what might be headed towards us but unlike the current pandemic we were able to get out of the gully and to the other side quite quickly.

We then pitched our angle uphill a bit more so we could then gain enough speed to make it back to the car without having to put our skins on. I felt so bad about leaving Alvin at home for a few hours that I think I took him on close to a 90 minute walk that night.

I’m sure he must just stare out the window like this when I leave him.

The next day I did a shorter cross-country ski but again left Alvin at home. We ended up on the other side of the valley but the snow was a little more crusty.

We had less of a finish in mind and more of a let’s see where this takes us approach. We skied for a bit, took our skis off, and hiked for a bit, and then had some lunch, deciding it was a good spot to turn around.

I’m not sure how much was the crust and how much was the champagne (I mean life is short, right) I drank for lunch that resulted in more than a few face plants. We skied down and stayed off the main trail to avoid as many people as possible.

The second week with Alvin I settled more into a routine, recognizing his favorite spots to poop and when he’s most likely to go. He started sleeping out of the crate and after the first night gave him multiple pillows off my bed to accommodate him. Was grateful when a friend offered one of her dog beds up– now those floor pillows have just become his second bed….

He hasn’t had any real accidents in the house, other than peeing on my bike attached to the trainer. He wasn’t a fan of it to start with but then really showed his feelings during that moment. I was yelling at him to stop and he didn’t even flinch, didn’t break eye contact just kept going. He’s more tolerating of my trainer rides now but not sure I’ll ever get him close enough to a bike to be a proper trail dog.

This past weekend I took him on his first hike, but not before heading out on my own the day before. I headed up Wolverine Peak, which was 9 miles and definitely not one for the dog at the moment. It was pretty steep uphill with some icy spots that made me grateful I bought shoes with spikes in them last fall even though I thought it would be an overkill (lover of treadmills and trainers). The trail head had the most people which again for Alaska I guess is crowded but compared to most other places it was like 6-10 people and we were mostly able to avoid people and pull our masks over our faces. The trail traffic was a minimum and the view from the top was well worth taking in.

On the way down we stepped off the trail to give distance to older guys who jokingly covered their faces and said they had the virus yesterday and were better now. I responded a bit snarky to some effect saying, “you think this is a joke but people are dying.” I really wanted to follow-up with and ‘you’re more likely to die than I am’ but left it at that and instead of getting back on the main trail, bush whacked a bit to get down into a gully that would avoid more people. Everyone else seemed conscious of maintaining distance and trying to minimize any potential spread.

For Easter planned on doing an early morning hike (kind of like a sunrise service) with Alvin to see how he would do but upon waking couldn’t see the mountains so opted for a later departure date and a trail closer to the water and out of the mountains. Alvin is pretty great on the leash and just likes to stop and smell and mark most things–at least on the way out. We hiked about 2 miles out to a vantage point to take pictures of the good boy before turning around.

On the way back he was less interested in smelling things and oscillated between wanting to sprint and dilly-dallying down the trail. He did quite well, given my history with Tenzen was more than prepared to have to carry him for some of it. He also did well around other dogs, he seems to be mostly curious and not aggressive in anyway. I’m not sure he’ll ever be an off the dog leash, for one he still does not recognize his name, and two I’m not sure he would ever come back.

I’m now on my fifth week of work from home, which means I finally gave in and assembled my desk and office chair. At this point my contract ends mid-September and honestly not sure I will be back in the hospital before then. Mentally preparing for a marathon but hoping for a sprint….

I remain grateful that my life continues to have some semblance of normalcy (definitely recognize the privilege that comes with all of that) as my heart aches for all of those who have had massive shifts in their lives and livelihoods as a result. Again, if you are thinking we need to open up the economy and don’t understand why we aren’t, call your representatives and demand massive testing for COVID and for the anti-bodies. Testing and contact tracing is our best bet at the moment (until there is a vaccine) while continuing to socially isolate. Just because our government is incompetent doesn’t mean you need to be (looking at you, South Dakota).

