Mountaineering Tips

1. When off-route, it is best to retrace your steps to the place where you last had trail. Even if you can see the peak and where you need to go, what lies between you and it is invariably more time- and energy-consuming (read: bushwhacking) than retracing your steps.
2. If you cliff out on a route, don't try to climb your way out of it. Retrace your steps and find a better route - or heck! - find the trail.
3. If it's too hard, there's an easier way.
4. There. I believe I've covered that one. You get to read it and learn. I had to do many reps before it sank into my thick skull.
5. Form your own conservation society. Conserve energy, time, calories, and water.
6. You will be hot, you will be hungry, your partner will be imperfect. You will be uncomfortable.
7. You will be sated, euphoric, in the rhythm of hiking, in sync with the world. You will feel great.
8. When hot, scoop snow and dab it behind each ear as if putting on perfume. Tuck the remaining snowball into the cleavage of your sports bra. This will cool you down.
9. Conserve energy. Place each foot. Hike and climb "quietly." Bonus: you look graceful.
10. When doing something painful & necessary, but not necessarily dangerous, e.g. crossing an icy stream, pick a line and do it quickly.
11. When doing something potentially dangerous, e.g. making a sketchy climbing move, pick a line and do it deliberately.
12. Monitor yourself for signs that fatigue is impeding your judgement. Don't do anything stupid.
13. Conserve calories. Keep some food in case you take longer on a route than planned, e.g. a 10-hour day turns into a 17-hour day. Some of these will be the best days of your life as you constantly struggle to avert catastrophe. Then you do and feel euphoric.
14. Conserve water. Also, take water treatment tabs with you. When you've emptied a Nalgene, refill and treat the water. This averts dehydration and makes you feel like you've "made" water, you powerful person.
15. Persevere.
16. Summit Fever is real. Remember: you never have to get a summit.
17. Never touch steep now without an ice ax. NEVER. Fifteen terrifying feet of rapid descent taught me this.
18. Ounces equal pounds, pounds equal pain. Pack efficiently.
19. Take rock shoes for class 3&4 routes. These "magic shoes" will give you an extra boost of confidence - and stickiness.
20. Be good to yourself. If you need a summit to get high, do it. If an alpine lake will suffice, go for it. Bring the peace, euphoria, and goodness back to real life. Let it leak out of you.

I have climbed all of Colorado's 14,000 foot peaks. It has done for me what I wanted it to do plus some. The journey made me persevere through discomfort, made me let it run its course and become something new. I achieved and stood on summits. And I learned that I want to live. On one peak, I uncovered a will to survive that surprised me and that is now my unshakeable, unquakeable core.

I recommend it.

The Guatemala Nod

One afternoon Rosary praying
circled together in the chapel
She looked up from the depths of her Catholicism,
found this atheist daughter's eyes
and winked.

I took it as her endorsement
her blessing
to close my eyes
and recommence
my sinful daydreaming.

Rosary chanting faded to a buzz
as I left them there
and found myself stretched
for him
half-turned

His hands
long, tapered, and skillful
met me there
playing my unsaintly parts
I dreamed climbing mountains and
sweet summits.

I took it that way.

She is Everything

She is everything.

We are just back from a humanitarian trip to Guatemala where the green greets you before your plane even lands. Coerced into going, she landed in a paradise of bougainvillea, mango orchards, and jacaranda trees. The fruits of that volcanic ash soil first nourished her soul. The week kept wrapping itself around her and she met it - at first with the tentative tread of a reserved person but then with the full power of her quiet personality. I saw her.

I saw her best at the hospital. We walked into a Franciscan-run institution where the outcasts of Guatemala land. Babies are left on the steps. Adults with any stripe of disability are granted sanctuary and clean care. Slack jaws and drool and deformed limbs sent me cowering inside myself. She, on the other hand, met it. With that warm, crinkly-eyed smile and her arthritic hands, she reached out to them and said in her English, "Hello." It was universal. They turned their faces up to her and smiled.

I saw the strong woman of my youth insisting on doing the dirtiest work, the thankless tasks, throughout the week. She wore her frilly green blouse, donned an apron, and was on the rusty school desks before anyone else could find sandpaper. She grabbed the stickiest pots, chiseled away at dried wood putty, and climbed to the back of the van.

I saw the empathetic woman I've come to know as an adult. Only she could sustain Aunt Penny's elbow with just the right touch. Not of pity, not of support, but of quiet presence. She cried in the market. This woman of reserve broke down when we bought sets of school clothes for our sponsored children. She then recovered and laughed along with the tickling and storytelling on the van-ride home. She showed up in Guatemala and was present. She has done so forever.

She is wonder woman. She is Unstinting Giving. She is my mom.

Good

Fifty-eight summits
over the last two years
have given me time to think
time to heal
time to reinvent myself

and

I want to be good.
A good person.
No longer just surviving
my heart has healed
I am now striving.

I want empathy
I want to see
I want understanding
When off-route on the mountain
following a guy who bumbles
even more than us
I want to guide him to safety
in spite of the discomfort
in spite of the inconvenience
in spite of my hiking partner's impatient orders
I want to follow me
the inner voice that knows
I want to make the right choice
the one that I would tell my parents about
the one that would make them proud
to have raised a humane being
I want to be good

I want it everywhere in my life
Centered
Lucidity
and a dose of eloquence wouldn't hurt
I have taken long steps to summit 58 peaks
Now I am aiming for good.

Permanence

I will always be...
driven.
I know it.
I will always gather the odd yards at the end of a set
the odd minutes at the end of a workout
the last 300 feet to a mountaineering 3000
I will always be that person.
I know it.

