A fair weather rider

We've enjoyed some rather chilly days and weeks in the LA area this year.  Obviously I'm not comparing the temperatures here to those far-flung northern locales, but compared to last year, it's been damn cold!  Currently, I'm wearing a wool sweater, wool socks and we have a fire crackling away for the evening.  Michael refused to take the dogs out for a walk this morning because there was frost on the ground, and at one point a few weeks ago, Gus, our ever-so-agile labrador-beagle mix slipped on some ice in the back patio.  I keep wondering if this is the "hell-freezes-over" moment in humanity's history, but other apocalyptic signs seem wanting (unless you count the pope's resignation - holy smokes! This is the first time since the Middle Ages that a pope has willingly - I suppose - stepped down).

As much as I like that the cold weather affords me the opportunity to wear wool sweaters to school and to bundle up in the mornings, as I begin to think about different races and the training involved, I curse the colder temperatures.  Yes, this is yet another example of my total lack of hard-core badassness.  I admit it - I am a fair weather rider.  A wimp, in other words.  There are, after all, several reasons I live in Southern CA, and the weather does make the list.  While we have our seasons here (May Grey, June Gloom, Santa Ana winds...) and there are extremes that come with them, most of the time, I can find a way to train outside, even if it means I drive to the coast, usually in search of cooler temperatures, for a ride or a run.  There are some hot days in the summer, and, apparently, some cold days in the winter!

Running in the cold, while it isn't much fun, is not unbearable nor unfamiliar.  Last year, I ran in Boulder and Taos when the temperatures were in the 20's.  Cold, yes, but not intolerable.  Riding in the cold, however, is another matter altogether. As yesterday proved, I am NOT prepared for even slightly cold weather riding.  Honestly, if I weren't starting to think about upcoming events (months away, but still there), I wouldn't have plopped my thin-skinned butt on the saddle yesterday.  However, I've committed myself to at least one ride per week in February and then upping the number when March and April roll around.  So far, I've enjoyed these rides - last weekend's was awesome and made me happy to be back on the bike.  Yesterday's ride, however, made me realize that I seriously lack any cold-weather riding gear.  Okay, not "any" since I have leg warmers and bike gloves, and really I have enough winter gear to layer up for a ride, but it feels unfamiliar and uncomfortable to be so cold on the bike.  Not that I started out cold - I began the ride climbing several miles as I headed part of the way up the Angeles Crest Highway.  It was an AMAZING day (always is after a rain) - lots of dramatic clouds and sunlight peeping through and freshly green mountains that went on and on as I looked towards the eastern range.  I wasn't hot on the climb, but not cold.  However, once I turned around and started the descent, I knew that I was in for some suffering.  At first I couldn't decide if the excitement of the decent would cancel out the wind chill factor, and initially it did.  Once I finished the decent and continued the ride, I started to curse my serious lack of circulation - cold hands and really f-ing cold feet!  I cut the ride short because, by that point, my feet were totally numb and I just couldn't get warm.

In my defense, I do think that it was about 52 degrees when I started the ride and, when I returned, the temperature had dropped to about 48 degrees.  Not freezing temperatures, I admit, but when you're zooming downhill and there's a biting wind, it's cold!  Fortunately, looking at the temperatures this next weekend, we should be back to normal LA digits - ah, the 70's, how I will welcome you!

Three - the magic number

Yes, I'm totally stealing from Schoolhouse Rock which just celebrated its fortieth anniversary - impressive!  We heard an interview with the composer and sometimes singer of the songs, Bob Dorough, on NPR last month.  Apparently, "Three is a magic number" was the first Schoolhouse Rock song, and I would say that it's one of my favorites (although maybe NOT quite up there with "Conjunction conjunction what's your function" in my mind).

