Thank You Thunder Thighs

So here's the skinny on Mt. Whitney: it's f'ing hard to summit in one day. No surprise there, right? And we even had perfect weather (aside from the freezing, gusty winds). A twenty two mile round trip hike with a 6,000' gain in altitude from the trail head, coupled with the fact that we started at sea level only the day before-- I'd say, making it to the summit and back again is a pretty big deal. A deal I didn't realize was that big until I was smack dab in the middle of it. Literally. At the summit, 14,500 feet up and only halfway finished--that's exactly how it felt. My body was halfway finished. Halfway between being and not being. I'm sure that's overly dramatic, but it feels dramatic when you need to breathe and every inhale is harder and smaller than the one before it.

So in case I haven't made myself clear, my friend and I got altitude sickness. But to get a sense of the whole adventure, let's start at the beginning...

Day before "The Hike": we visited the trailhead and wandered around at 8,360 feet for about an hour. Not nearly enough to do any sort of acclimating, but it gave us a good chance to study the map below and watch a number of people stumbling off the trail with severe nausea and headaches from altitude sickness and dehydration.



If you can see it above, Trail Camp is at 12,000'. This is where most people, the smart ones, camp overnight to give their bodies a chance to acclimate to the altitude. My friend Matt, an avid mountaineer, told me that anything above 12,000' is considered the "Death Zone" because the atmosphere is so thin "anything can happen." It was comforting to know that we'd be wandering around for a good 10 miles in said "Death Zone." (Not.)

We began our adventure at 2:30am on Sunday. Each of our 30lb day-packs were crammed tight with a gallon of water, first aid kit, water filtration supplies, extra warm clothing, emergency gear for an overnight stay (if necessary), and lots of food, namely: Corn Nuts, 2 bananas, 2 PB&Js, 5 Gu packets, ginger cookies, trail mix (only appropriate), and granola bars. (Sidebar: all of this food tasted like shit once we needed them. I mean serious s.h.i.t.) After talking to many experienced Whitney Day-Hikers, we learned that staying hydrated and eating--especially when that's the last thing you feel like doing--is the only way to keep altitude sickness at bay. I do believe following those orders kept us feeling better than many of the people we saw along the way attempting to do the same climb. (Though the argument could probably be made that we looked and felt exactly the same as the other "sickies" too...there's really no way of telling because the brain is a bit... floaty...for a few hours up there.)

So, back to 2:30am with our gear and headlamps. Pitch Black. Scared. That's about all I remember about hiking in the dark. Scared. Scared to look too far ahead on the trail, for fear of what might be looking back. Scared of looking off the sides of the trail, for fear of what might be looking back. And scared for what weather the rising sun would bring. Weather is a crazy thing on mountains.

We survived those 4 hours of darkness by saying loudly "Hey yoou guuuuuys" (from "Goonies") to warn bears and cougars of our approach and by playing "Would You Rather" between sharp intakes of breath. I knew, it would be a long day when we were struggling for breath before the sun even came up all the way. At 6:30 we were greeted with the red mountain peaks you see below and the marmots who began crawling out from the moonish rocks to yell at us for stomping around and gasping for air...they were probably like, "Every f'ing morning these pervs wake us up with their heavy breathing...can't a rock pig just sleep in already?"



So, we're going to skip ahead 3 hours to The Switchbacks. This is where the magic happens. The bad, dark, evil, cold, cold, cold magic. In a little over an hour, we crawled from 12,000 to 13,700 feet. We moved from feeling constantly winded to feeling constantly winded and barfy and headachy and like the mountain and gravity combined were pulling our day packs backward in an attempt to drag us back down to the bottom. The following video is us only halfway up the switchbacks.


Sorry if the video doesn't work...Never uploaded one before. It wasn't that great anyway.

For the next hour, walking became stumbling. Stumbling became shuffling. And sentences turned into, "Word (breath) Word (breath) Word (breath)," and there was still two more miles to the summit with 1,000 more feet to climb.