The Abyss

On March 28, 2020March 28, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Global Health, skiingLeave a comment

Last weekend seemed like an indulgent, illicit activity and now a lifetime away. Many people are finding themselves in spaces that don’t allow for them to escape for empty trails (looking at you, CO) and fresh air all while being able to maintain 6 feet of distance apart. I was finding myself with feelings of isolation in Alaska this winter and have found that this might be as good of place as any to weather out the impending storm. As COVID-19 cases have slowly uptick in Anchorage I’m now trying to consciously recreate in a way that would reduce the need for me to access healthcare services or require a backcountry rescue so will in all likelihood find myself on the local trails for the impending future–but fortunate enough to squeak one more weekend in.

We headed out to another glacier, this one was 20 miles one way–the plan being we’d ski out, set up camp, ski back the next day. I did 20 miles total the weekend before but my biggest fault when it comes to mileage is I still operate in cycling miles, 20 miles, psh ain’t no thang. Little different when cross-country skiing and having 30-40 pounds on your back (realistically probably 20 since I didn’t pack my industrial strength hairdryer this time– and if you don’t get that reference guess we know what you’ll be doing in quarantine).

While we escaped from the constant news updates and feelings of impending doom it was hard to completely turn my mind off from the virus. I would float in and out of scenarios and do comparative analyses to past pandemics and outbreaks (fun fact my favorite pandemic to study is the 1918 flu (you never forget your first) but my favorite disease is tuberculosis). I worried about being out of service for 48 hours and the potential notifications that might be awaiting my arrival. I also thought about if we should even be out there– there is a lot of discussion right now about if people should be partaking in these activities (yes, no, responsibly…I’ll default to my favorite lawyer answer, “it depends” (not legal advice).

The first day called for cooler temps than last weekend and snow. Okay going to get my winter camping badge for real this weekend. We drove 2 hours out of Anchorage and pulled off on the side of the road. I know the saying, “be bold, start cold” but I’m always convinced I will stay cold and never get warm so I bundled on layers with the thought I would take them off as needed. I was told that it was a river bed of flatness out to a glacier so was slightly surprised when we started on a slight downhill, followed by a pretty steep uphill, some more downhill, and some fresh tracks. Stopping to go pee I mused that I’d probably just leave my skis on so I don’t sink in the snow to which there was thunderous chorus that exclaimed of course I should keep my skis on just try not to pee on the bindings (still so much to learn). We descended down for about four more miles before the reaching the river bed.

With the clouds still surrounding us we just began skiing towards this white abyss. And in a lot of ways the physical landscaped matched my internal feelings about the pandemic. Right now we can’t see what we’re working towards (all these measures social distancing, quarantine, isolation against an invisible enemy) we have projections of what will happen if it works and if it doesn’t work but we’re in this abyss right now where we have pushed off from one side and have yet to see a safe landing. And yet we kept moving, I would repeat the mantra in my head, “kick, glide, feel the rhythm, feel the ride” (and if you don’t get that reference also prime quarantine opportunity). We would stop and change layers as needed–adding, removing, snacking. Talking about what the view would have given us without the clouds. On an exposed section the wind had picked up and the soft, fleeting snow had turned into fierce pieces of ice striking my face, it reminded me of acupuncture needles and just imagined I was getting a free facial –one guy talked about doing 100 mile ski race (yeah, read that again) and how it was like this the whole way and at one point he remembered thinking he just wished the snow would stop hitting him in the face. We only dealt with it for maybe 15-20 minutes but imagine I would have different thoughts if it was 100 miles…

After skiing for 19 miles with about 6 hours of moving time we talked about setting up camp, we were within range of the glacier (maybe depending on route beta) but could still be 2-3 miles away, it was getting late and dark and still a lot of things that need to be done to set up camp. We found a spot perched out of the riverbed and got to work. I dug out a hole to put the tent in, which at least helped to warm me up, while one of the other guys started the stove to melt snow and boil water for our bottles and dinner.

We got it accomplished and set up without too many mishaps– and even dug out some more snow for cooking and eating.