Recently, in my own small world, I've seen the number three appear in different configurations, some positive, others not so much.  For instance, I'm on my third cold of the academic year which seems to be a ridiculous number!  I should appreciate that I haven't been knocked completely on my ass, unlike some of my colleagues, but I still can't believe that I've been sick this often.  Maybe this is what the 40's look like?  Along with this third cold, I took three 'rest' days this past week. Gasp!  Just more evidence that I will never be one of those hard-core people who hate taking a day or two off, even when they feel like complete shit.  I didn't feel that bad, just like poop (yes, I'm have the vocab of a three-year-old), but sleeping 10 hours Friday night plus taking a 2 hour nap yesterday seemed to do the trick.  But, still, there are some twinges of guilt about the 3 days of rest.

On a more positive note, I've found that the notion of "third time's charm" is apt for new running shoes!  After a lengthy search, it seems that I've finally found something of the holy grail.  Since the initial flare-up of plantar fasciitis, I blamed my shoes, whether that was a fair assessment or not, I'm not sure.  Since last spring, I've been running with Brooks Trance, which I settled on but never felt that they were a great fit.  So, with PF, I started grasping at straws, reading about neutral shoes, barefoot running and stability shoes.  I decided that I needed extra stability and went for an Addidas shoe that offered such.  To my dismay, that was just about the worst running shoe decision I've made in recent years, and I suppose that I should have known that I needed something a bit more neutral since I've been in Brooks Cascadia for the past 2 years without any issues.  So, if anyone wants a pair of extra stability running shoes, size 7.5, please let me know.  I also invested in a pair of Mizuno's Wave, and they've worked out pretty well - I didn't just *love* them, but they certainly felt better than the Addidas.  However, I recently found my perfect fit in the form of Brooks Ravenna:

Source

The guy at In-Step, the insole place in Boulder, recommended these to me.  I tried them on in his shop, and they seemed to fit just right.  So far, I've taken them out twice for a run, and both times, my stride, gait, all that running jargony-stuff felt great.  YES!  I'm so excited to find a shoe that definitely works for me.  In fact, I might go buy two more pairs so that I'll have three! Ha ha (sort of).

As I've wrestled with the fact that I've spent a pretty penny while trying to find the right pair of shoes, it's also a relief to find shoes that really work! Through this search, I've channeled my inner Goldilocks - too hot, too cold, just right.  On a final note, I hope that the three bears don't come after me now!

A Patagonia wannabe

Well, based on this Slate article I read on Saturday morning, I am a yuppie, dog-walking, fleece-wearing wannabe, the target of Yvonne Chouinard's scorn.  I think I'll take his scorn.  As much as I would like to ditch my job, responsibilities (dogs, husband, bills), and dedicate myself to the outdoor lifestyle that Patagonia promotes and/or romanticizes, I must admit that I happen to like much about the life that we've created, even if it doesn't live up to the Patagonia ideal of spending a season climbing in Yosemite or Joshua Tree or heli skiing in Colorado or trekking in Asia.
What did resonate in the article was that the author of the article shared his memory of his first Patagonia jacket.  I'm not sure if it was my first Patagonia purchase, but I do still remember buying a blue pull-over with a zip neck collar when I ran my first and last marathon, Philly, 1996.  I am proud to say that I still possess that pullover shirt and it makes an appearance at least once a year.  At this point, it is a well-loved article that I almost hesitate to put on because I worry that it might disintegrate while on my back.  It has seen me through good and bad times, that is for sure.

Here is a good time:

Taking a snack break while on the trail up to Pear Lake.

And here is a photo of me being a yuppie dog walker:

Photo taken at the original Patagonia workshop in Ventura, where Chouinard began the company!

I'll admit that I'm definitely not hard-core at much of anything these days.  While I can spend a few nights in a tent, I do prefer the comforts of a mattress and nice linens, and I like being clean more days than not.  This means that I'll never be "sponsored" by Patagonia, but I'll continue to sport some of my favorite clothes!
And, just looking at old pictures of myself all "geared up" does make me want to hit the trails.  Maybe this weekend?

A lucky Friday

Hello spring and happy Friday 13th!