I will always be...
joyful.
Waking up and cuddling Sugs
with his ridiculous button nose
telling him what a great day it is
and how foolish he is to stay in bed
all day lazy bear

Always smiling to myself after leaving
Albertsons
The classroom
The climbing dinner
The people, my people
Always smiling
I will always be.
I know it.

And even if I'm not always
I will always be.
That's how it is.
I know it.

Anticipation

Strangely enough I am looking forward to it. Particularly because of the gruesomeness of it. We will awaken at 1:30 AM and drive through the wee hours to reach the trailhead. Once there, we will be greeted by Cielo Vista Ranch representatives who will collect our $100 and guide us onto the ranch. Then we climb.

This will be #41 for me. And you might think they become "old hat" at this point. Au contraire! Each one is different, on each one I learn something. And most of all, on each one, my love of these mountains - that feeling of fit, belonging - is reborn.

My hair is braided. My pack is readied. I will sleep now for a few hours and then awaken to fresh night and a mountain of goodness ahead.

Thirty-Eight Years Young

You would think I had never dressed myself
for manual labor before

Go get the knobby gloves from your mother

You can't wear your jeans
She throws sweat pants down the stairs
I only wear them for gardening
they can get ripped

I said to get the knobby gloves
He sits waiting on the tractor
waiting lest I...
have forgotten how to drive?
don't know how to signal
for the one left turn in our journey?

I think it is this

Stay behind me
He ahead of me
gesticulates madly
indicating left, Left, LEFT already
all of you hordes of people driving
rural dirt Wisconsin roads

I come home to Wisconsin
and
am
38 years young.
Ensconced.

Joshua Tree Speaks

There are boulders everywhere
and Joshua trees
evenly spaced
as if planted
as far as the eye can see

It comes to me here
I ache to climb them all
to start in the north and
work my way south
climbing touching learning every formation on my way

I start
Circling this ampitheater formation
round its perimeter rock by rock
hold by hold
I step lightly
place each foot deliberately
caress the rock's face
coaxing up handholds
placing my fingers gently
firmly
and transfer my weight
inching ever upward
leaving no trace

It comes to me here
My soul is a desert
free-ranging and true
open and arid
honest and sparse
a spurner of
the extra
the superfluous
the nonessential

My soul
is a free climber
wanting
needing
to do it alone
soul-o
the best
purest way
under my own steam
steaminess
sizzling
passionate
longing
to be doing
to be moving
to be communing with rock
My soul is a desert.

School Bathrooms

I munched carrots and celery in the Smoking Bathroom
avoided the cafeteria and its social morass
molasses
through which I could never wade
instead I hid
went where it was safe
to slide from
132 to 89.4
in four short months
determinedly
shrinking
myself

Between classes
I'd rush into "Staff - Women"
and unleash the real me
swirling
twirling
in my pretty purple skirt
shaking hips and giggling
Gleefully
composing poems to him
anticipating his laugh
his touch
tingling togetherness
We'd be reunited
soon
Anticipation
in the confines of "Staff - Women"

My shoulders fall apart in this bathroom
all of me caves to the middle
under which there is no support
The crushing collapse takes me by surprise
I was a teacher but twenty seconds ago
What ho with this puddle?
A reminder
A memory
A mourning
of loss I thought I was getting over already
Steely determination and paper grade TP
contrast with the gentle watery smile
peering at me from the mirror
an acknowledgement
a trying to understand
a trying to love myself
to give myself time
to be patient
but gather myself quickly
in this five minute passing period
Sandpaper TP dabs at the eyes
fingers fly to the hair,
brush it from hot cheeks
center in a smile
and leave my retreat
The professional restored.

Those walls don't speak
They peel me.

Prayer for a Lover

The mountains are suffused with light.
I think of you.
My body is aching with sadness.
I think of you.

Some of my best days
Were the days with you
You've given me my worst
and I to you?

I miss you.

When I'm sick
When I'm low
I'm at my weakest
There are you.

I miss you.

Devolution

Jaggedy bike paths
and velvety night rides
these are a few of
my dangerous things

It is certain that I devolve
that my ancestors were panthers
Caged all day in pretty clothes
and encouraging words
the feral blood prowling in silence
awaiting its chance

The spandex hits my crotch
and I roll
threading my way
through velvety darkness
egged on by coyotes
yipping in the open space
On all sides of me
voices threading through the grass
across the trail
with just me slicing between

Five miles through State Park,
I see no other humans
I fly too fast for a girl without a night light
but am unable to stop
unable to tether the panther
whose need for speed
teeth sucking wind
jaw gaping
bugs splintering the cornices
of my eyes
Makes me whole.

14er Bliss

I love the hard, pumpy feeling you get when you are working at going uphill.
I love the way my head pounds until a single chocolate outrage Gu stitches those frayed temple edges back together.
I love the way you have to step slowly and place each foot deliberately so as not to plummet to injury - or just waste a ton of energy.
I love the way you gasp in that thin air that yet tastes fresher than the air anywhere else in the world.
I love the way I don't shower or change my clothes for days at a time. (I am green!)
I love the way you meet people on their journeys up the same mountain - and they've come from so many directions.
I love the way my body stays in motion, the way it craves the top as much as my oxygen-stretched mind.
I love the way the world is at the top.

I love everything about it.

Mt. Belford & Mt. Oxford
11 miles, 5900 feet, 9:04.37
July 25, 2009

The Minimalist

You are tempted to take shortcuts, to cut weight and "things" from your pack, to leave it all behind... but the minimalist has learned a few lessons.