Even adding on another area for a firepit (as one of the guys packed firewood and we stacked it on shovel to get it going). It was nice to warm up next to and abate my shivering if only for intermittent moments.

After we had gone through all the wood we headed to bed. At this point I took off my damp ski boots, put on wool socks and down slippers, and got into dry clothes which helped to really warm me up (the -20 degree bag also does wonders). I still slept with a puffy vest, jacket and a hat on. I even figured out how to work the sleeping bag this time and only woke up once with a cold face.

Before going to sleep one of the guys thought about checking the weather for the morning, I lamented, that it doesn’t matter what the weather is going to be we have to face whatever shows up so we can just not check and pretend it will be nice. Which again took me back to the pandemic as we don’t know what tomorrow will bring but we’re in it and regardless will have to wake up and face whatever shows up overnight. Luckily, the morning did not disappoint. I stepped out of the tent and was greeted by calm skies and the sun starting to creep over the horizon releasing a nice alpenglow that quickly bathed the valley in sunlight.

We made breakfast, packed up camp, leaving our bags and gear to ski over to the glacier. It was alluring but in a more subdued enchantment than the previous weekend. It wasn’t piercing blue but rather dingy with intricate crystal lattices where water had frozen onto the surface.

We skied around for a bit, I learned that you should just follow in the previous tracks and not put in your own tracks on a glacier–not because anything bad happened, it was just pointed out to me as I was frolicking around.

Here’s me in multiple puffy layers…frolicking

We headed back to our camp spot to pick up our things and I took off about three layers on the top and bottom. We started making our way back along the trail we came in on. The views were pretty spectacular so occasionally I would just stop to turn and take it in.

Skiing out was pretty uneventful, minus the view. I found myself more hungry than the day before and slowly made my way through all my snacks (and a few emergency ones-which made me a little nervous but never got to my emergency, emergency sour patch kid provisions so).

All those downhills became uphills in the later part of our day but saw it as an opportunity to try to get better at going uphill (spoiler alert, I did not) but at least it gave my legs a different position to be in for a while. We crested the last hill and could see the road off in the distance but there remained a false flat to get up to the car. I started on the slight incline that would lead up to the car but had no concept of how long or the distance it would be so pulled out another emergency provision when I saw the snow pile the car was situated behind and put the morsel back in my jacket for another time (because I had left a bag of Hippeas in the car as a post-ski snack, also learned that trick the week before).

We got to the car and my boots were frozen to my bindings so took the whole contraption off. Then got in and ate a bunch of Hippeas.

Putting the fun between the legs (mostly a cycling joke)

The whole time I kept making comparisons to being in the backcountry with the pandemic– feel free to keep reading but stop if this will contribute to your anxiety. I’ll also put some good websites that I follow you can check out at the end.