A rather ominous date, but in the Spanish- speaking world, Friday 13 isn't the unlucky day but TUESDAY the 13th. I reminded my students of that fact as they prepared for their AP Exam - the very last one of the year. For most of the students, it was the very last AP exam of their illustrious high school career. It's a long year and a bit of a slog at the end, but the students whom I saw after the exam felt confident about the experience which is always a good sign.

This marks the end of the class, and yesterday was the last day of senior classes, so I am officially down a class for the next two weeks. No complaints on my end! It is bittersweet to see the seniors go and to end the year with them, especially with these kids, but right now, I confess, I am enjoying a bit more peace and free time.

The end of senior classes and the blissfully spring-like weather serve as auspicious signs of summer, and I am more than ready to enjoy the laid-back summer months.

In anticipation, a package arrived in the mail, and I now have my new favorite 'gear':

No, not the dog - although Milo was looking pretty cute! No, my awesome wetsuit! Ocean and lake swims - here I come!

Equipment failure!

I believe that in a fit of overconfidence I said that I would post a few tips on hiking, camping, backpacking. In retrospect, I spoke far too soon. Not that we didn't have an incredible time, because we did. Words fall a bit short, but I will try to describe the experience in the next post. And despite my trepidation, my knee functioned fine, and was a bit sore, but no more so than my neck, shoulders, butt, calves, back. You know, my entire body has a few aches and pains.

But for now, let me just say that before one sets off on a hiking/backpacking adventure, it is always a plus to check one's equipment. Let's just say, for instance, that if your long-beloved boots fail on you, it is good to have this piece of information WELL before you are on the trail. Also, rather than scoffing at packing lists that include "Duct tape" as a necessity, you should go directly to the Home "Despot" and buy rolls and rolls of the stuff so that you can tape your boots back together.

Aaaaah,hindsight is 20/20.

Anyway, my boots did not totally fall apart, but I did not even look at them when I put them on. Obviously I looked at the laces and strapped myself in, but the boots felt fine as usual. Then, once we arrived at our destination, I took them off when I was putting on my long-underwear (very sexy detail, that is!), and when I put them back on, I noticed that the sole was starting to separate entirely from the boot. I believe that the hiking gods had cursed me because I had been so smug about these boots! Just as we were driving up to Sequoia/Kings Canyon, I boasted about how wonderful they were, 8 years old and still going strong.

Despite my fantasies of a barefooted trip back to the trailhead, the boots did survive the trip back down, but they might be headed to the land of dead boots. This makes me incredibly sad because I have a strong attachment to them. My parents bought me these boots as a birthday present before I hiked down the Grand Canyon, back in the spring of 2002. They've accompanied me to Ecuador twice and on several other overnights and any sort of snow adventure that I might encounter.

Here they are now, having seen better days:

In an effort to salvage the boots or to get something from them, Michael and I headed to REI today. He was convinced that I could ask for a refund because of their very generous return policy, but I felt that in good faith I could not tell them that I was disappointed with their product. Yes, I was disappointed that they had fallen apart after eight years, but I didn't see it as "equipment malfunction". The woman at the return desk was skeptical about them, but she sent me to the Dave, the shoe guy. I, in turn, was skeptical about Dave, until he took

the boots and gushed about what wonderful shoes they were and ruminated about the fact that REI no longer makes the product. I felt like ruminating too, but he did give me one glimmer of hope - REI would send them to their "shoe repair guy". If he could fix them, then he would.

I should find out in just a few weeks, but I'm going to keep my fingers double-crossed!

I can't even tell you how excited I would be if if REI sent resoled boots back to me.

Nor can I tell you how bummed I am going to be if the shoe wizard cannot fix them. While I like to shop and love a new pair of shoes, I am also faithful to those shoes, like these boots, that truly symbolize the places where I've been and proudly show the wear and tear of years and excitement. I know, they are just shoes, but I just might shed a tear over them.