You will need a cap and gloves on top of most 14ers. Even when it's 80 degrees in Denver, the top of Torrey's will most likely be tempestuous. Winds blow up there. All the time. Sneak snowfalls and thick wet clouds engulf you. Even the rocks wear a chilly set of whiskers. A warm 14er is a rare find. Come down 500 feet from the summit and you'll most likely bake, but up top - the winds prevail.

Extra water and energy gels are a must. Sunscreen cannot be neglected.


I'm tempted today as I pack. To cut things & stuff loose. But even the minimalist needs warmth on a bare peak. Even the strongest need help, need supportive people on their journeys.

Into my pack goes the warmth.

Mt. Yale: 14,196 Feet

I summited today! It was one of those days where I covered a lot of territory. My favorite shot of the day...

That Time of Year

It's that time of year. That grateful time, the time of reaping all we've sown. The kids are awesome. I ask them to write a sentence using the word "genuinely," and Ellis writes, "I genuinely appreciate Ms. TT teaching me reading and writing."

I have fought so hard with these kids this year! I have despaired of EVER getting through to them, of ever having them see that this - this intervention - is in their very best self-interest. Every day, they are showing signs that they now see the light. They are taking charge, putting themselves in the driver's seat with their reading and writing. (And loving their teacher, which goes a long way to repair the ego they battered earlier this year.)

Today we curled up around the lava lamp for read aloud. I got two pages into it and we side-tracked for a discussion of adoption and foster care and all the issues that lead to parents making the decision to not raise their own children. It was deep and close and caring.

One other nugget for the days next year when I have the new, untrained ones... Parents and teachers of middle schoolers, I direct your attention to this...

I let slip yesterday that, because of a schedule snafu, one student had spent an hour one-on-one with me in my office. My news was met with a chorus of "How come she got to do that?"

Aren't these adolescents supposed to be wresting their independence from us? They are not. Not anymore than we want to be free of them. I'm already sad about the year ending.

Yeah, I'm a loser. But I'm a grateful loser.

Lucidity Comes in Liquid Form

Everything I ever needed to know I learned on the swim.

I did fast 100s. My heart beat so hard, felt so large, that I was sure it was going to leap out of my rib cage and make a splashy entrance into the water below me.

My heart was full, sitting there doing her nails. In all honesty, she was a difficult grandma. She was a don't-touch-that grandma. But last week, I sat at a table with her, soaking her chemotherapy-hardened fingernails and toenails, clipping them, filing them and then rubbing in balm to fend off the itchy, thick skin. My mom was there. My sister-in-law, various nieces and nephews ran in and out. We talked. We laughed. She stayed there with us, with all of that chaotic kid and family noise. She stayed even though her head bobbed with tiredness. She was saying all of the things she'd never said. She said them eloquently with all that staying.

My plane landed in Denver on Sunday night and my phone rang. I thought my heart would burst, make a splashy entrance into the sunlit Colorado air that surrounded me. I wanted it to burst, to paint the sky with a rainbow, to tell Grandma that 89 years was just enough to thank a daughter, to woo a grand-daughter, to be heard.

Your arms reach and pull, all muscles seriously scrabbling for more purchase, more glide, more speed.

It clicked for me. How to climb the mountain was clear. I learned it from swimming. I needed to bend down, crawl like a monkey - on my hands and feet, my core tight, my arms scrabbling for purchase in the slippery scree. I needed to forgo oxygen and push through in bursts. I clued in the climbers nearest me - my nephew and my sister. In less than an hour, they would summit their first fourteener. I would stand there with two of my sisters, transported from our lives on a rural Wisconsin dairy farm when there was guaranteed Holstein shit under our fingernails for the first 18 years of our lives, up to that place that defies words... though my sister, in rushing bursts, tried... "It's all so amazing... It's nothing like I'd ever imagined it would be... every step of it... but how could I have imagined this...?"



I stretched, long and lean in the water. I was all glide and no effort. I flipped and repeated.

Do you ever get the feeling that what you are doing - in this precise moment - is exactly what you were meant to do, that you have been training all of your life for just this moment? That your neurons, your fibers, your very self is in harmony with this place? Do you ever wonder how you got there? Do you shake your head at the very odd confabulation of events that led to it?

I end this piece on a packing night. I will be on a plane again tomorrow. Going to a funeral, reuniting with my family - to grieve, to celebrate. I take with me Colorado sunshine. I take with me the sweet stillness of a good swim. I take with me peace - and the ability to be ever-surprised.

The Ample Spread

I feel the ample spread
when I sit down in my chair
My hips and thighs
conquer
quashing any resistance
from the chair
the loveseat
even the couch can hold
no truck with them
This truckload o' me
brooks no opposition

And while I'm bitchin'...

My hair is streaked with silver
I've got cottage cheese
- and not just on my plate -

BUT

My ample spread
encompasses
not only the state of my
buttocks and thighs
but also my frame of mind
I'm comfortable where I am
wide-ranging and free

So keep your skinny hips
and your 6-pack abs
I'm comfortable with
my ample spread
my horn of plenty
my plethora
the bottomless pit o' me
(No pictures with this post though.)

DNS Mountain Style

I Did Not Summit today, but Mount Yale was kind enough to reward me with one of the best failures of my life.

This hike comes out of the gate in your face, ascending brutally from the get-go. Up-up. So it goes onward and upward for about a mile, and then you leave the hard-packed snowmobile trail. You think the snow is crusty enough to support you - and about 70% of the time it is. So you slog along, breaking through every few steps until your frustration overcomes your laziness and you stop, unclip the snowshoes, and put them on your feet. Sweet relief!