Have a good leader: Going into the backcountry requires you to be putting your life in others’ hands if something happens. Our trip leader sent out a map, route guidance, and information on what to anticipate and expect. Right now I feel that most administrations are operating out of fear/unknown/uncertainty/poor planning and actively triaging while not doing anything to assuage the public’s anxiety about what we’re facing (don’t believe me, remember the 2009 pandemic, how long were you stuck in your house for that one?).
Only take what you need: skiing 20 miles with a pack means making the conscious effort to really decide if you need an article of clothing or piece of gear. This is also relevant now with people buying insane amounts of toilet paper and hand sanitizer (pro tip: hand soap is better).
But be prepared: It means I carried 4 pairs of socks, extra food, and multiple different layers to meet the potential challenges. Social distancing means reducing your interactions so be prepared to last a week between grocery store runs.
Don’t be a dick: You’re in the backcountry with a long ski out, if you’re attitude goes south it’s going to impact everyone. Again, turn you speakers off at 11:30pm when ya know your next door neighbor has a small child and is also stuck at home all day.
Communicate effectively: Talking about when to eat lunch, letting them know if you’re stopping to change layers or to take a rest. Giving others in the group time to anticipate (I usually announce that I’ll be peeing in 20-30 minutes to get everyone on the same page). Right now we don’t have one unified voice giving us direct messages (thank you federalism for reserving public health powers to the states; apparently the founding fathers did not know how viruses work and that they don’t respect boundaries). During Ebola the US had a Czar (what an amazing job title) right now you have the President saying one thing, State Governors enacting various orders, and Dr. Fauci trying to get a clear and accurate message out, but not one unified message telling you that this is going to be a long haul– are we up to the challenge yes, because we are responding by taking x,y,z steps and this is what the next few weeks/months are going to look like.
Look out for one another: Checking in to make sure everyone is still feeling okay, do we need a break, how about some candy, how are people’s feet. When you’re in the backcountry you’re only as strong as your weakest member (i.e., me– also thank you to all my high school coaches who loved that saying and would occasionally linger their gaze a little too long on me when I had a lackluster performance.) For a pandemic, we’re only as strong as our most vulnerable, our most uninsured, our most elderly. Which means being willing to step up and take care of each other now- the cost of treatment of COVID-19 is estimated to be ~$34,000. Imagine not having insurance, are you going to go to the hospital unless it gets really bad and how many potential people will you be in contact with before it gets to that point. Our institutions are being challenged, health isn’t just the absence of disease but all the social determinants that make it up (access to food, water, housing…) all these things that provide stability so people can seek healthcare. I also don’t think it should take a pandemic for us to realize how broke some of our systems are but that’s a whole another blog post/paper.
Don’t operate out of fear: Things can go wrong but staying calm and making decisions using logic will help you go a long way. My go to mantra for most things is: Facts over fear. The hysteria around contagious diseases is somewhat understandable; and only supports stronger legal regulations so that politicians cannot capitalize on this fear and uncertainty to gain political points. By enacting robust legal framework that safeguard civil liberties while taking into account an unprecedented necessity for quarantine we can avoid the mistakes of the past and abrogate the uncertainty of the future (lolz, this was a section from my conclusion on my paper on quarantine last year where I mostly argued that quarantine should only be used a tool of last resort because we have so many other provisions we can use to safeguard the health of the public– didn’t really factor into my analysis a 2 month lackluster response from the government for a contagious disease outbreak–jokes on me).

I remain angry at the situation because I don’t believe it needed to get to this point. China as the source of outbreak spent a lot of their time triaging and just trying to get ahead of it. They put other countries on notice and I believe our response is criminal because we had plenty of time to prepare and we squandered it away (it’s like getting a 30-day eviction notice and waiting till day 31 to take action). Lives will be lost because of the passive response our government (cutting funding to the CDC, designing their own test, not adequately providing healthworkers with protective equipment) has taken. I remain hopeful that communities are up to the challenge, we are up to the challenge, and just like the storm moving out and the blue sky shinning the next day, we will emerge from this cloud. Research actually shows that when disasters strike people become more pro-social, they cooperate and support each other, they’re better than ever. This storm isn’t going to blow over overnight and we won’t get through it quickly (Easter is highly aspirational– and without more tests to know what we’re really up against, highly unlikely) it definitely won’t be today, not this week, unlikely this month, maybe May we’ll take a breath and reassess. What I’m saying is it’s going to be a long haul at this point and things will probably get worse before they get better but we need to stay strong and do our part– oh yeah and call your congressional reps and demand mandatory testing and while you’re at it suggest that they commandeer private companies to start making PPE, ventilators, and getting respiratory therapists trained (grateful to the companies that have shifted their focus already–but the government should respond like a war effort, this is a war we are waging). Yah know, I love a good government overreach. But really if you think the free market will save us now, there has been a post circulating showing that Tuberculosis remains the number one killer in the world as if that means we should not be taking action with COVID-19. This actually shows why we need a strong government response. Antibiotics have existed for TB for nearly 70 years and yet it remains endemic in parts of the US (no, really, think about the last person you knew with TB in the US and now realize it’s still around circulating in communities– not your community? Maybe ask yourself why that is–happy to pass along a paper). Oh yeah and also tell them that the vaccine and treatment should be covered by federal funding. As much as it’s easy to get consumed with the negative I remain optimistic that this will shift our societal norms for the better. That doesn’t mean I don’t fluctuate between wondering if the tightness in my chest is anxiety or the virus–daily temperature checks and yoga to help assuage my fears. If you feel like this paragraph sounds exasperated with tones of eternally optimistic well welcome to the inside of my brain at the moment.