We did eventually make it and I can only say that water, food and years of long distance running is what made it possible. My thighs burned the way they burn at mile 20 of a marathon. My lungs ached like they do after 10 sets of strides. So, thankfully, I was used to these feelings. They were like old, comforting friends who were there to remind me that I'm still alive and doing my job: moving forward. And I pulled the old mantra out of the daypack as well, "I feel good, I am strong." And I was. We both were.

The Summit Shack

To conclude, I'd just like to say that I by no means now consider myself a "mountaineer" or claim to understand anything about the mysteries of the mountain. But I do know, that if-- when-- I climb Whitney again, (because I already miss it) these are the changes I will make:

1. I will carry less water and refill more from the lakes and streams.
2. I will camp overnight at Trail Camp to acclimate and enjoy the sunrise sans barfy-feeling.
3. I will sign the visitor's book at the summit shack myself, instead of making my friend do it for the both of us.
4. (In the words of Bryson), "I [will] shit in the woods."
5. I will make sure my pants are tight enough at the waste so that I don't have to hike them back up over my ass-crack every five minutes. Oh the chaffing.

That's that. Check.

The Summit:

This one probably didn't work either. But, it sucked too.

If the videos didn't work, and you want to see either of them, shoot me an email and...
Keep on truckin'

The Trail to Come...

"Trail Crest 13,600 feet"
Love that someone left a note on the famous photo-op sign...but we were too sick and tired to be annoyed at the time; we were more focused on the 3 miles and 1,000 more feet to climb to the summit.

We DID make it to the summit and back again in one piece! Thanks to everyone for all your advice and well-wishes.
Details to come soon...

In My Secret Life...

I can run 5 minute miles.

I write for Runner's World.

I have perfect classroom management.

I'm a spy.

And a bounty hunter.

And a travel writer.

Oh, and a food critic.

And I always look this happy when I run:

Thanks, Megan Guerrero Photography for taking a good shot and keeping my thunder thighs under wraps!

New Season, New Look, New 'Tude

I felt my blog needed an attitude change... the grayish-green background with small font was starting to depress me. So since it's almost fall, and fall is my favorite, I gave it new school year/fall face lift. I love running in San Diego's fall weather because I can easily shift from the cool morning runs of summer to the cool evening runs of fall with little temperature shift or divergence from my weekly mileage. (With the exception of this first week of school...which is two hours away from being officially last week's first week of school.)

I'll soon be able to frequent my old friend, Lake Murray. It's still a bit too warm at 3:00 in the afternoon for a 6 miler in east county, but give it a couple weeks and we'll be picking up right where we left off last May.

I can feel the season starting to shift ever so slightly. It's harder to see in Southern California, than in other parts of the country, but it's noticeable in the produce section of the market, the flower selection at Trader Joe's, the sun leaving the day a bit sooner, and the cold smell in the air. I can smell the cold coming, can't you? (Again, I know cold should be written as "cold" because we're 70 degree San Diego...but it's all relative.)

Even though I won't see fall leaves around the city, I know that for the next couple months, I can find them here...and so can you. Maybe when winter comes, I'll pretend we have snow and do a mountain scene.

Speaking of mountains, I'm hiking Mount Whitney next Sunday. If all goes as planned, my friend and I will be summiting the tallest peak in the lower 48 in a 14 hour hike adventure. Got any tips? (FYI: We're over-prepared for it as far as safety goes, but if you have any tips that might make the 26 mile hike feel more like a 12 mile hike...I'd greatly appreciate it!)

Enjoy the last few days of the summer season.

My Summer Baby

While on a run with my friend Angie today (actually, we were in the car on our way to the run destination), I told her about how I consider summer vacations a form of post-child-bearing memory erasing. She had me elaborate on this idea and then told me to post it... so I'm going to do that now. Since I'm an English teacher I get the equivalent of a contact high when it comes to extended metaphors. I'm sure half the time my students leave class wondering why the hell I just talked for half and hour about how pulling quotes from a text is like running fartleks.