Until even those can't hack it. I reached this avalanche chute - and man, those things are false advertisers! They look all white and glisteny and inviting, and then you start walking up them and even your snowshoes don't cut it.



I'd take a step and sink in up to my waist, falling forward on both hands. So I thought I'd be smart and walk up it on my hands and feet. Not so smart. My feet couldn't get a purchase. I'd step and scramble with my snowshoes, essentially running in place, churning out crystalline snow in my wake. Then I'd stop and side-step and gain two inches. It was HARD. It took me the most arduous 30 minutes of my life to get up the damn thing. I really thought I was getting somewhere, because I saw patches of rocks (oh, sweet rocks) leading up to the summit. Ha! That was the kicker...

There were more steep patches of snow in between the rocks. I persisted until I'd been out 4 hours. At about 1/2 (grisly) mile from the summit, I decided that Yale would just have to wait for me to grace its top. I had eaten my lunch, 2 Gus, Shot Bloks and jerky and finally caught on that no amount of fuel was going to get the spring back in my legs. I'd given Yale the the ol' college try and it had shown itself to be the BMOC. So I gave up and started down. And that was even hard. Did you hear me?? Glissading down was hard. Without warning, I'd drop through the crust and end up with a pile of snow in my craw. That quite impeded progress.

When I reached the tree line, things finally leveled out a bit and - the sun was out en force. It was 52 degrees and so bright. The mountains were in bas relief against the blue sky, the trees were in bas relief against the snow... it was purdy. I couldn't stay peeved. It felt so nice and warm. I slowed down and took a ton of pictures, frolicked, and just looked at stuff. All told, I was in there 6 hours.




Attempt concluded, I drove out to the main road in the teeny town of Buena Vista and - surprise, surprise - turned the wrong way on the highway. I realized it within a mile so turned around. I took it as a sign that I was supposed to stop somewhere and indulge the strange craving I'd been having. I ate a cheeseburger. I haven't eaten a burger in 15 years. I pulled off at this mom & pop place that had a lot of cars in the parking lot (that is my new #1 restaurant- choosing strategy) and ordered the quarter-pounder with cheese. It was charbroiled deliciousness.

That helped me get my head on right - and served as the icing on the cake for a perfect DNS.

The CLimBer

I'm exhausted and my fingertips hurt, but I can't sleep and want to write. My blood is still up.

I went climbing outdoors for the first time today. I keep replaying it. The holds, the exhilaration, the way it felt to just boss my way up the climb. Then the utter exhaustion and my inability to grasp even the easiest hold. The way my body told me "no," the way my mind could just not persist, did not even want to - the way I hated the rock and wanted off in the worst way.

I never felt unsafe. My belayer is too good for that. But I did feel unsure. It feels like a massive departure from who I used to be. The climbing crowd is part of it. The rock itself is another. Then there's my learning curve - the absolute mental and physical challenge. I could barely follow the conversation on the way to the rock. The terms, the names of (apparently) famous climbs and climbers... My climbing partners threw their jargon around like snow in Wisconsin. I was in a blizzard and just tried to keep my vision clear. More than once, I was snowed-in.

And that was even before we got to the rocks.

Once there, I soon found myself on belay and climbing Shelf's limestone walls. Implicitly trusting my belay partners and going all out, attacking the rock. You look for the weakness in the rock - and it ferrets out every weakness in you. I used every part of my body and every piece of rock that I could think of to devise a hold. To pull myself up those rock faces. I bear the battle scars. Bruised knees, a chunk of skin out of a finger pad, and muscles that I don't want to face tomorrow.

I attempted five climbs. I couldn't make it to the top on my last two. A meager three full ascents drained every ounce of my energy. My third climb was my most fun - but the most technical of them all, the bruise-maker. It was called "Don't mess with my Moves" (each climb has a catchy little moniker) and was "in your face" the whole time, requiring the climber to be creative in finding each hold. I remember being splayed on the rock, spread-eagle style to reach holds, while other moves had my hands and feet hugging an outward bulge of rock. That's where I earned the bruises; determinedly hugging that rock with my thighs and knees, not wanting to give it an inch - wanting to ascend under my own power.

Once that climb was done, I attempted the fourth and fifth climbs but found that I was done. My body was tapped out. My mind was tapped out.

Right now I am a CLimBer; my skills are as jagged as Shelf's burlier faces. I am going to have to work to get good at this. According to my climbing partners, I have a natural aptitude, but even with that, I didn't do a single "clean" climb. I either fell off the wall or had to ask for a "take" - wherein my belayer locked down the rope and let me hang to rest and consider my next move. I am far, far from being able to lead. It is unsettling to be a newbie at this. I am, however, settled on one thing: I will be back. I am in the place where it makes sense to do this.

As exemplified by this final photo. We left as the sun was beginning to sink. But a glance back revealed nine different ropes at work on this one wall. Shelf's hundreds of routes find just as many climbers. This is quite a place.

Mt. Sherman is Mine, All Mine

I did it! Bagged my fifth 14er on Saturday. I can now notch my belt with Mt. Sherman, 14,036 feet.

The trip was awesome - beginning with the drive to the trailhead. I topped two new passes and the view was stunning. From Denver, highway 285 leads you to the Mosquito Range which hosts Mt. Sherman. It also leads you to incomparable views. The passes opened onto wide valleys framed by the mountains. Little - like teeny, cardboard box - towns were nestled in there. I drove through and couldn't help but dream of purchasing real estate. You wanna be tucked away - that's the place.

After Fairplay (the most populated city in its county, boasting 610 souls), you turn off on a highway that quickly turns into a boulder-strewn gravel road. When that peters out into feet-deep snow (where the plows stop), you park and start hiking.