Unlike the 1918 Flu, I hope that when this is over we will not look backward and inward with fear and shame of our response. COVID-19 has exposed massive fault lines in domestic and global institutions but I remain hopeful that we will come out on the other side willing and ready to work towards a more perfect world. But as my brother would say, ‘hope springs eternal‘ with me.

I feel like I should apologize for how sassy this comes off as but I’m not going to because I don’t like having to counsel young parents who are in high risk categories of what documentation should be in place for their children because they have been informed by their physicians if they catch COVID they will likely die.

For your reading pleasure:

Duck of Minerva– Mostly focused on global politics but all the articles as of recent are focused on COVID-19 responses.

The Washington Post Monkey Cage– Also another political science based platform but mostly for domestic politics.

New England Journal of Medicine: Mostly focused on COVID-19 related science, stats.

And if you’ve made it this far here are some things I’ve combat my anxiety:

Down Dog: Free yoga!

These articles sent by my friend, Vega: The Science of Well-Being and one on the grief you’re feeling. She also shared a host of wellness tips, I won’t put them all here but my favorite was: Remind yourself daily that this is temporary. It seems while we are in the thick of it, it will never end. It is unsettling to think of the road stretching ahead of us. Just remember we will return to feeling free, safe, busy, and connected in the months ahead. You can find more of her stuff, here.

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations, take a breath and remember those blue skies will be back.

Corona K8

On March 21, 2020March 28, 2020 By kateginsbachIn Alaska, Other Adventures, skiing, XC Skiing4 Comments

I don’t know what I was thinking when I agreed to sleep in a tent, outside, in 0 degree weather.

Actually the only thing I was thinking was I need to get out of this place and away from people and that’s how I found myself sleeping in a tent in a -20 degree sleeping bag near a glacier with no one around. I was suppose to be in Albuquerque for training and was so close to getting a mountain bike on dirt trails that when the trip got cancelled as a result of COVID-19, selfishly I was upset because dirt, finally, but as a public health expert (heyyo master’s in pandemic preparedness ironically not a lot of funding for a job when I was looking) realized that the best thing is to stay put and remain as isolated as possible, and pray to God they start testing everyone, soon.

Also tried to convince my dad to stop going to the jail

As a result last week was weird, I spent Monday thinking I would be leaving, Tuesday cancelling flights, Wednesday and Thursday on calls, and Friday packing up what I thought I might need from my office in the hospital in anticipation of leaving indefinitely. I imagine everyone kind of had a week like that; a lot of moments where I’m like what is happening. And it’s weird because there is nothing I can do right now except wait for what feels like this cloud to engulf us and see how quickly it will blow over or how long we’ll be trapped in an endless fog. Researching and writing about every pandemic during graduate school has really made me jump to the worse case scenario because I know how it can potentially play out, especially when ineffective leadership and missteps will literally cost our country lives (but that’s for a research paper discussion and not my blog).

With all this going on in my brain I didn’t even realize there would be no fire with winter camping.

I had gone the weekend before on a backcountry nordic ski trip to a hut where there was a wood fire stove where we dried our boots out and a stream nearby to collect water to boil and drink. On that trip I was comfortable the whole time, temperature wise, which I got a few comments on how small my backpack was and honestly felt like I overpacked, I didn’t even get to wear the shorts I brought. One of the guys did carry my sleeping bag in his pack because apparently it’s not ideal to just hook it to the outside of my bag (so many things to learn).