The hike itself was... incredible. It is a singular experience doing these 14ers. My other hikes are pretty views and tranquilizers; I find so much peace. These 14ers are all hard edges and adrenaline. You start above treeline so there are only the bare faces of the mountains and their individual shapes to study. Some have been uptilted, decorating their faces with horseshoe-shaped bands of minerals. Others are stout little pyramids greeting you. Others, like Sherman, while indistinct in shape, are no less impressive for their sheer mass and power over the landscape.

Though snow is the predominant color, rocks with their coats of lichen also dot the mountainsides. Occasionally, human structures break out of the landscape. Abandoned mine shafts remind you of Colorado's rocky mineral history. Looking down, you see fir trees, standing stark and dark against the white of the snow.

For most of the hike, I followed a well-blazed trail. But by approximately 13,500 feet, I had passed all the other climbers and was left to my own devices to find the trail. Naturally, I lost it (my map had flown into a ravine early in the hike) and I ended up making my own path. I could see the summit ridge so I knew which direction to go, but it was quite tricky picking a path. My choices were to pick my way up steep, slippery scree - or posthole up a nearly vertical wall of snow. And of course you don't realize how vertical things are until you start...

I chose the snowy path, kicking my boots into the snow for toeholds and grasping with my fingers for handholds. It all went pretty well until I reached the very last ledge. And it was a doozy of a ledge - with snow stacked up to my chest. And it was hard-packed. Kicking to test the snow and finding it unyielding, I considered Down. But Down looked more treacherous than Up.

Up it would be. I kicked several times before I could begin to consider putting my weight on the toeholds. I threw my mittens up on the ledge and dug handholds with my fingernails. With two good footholds, I heaved myself up and crawled on hands and knees once on the ledge itself. Tricky, tricky. Meanwhile, all the other yaks were gaping at me - and mostly going a different route. I got lotso props on that move on my way down. But mostly I just loved it for me. It's a bit ineffable, this feeling I have while climbing, but I'll give it a whirl...


I realized that day on Sherman that I am no longer just somewhat driven; I am summit driven. It feels like purity, like all of life's ambiguities are no more. There you find yourself at 13,500 feet, buffeted by winds and facing steep rock and frozen snow. I love being at 13,500 - much more than the 14,038. Thirteen-five is where the adventure is. The self-reliance, the test of strength and stamina. The choice between Down and Up, while daunting, is a clear one. And you write the ending all yourself. I revel in my body's strength and - dare I say? - developing skillz.

The top? Oh yes, I reached it. It took me 3 hours and 15 minutes. It was super windy so I spent very little time stopped anywhere - not even the summit. I snapped a few photos, signed the 14ers ledger, and began the descent.

When I reached the downhill of the less steep snowfields, I remembered an episode of Man Vs. Wild in which Bear Grylls saved mucho energy by glissading down an embankment. I promptly plopped myself in the snow and slid down, steering myself by slightly digging my heels into the snow or pushing down with the heels of my hands. It was a ball! That 3:15 it took me to get up turned into 1:59 for the way down.

Once finished, I was a zombie, tucking myself into my car, not even changing out of my wet socks and boots but rather doing all that needed to be done with automaticity. I listened to no music on the way home; rather I was accompanied by my own thoughts and the sensations of 14.

Mt. Sherman? Feels like mine.

The Rocks Were There...

...so I climbed them.










Path finding mid-stream. Better now than never.











Goal met: I reached my chair and sat for a spell.







Eldorado Canyon Hike 2/16/09

Eye-Opener

They come into my office one-by-one
these struggling readers
referred to me by teachers
who have related their
battle stories

unmotivated
LaZy
Trouble-maker
PUNK

They come into my office
one-by-one
and they perform
No, they transform
for those 20 minutes
they become students again
slicked-up and straight-backed
doing their darndest to answer my questions

Some can't sit still to save their lives
some can't answer my comprehension questions to save their lives
but they try
they have new hope
for that 20 minutes they see
a new teacher
a new opportunity
and to a one
one-by-one
their egos respond
the best in them shines
they have hope
they give it their all

That resiliency
that capacity for hope
is inspiring ...
yet sad

Because when my 20 minutes is up
they leave
Over my head in my office hangs
their hope
their inspiration
their assiduity
Over my head hang
the question marks

Can we?
How?
Will we?

The Mountain Top

I am another person on the mountain top.
I'm the person who knows how to live.
Who knows how to give.
Who wants nothing for herself.
Who has everything she needs.
Who doesn't crave
or claw
or demand
But rather
listens
and hears
and is soothing
quiet
peace.

I see far on the mountain top.



Photo - Pike's Peak Ascent, 9/12/08
Sentiments - Eldorado Canyon Hike, 2/16/09

Did you see that streak?

It was me on my bike! It was AMAZING here in Denver today.

It was the kind of day that makes happiness leak out of you & everyone else you meet on the bike path, resulting in a culture of grinning that seems almost cultish. It was 67 degrees with sun, sun, sun that flooded the bike paths and baked the concrete. It was the kind of day where you yell (OK, I yelled), "Go, shirtless guy!" to the biker in the oncoming lane. It was the kind of day where you started out a little fearful, because - well, you think about things differently when you've been hit by a car - but then find yourself fearless because you have a mightily beneficent tailwind and every time you look down to check the gauge it's whispering sweet nothings to you... 19, 20, 24, 26 MPH...

You find yourself fearless because the sun emboldens you. You find yourself fearless because the downhills feel so sweet and rounding the curves feels tight and fast. You find yourself fearless because your bike feels like an extension of you and you are lithe and strong and healed and - best of all - on the road again. Riding out the thoughts of the day, obsessing over the kids, the colleagues, the lesson plans, the problem solving until you've ridden them all out. And all that's left is you and the motion and the pure mounting joy...

Today: 21.4 miles, 19.4 MPH Av.

Dumb Dog

Dumb dog, why are you following me?

Mostly just his big puppy eyes follow me around - to see if I'm catching him at his various misdeeds. But he's been kicked around and neglected like orphan Annie's dog. And people think he's dumb. But, those same sneaky eyes have finally started to meet mine when we're working in small group.

His mom is crazy, his dad long-absent. School is a grind for him, a place where he fails, where he doesn't get the unwritten rules - much less the written ones. He is craving safety, craving acceptance, craving a place where he can succeed. He would never say that, but we teachers, we can read it. And I can give him that. I am working hard, thinking hard, advocating and fighting hard to keep minds open about him, to keep people believing in him. So that WE can give him that. A guaranteed education that he can access.

And then, on my other battle front, I am teaching him that a teacher is not always Teacher. We are not flat placards of lesson plans and discipline. We understand, we listen, we see flashes of insight and pull, pull, pull, dredge the depths of brains. Begging for more, helping to shape thoughts, to find words, to think, to self-advocate, to understand.

And he is getting there. He is so close. He is opening up, he is attempting. He is becoming a student. He might even be beginning to believe that he can, he could, he just might... succeed.

He's Making a List

He's making a list
he's checking it twice
He's using exclamation points
about ME!
He's can't waiting
and advanced packing
My baby's coming for a visit

He's coming home
to me
in this place of sunshine
this 300+ sunny-days state
my internal & heart-earned fate
After dwelling in his place of darkness
for so long
he is coming to my light

and I?

I am ready
I am a woman in full
I bike through the sunlight
and claim it as my own
I'm going to baste him in my warmth
He's going to bask in my glow

I'm walking on air
I'm jumping off bridges
This here cloud nine will always catch me

Sing it from the mountaintops
Spread it on your bread
TT is in love.

The Canvas

I'm living my daydream. It came to me on today's hike. Okay, so it's only one of the bazillion daydreams that I've had of my life, but how many lives do you have anyways?

I used to daydream that I'd hike in gorgeous mountains every weekend. I used to dream that I'd become a climber. I used to imagine that I'd find my center and let the other stuff swirl on around me.


Check.

Check.

And check.

A year & a half ago, I remember sitting in my newly-rented apartment - right when I first moved out - drawing myself a web. In the center was me and then the tentacles reached out, pointing to the major portions of my life: my personal relationships, my athleticism, teaching. I thought that drawing the web might help me unify all of those people and things that had only me in common. It didn't. It has taken a year & a half of stumbling through some days, "acting as if" on many others -and just plugging away at my mantra of eat right, sleep right, and exercise - to bring me to this spot today.


The peaceful spot. The pond upon whose surface others' jagged edges may be reflected, but whose ripples are all her own. I have become the glue of that web. I've added some things and removed others, but mostly I've placed myself at the center of it, firmly planted, not seeing in black & white, yet knowing where my lines are drawn - and who will be allowed to cross them.

And (puh-raise the lord!) I'm having fun. I awoke from a dream laughing out loud this week. Two mornings I woke up before my alarm to play guitar - and a third to get out hiking today. There were times over this last year & a half that I woulda sworn I'd never have fun again.

So here I find myself. With this Colorado canvas. And I'm painting.

Go Smack Talk a Mountain

Man, my mama musta screamed when she gave birth to me cuz I swear I was born with skis on my feet.

Today I cross-country skied for the first time in the mountains of Colorado. It kicked, it rocked, it glided and slided. We started on Greens - as in greenhorn, as in EZ, as in gently sloping lands. ZZZZ... We quickly realized that we were made of sterner stuff and progressed to Blues.

In the bag.

Here I stand poised to enter my first Black, the Disco Trail. And that's when I realized my mama's pain. Cuz shoot. I was born with these skis on my feet. I was John Travolta and Olivia Newton John rolled into one in my nice, tight, black pants. I discoed and dodged and twisted and turned and flew. I mighta even pressed my ski poles into service for that cute little pointing move.

And climb??

Mama-mia! What comes down must go up. But I didn't let that fog up my disco ball. I was the little engine that could and steamed up those hills.

All told, it took me three hours to break those mountains' backs. I left 'em consulting with Crayola, looking for more colors. I left 'em crying for their mamas - cuz they realized that they were born with just ski tracks at their feet.

Happiness is...

1) The powder being DUMPED on Denver this morning. Skis, here I come! In this city of over half a million souls, I can snap on my skis outside my front door and be on a trail within 2 blocks. The snow makes me happy, but so does this city. Trails - and getting those half mill souls onto them - are a priority here.

2) Muscles that twitch and twitter with after-exercise elation when you pull on a shirt the next morning. Muscles that lift and twist and pull and pedal. I love the feel of mine when I'm working out. Strong, lithe, controlled, getting the job done. I love my body. I am so glad to have it back after the accident.

3) Light and lively arpeggios, fingers that fly up and down guitar strings while my body rocks and sways to the beat of my internal drum.

4) Creating, daydreaming, writing little ditties. I ride/ski/swim along, lost in my thoughts, amusing myself for hours on end. I like to amuse others. I spin outrageous yarns that tangle my nieces and nephews up in tickly giggles. I like to tease my brother - engage in a battle of wits that gets us both rocking.