The hut trip was really fun and we skied about 15 miles each day, the first day was prime skiing conditions and the weather was nice too. The second day left a little bit to be desired as new snow had fallen, creating a heavy snowpack, very ideal for creating snowballs, less ideal for sliding through it on toothpicks. The snow would pack up underneath my skis rendering them mostly useless and then I would get frustrated and then just kind of run/walk with awkwardly long sticks to my feet and then I would see a downhill and stop and scrapped the snow off my skis and try to get enough glide to gain momentum to go down. I definitely ate a lot of sour patch kids to get me through that dark time. Overall it was a very enjoyable experience with good company (that’s not sarcasm given the next picture).

Having gone through the hut trip meant I was ready for my next Pawnee Goddess Patch: Winter Camping.

I won’t bore you with too much of the details getting there, we skied in a about 10 miles along a mostly flat riverbed area and then found a camp spot near the glacier and set up before going exploring.

We shared the glacier with some snowmobilers and even a few dog sleds (so Alaskan) before they all left for the day and we seemed to be the only souls for miles.

I dug a hole in the snow so that we had some sort of bench to eat dinner on (because are we not civilized haha).

As we sat there I talked about how my mom tells the story about when she was a kid and she asked her dad what would happen if a nuclear bomb went off and he responded that they would just go sit on the backside of the hill overlooking the river. She joked how as a kid she was slightly mortified but as an adult realized he probably didn’t want to be in a small crawl space with five young children. I concluded by saying this seemed like a good place to sit and take a minute with all the chaos and uncertainty that we had left miles away.

I survived that night with the mantra, you might not ever be comfortable but you won’t die. Being in a -20 degree sleeping bag and almost every piece of puffy clothing I owned I was actually quite comfortable and only found out the next morning I had slept with the back of the sleeping bag covering my face (thought it was a little hard to breath at times but was also quite warm so…). We packed up in the morning and skied by the glacier before running into some friends on bikes. The ski out was nicer than the day before and I slowly peeled off all my puffy layers.

I have spent this week working from home which has come with it’s own challenges (like that I convinced myself I would never need a desk at home) but also endless hot water for tea and real windows in my office.

And in weird ways living in Alaska has helped me prepare for this as I felt like I was having to Facetime and call to maintain a lot of my relationships but conveniently now all my friends who were four hours ahead are also working from home so are more available to talk. And also with my mom working from home, just means I can Facetime and see Tenzen more.

I’m sure like a lot of people (me) right now have a lot of anxiety and it can be hard not to get consumed by it all. I worry about the people I know who are sick or will become sick, I worry about how it will ravish our healthcare system, I worry about my parents, my communities, the small businesses that will be impacted. I know these are normal feelings and acknowledging them is okay, but also dwelling and being consumed by them is not–yes yoga has been helping. Alaska is a weird place to experience this, I feel the distance with my family more than ever, but also realize if I was closer I still wouldn’t be allowed to have contact. In a lot of way getting outside here seems like a completely selfish pursuit at the moment but so few other people are around that it’s maybe safer than going to the grocery story–almost a weird guilt that I can still do most things while others are having their lives upended in irreparable ways.

I know I’m beyond privilege/blessed to have the ability to work from home while still being able to access the outdoors and have some semblance of life. The fatbike race that was suppose to happen this weekend got cancelled which even though there weren’t that many participants I really thing the biggest thing we can all do right now is restrict our movement until more tests get deployed to test for asymptomatic and mild symptomatic people– realistically until we have that data we have no idea what we are actually up against. If you’ve made this far I will make my one political plug and that is to call your congressional delegates and demand mandatory testing for every individual — they want to send everyone a check, great, attach a test to it. Typhoid Mary is thought to have infected 3,000 people with typhoid and she presented as asymptomatic, she was isolated by judicial order for 23 years…

I am headed in the backcountry again this weekend– who knew a pandemic would ignite my love for winter camping but really I think it’s more being able to turn off the email, news cycles, and case counts. Mostly, I’m trying to act as if I was contagious and don’t want to infect others; because while there are some great ‘Kate’ nicknames: Kissing Kate, Rattlesnake Kate, Big Nose Kate, #singlek8 –no these aren’t all my nicknames but would rather not end up with Corona K8 added to the list and be an asymptomatic individuals that is transmitting the virus.

Kate Farrell Ginsbach

Tag: COVID-19