5) Helping. My students. I am teaching them to read. To READ. I may be prejudiced here, but man, reading is the bomb. I am teaching them to laugh at books, to cry with books. We do it together. I fervently hope they will be lifelong readers and thinkers. I like to help my students' parents. A mom cried on my shoulder this week. She has been abandoned and needs to be needed, included. She needs a sense of belonging. I asked her to volunteer in my classroom starting next week. Opening my heart feels good.

6) Singing harmony with anyone, but especially with my niece. One snowy November day this year, she and I cracked that Rosetta Stone together for her. I picked and we played, played, played at it until midnight.

These are 6 things that make me happy. Thank you for the tag, Anne.

What makes you happy, you 6 Kreativ Bloggers?

• KK
• Curly Su
  
• Erin
  
• XT4
  
• TriSaraTops
  
• FeLady
  

(My apologies if you've done this already. The teacher in me says: Do it again! The humanist in me says: You can never have too much happiness. So there you go... do it again! :-))

I Wanna Eat

I wanna eat
turkey and stuffing
and mashed potatoes
and gravy
I wanna mound it on my plate
and moosh it all together
creating a wavy swirl

Then I wanna take a tractor load
of it and stuff it
in my mouth
making chipmunk cheeks
that are such a concoction
that even my mother
won't recognize it as her own cooking
In the spare space
I'll add the crowning touch
a splash of red ~
the cranberry sauce

I wanna get down and dirty
with a leg
and lick my fingers
I wanna pull the skin off
and dangle it over my mouth
and then drop it in
and gulp it
gnashing my teeth and
smearing my lips with its oiliness

I want pumpkin pie
with dollops of whipped topping
that I will mash down
with my fork
spooning and spreading
meticulously covering
every
delicious
nutmeggy
inch of it

Then shovel-style,
I will fork it into my mouth
chewing with open
gulping, gasping,
swishing, swirling
noises

And I wanna do this at night
at 10 PM after everyone has gone to bed
down in my mom's kitchen
so I don't have to do any of it delicately

Biking makes me really hungry.

1:22.32, 23 miles, 16.4 Avg. MPH

Staring Problem

He's staring at me. Out of these vivid blue eyes encircled by wire-rimmed glasses. His arms are covered in light blond hair and there's a faded bluish tattoo on one forearm. He is short and muscular. And he is staring at me. He only sort of looks away when I catch him at it.

Unnerved, I shift slightly and continue the Ironman anecdote I am telling my friend out loud, all the while maintaining an internal dialogue. What is his deal? Am I looking that fine tonight in my cords and plain gray T-shirt? Hot on the heals of that comes: Is he wearing a ring?

Does he think he knows me? Is he a cross country parent? Is he going to come over here or just continue to stare?

We move over to supervise the theater entrance closest to the bathrooms. Minutes later I look up and my eyes collide with the vivid blue ones. He is milling outside the women's bathroom. Is it coincidence? Is he legit? Is his female inside?

I lose track of him in the busy-ness of the play.

Until now. Three days later I wake up remembering another set of blue eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, and hairy blond arms. I looked into those eyes and told them that they really needed lumbar support on these stretchers. They, for their part, assessed my vitals and told me I was going to be OK, would probably be home by lunchtime. The hairy blond hands cut off my bike clothes. He told me his name and that of his son, a student at my middle school. I knew the name but not the kid. I've subsequently forgotten the name, but I think I've solved my staring problem.

He was the EMT in the ambulance.

76

The number of minutes I anticipate it will take me to get home tonight.
76
The number of times I woke up last night.
38 times scared.
38 times excited. Anticipating.

I have a knot in my stomach.
It's called biking.
It's called commuting home.
I'll be on that road again.
Or not.
I have the bike map and might take a longer route home.
Or I might just get back on that horse and face my demons.
Ooh, that felt like gargling with ipecac.

Make me strong.
Make me brave.
Make me just do it
and revel in it
and come to that easy pass
with biking
where I don't even think about it
except to get the good shivers of anticipation.
Make me visualize today's Denver temps of 70s
and sun
riding toward those iridescent blue mountains
now topped with white...

76 minutes most-anticipated,
here I come.

Post script: It took me 80. And I wondered. Is this OK pain or the kind of after-a-serious-injury-needs-to-rest pain? But then... I neared home and the peace happened. The kind of peace that comes only from biking. Ahh...

Stats: 1:20.45, 21.47 miles, 15.9 Av

Stupid

Stupid. They don't use words, but they say, "you're stupid." They snicker every time he answers a question. They roll their eyes, sigh, get impatient. He believes them. I almost begin to believe them. He is new to me. I wonder what he has done to earn this reputation, this reaction. I ache for him. Today he made a beautiful inference while we were reading in small group. They didn't hear it. I heard it. I told him I heard it.

Hear me: Stupid you are not, kid!

Birthday Gifts I Gave to Myself

Wednesday: Doctor's appointment. I think - hope - this will be my last one associated with the accident. The neurosurgeon gave me clearance to bend, lift, and twist to my heart's content. She did caution me against running or other high impact activities until January though.

Thursday: FLIP TURNS!!! I made all four 50s on 50 seconds. I am a swimmer again!

Friday: A new bike helmet - red, because that's the color my new tri bike is going to be. The trip to the bike shop also included me doing research on my next build. These guys tell me they can get the job done. I want it exactly like my old build, my beloved Serra, but have to change the color. And the name... Ideas?

Saturday: A day spent with some of my favorite people in the world doing an event that is yet to be revealed to me. I love surprises!

Sunday: The crowning glory on the day of my birthday -- my first ride. I have my ol' road bike all ready to go, just finished pumping up the tires, in fact. On Sunday, when Denver is slated for 65 degrees and sun, you will find me on the bike path...

Skip the candles; I already have all I could wish for.

What You Don't Know About Me

What you don't know about me
is that
I can
You see the ache
the twisted knee
the bruised hip
the unbendable back

But I know better

In the pool
I am invincible
I am nearly myself again
I am myself minus flip turns,
the drive
the determination
the litheness
the piss & vinegar
are mine

I swim hard
I inhale,
sucking air
and unavoidably
am rewarded with a healthy swish of
stale chlorinated water
My epiglottis does its job
closing off my my trachea
In these timed 50s
I can't expend milliseconds expelling water
or swallow it
I must let it swill
I have a job to do
I have to keep moving

I fight hard and make the
4 x 50 on 60 seconds

These 50s that took me
75 seconds 2 weeks ago when
I first wet myself in the pool again
I am happy
but
the bar is being raised
I anticipate and dread
but make
the 4 x 50 on 55 seconds
and fight, fight, fight
for the 4 x 50 on 50 seconds

I make #1 with 2 seconds rest
I have 1 second to spare on #2
for #3 I am a second late
but I shove off anyway
knowing that
I can
I will
next time
or the time after that
because

In the pool
I am transformed
In the pool
I know
I feel
I anticipate
the big things
I am yet capable of...

A Bump in the Road

I am going to climb 14ers again. I am going to run, swim, and yes, I am going to bike. But today, my endeavors look more like this:
1) Walk 1/2 hour (more of a shuffle)
2) Have doctor's appointment. He tells me I can get rid of both the knee brace and the back brace - as pain dictates.
3) Walk another 1/2 hour on the trail trying to retrain my left leg to bend.
4) Read or visit until it's time to nap again.

Sleep overtakes me these days. I understand that word really well since the accident. I don't have a naptime or a bedtime - they have me.

I am surprisingly OK with it. It feels right - it feels like my body is healing. Given the situation, I know that the more I rest, the quicker I'll heal. I have two fractures and one ligament tear, sundry bruises, and road rash. I know I can take the time I need. School has been awesome, family & friends supportive, and Sweet Sister, the only one out here in Colorado - has been a super-Sherpa. I can count on her.

From the moment I took her hand in the ER and continued to squeeze it, and she let me. I just couldn't breathe normally. I was too scared. The impact of the car and the coulda-beens until I dragged myself to the safety of the median played over in my mind. And wreaked havoc with my breathing.

I hated it. I hated the fact that I'd been hit. I hated the pain. I loathed having to miss school. I didn't want to worry Sweet Sister and everyone else. I instructed the man who called to "tell her I'm OK!" but I have never been as happy, relieved, safe, as when I saw her walk into that ER and let me clench her hand.

My bike. My beautiful, custom-built, fits-like-a-dream tri-bike. Is done. I can't have it at my house yet. The bike clothes - the ones they cut from my body - are stashed in a room. I'm not sure what to do with them. I can't get rid of them just yet, but neither do I seek their raggedy, streaked company.

I want to ride again.

That first night at the hospital, still in my bike shirt and sports bra with a hospital gown over it, Sweet Sister washed my face. She washed away the tears of the day, the grime from the accident - and the happy sweat that was underneath that.

It had been a happy ride. I left my house at 5:30 AM, lit up like a Christmas tree - I thought - and was out in the morning air. I never know whether I love the morning ride or the evening ride more. I could write soliloquies to both. This was my first ride to school from my new house, though I'd ridden the route home the three preceding afternoons. I wound my way through the state park, guided by my headlamp - and my ears.

Sometimes these dark rides are like playing hide-and-seek with an opponent who can't resist occasionally whistling out to you, whose playfulness eeks out in the gurgling sound of a stream that tells you definitively that you did just miss your turn from the park road back onto the trail because you know you never crossed a stream during the daylight rides. There were so few other people in the park that morning - and we would never know each other were we to meet again - because we were just blurs of reflective gear, headlamps, and "mornins" to each other. I always love these morning riders, runners, and walkers. We are kindred souls.

Never 100% sure that I'd made it onto the right path until I exited the park, I was happy that morning on Canine Road. When I came to its grooved, under-construction pavement, I knew I was a mile from my next bike path, the last quarter of this 20 mile bike commute.

I was sweating and I was thinking and I was anticipating. I was looking forward to school where I'd be team teaching an 8th grade math class first thing. I'd written story problems to review for their test and I couldn't wait to see the students' reactions when they heard their names in my goofy little stories. I'd also written one about my age in relation to that of my niece whose birthday was the next day. Then after school, I was to head to Sweet Sister's house - stopping en route only to purchase her a bike pump from the bike shop - for dinner and a visit with some fellow Midwesterners. I would walk the dogs on the open space, eat her cooking, and talk and laugh a blue streak as we watched the vice presidential debate. I love living this close to my sister.

So when I lay there screaming on the median, I was screaming for a lot of things - pain, fear and shock, yes - but disappointment and loss too.

I'm not screaming anymore. I've accepted. My body has set the terms of this recovery and I will oblige. I am told that I am healing quickly - that I am fortunate to be young, healthy, and strong. I believe that. I feel that. And I trust my body. It has led me to Ironman, helped me crest four of these Colorado 14ers (52 to go!), and taken me on countless other treks. It always delivers me from a frenzied or worried or careworn state to one of peace and inner calm. I will accommodate this body. I will let it recover and then I will let it carry me ... onward, upward, and inward.

Ima Climba...

Enroute to Pike's Peak (elev. 14,110 feet) on Sunday, September 14, 2008 at approximately 8:00 AM.