So here is my extended metaphor about being a high school English teacher in the Grossmont Union High School District. (I make that distinction because I have to believe that there are school districts out there that don't overcrowd classrooms and don't lie and cheat and steal from its employees... even if it's not true...I believe it exists somewhere. "And sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast"--the Queen, from Alice in Wonderland)

My Summer Baby

I've heard mothers talk about how the pain and torture of labor is blocked from their minds as soon as they see their baby. The joy and love of that precious, squeaky little babe somehow makes the 12(+) hours of sweating, panting, screaming, pushing, swearing, ripping, pooing, and God-knows-what-else-they-don't-have-the-courage-to-talk-about, worth it...and not so bad. Granted, this memory-loss doesn't happen right away (for most). Those I've talked to say that after a few months when the stitches are out and the soreness is gone (just about the time her body is ready for another go-round) the mother believes having another baby is a good idea. And so she does...and the same torture is waiting for her in the delivery room. just. like. last time.

Teaching is similar to this process--especially for those of us who are not on the year-round system. The beginning of the school year is always a little rocky. We wake up in the morning with butterflies in our stomaches wondering what the year will bring. We tend to "glow" just a little with hope for the year of possibilities. Then, we find out what we're "having" and after about 3 or 4 weeks the excitement and wonder is over and the "morning sickness" kicks in.

After about two months, we reach a calm spell. Things are cookin' along... we've gotten used to one another, as mother and baby do, and we have our routines down. About halfway through the school year, things begin to get slightly uncomfortable... nothing too bad, just...not that fun anymore. We're changing every day at an alarming rate: stretched and pulled in directions we didn't foresee and didn't desire. Small things that at one time could be shrugged off now cause annoyance or occasional anger. But, with a proper exercise or meditation regimen the annoyance of overbearing in-laws (parent emails) or unresponsive husbands (lazy students) can be controlled.

Toward the end of our "pregnancy" the pain begins. Everything is too cramped--it feels like we're being crushed. It takes all our strength to push through to the end. Our nerves are shot to hell, our hands are cramping from all the papers, our brains are fried from trying to think of new ways to keep the end-of-year chaos controlled, and those slight annoyances now turn us into raging lunatics...why bother yelling? Just go straight to crying. But we push and breathe, push and breathe. (Some get the margarita epidurals flowing earlier and earlier in the day...)

And then, oooooooh sweet "and then", just as quickly as the pains came, they are gone. Summer has been born. Sweet, cooing, precious Summer is yours for the cuddling. We rock our baby Summers and love them and do anything for them and they are ours and we are theirs and the previous 9 months don't seem so bad anymore. In fact, about 60 days later, we almost miss our pregnancy and want to do it again... and so, toward the end of August, forgetting the labor that awaits, we "get busy."

The end.

I hope you have enjoyed this extended metaphor brought to you by one "glowing" teacher.

Found in Translation

I felt refreshed and clear of mind going into this first week back on campus. It could have been denial, or it could have been that I am reminded of my youth and the hopeful, nervous excitement that comes with a new school year. But, then I went to my first staff meeting yesterday (and another today) and was reminded of all the reasons why summer break is what keeps me in this profession...(even though I was told that if I ever felt that way I should stop teaching immediately...haha. yeah right like I'm giving up my summers now!?). I'm not going to go into it right now, but I am going to go to the gym later and try to work off some of my anger.

The other thing I'm going to do, is write the letter I wish I could send home to parents at the beginning of the school year. (The alternative is a venty, bitchy post about administrators and the terrible, terrible decisions being made that are veiled in "this is what's best for students" even though it's what's worst....ugh. I continue to be amazed by how little admin understands about students.) Anyway...

As I was revamping my course syllabi today, I was reminded of all my teacherly pet peeves that are soon to be ignited. I feel that if parents could learn how to interpret what their kids say about school at home, my pet peeves might be significantly, if not entirely, squashed.

So, this is to the all the parents out there:
When your child comes home and says the following, this is what he or she is really telling you...(note taking is encouraged here).

Scenario #1: The detention

Parent: I got a detention notice about you today. What's that about?
Student: I dunno. My teacher hates me.
Translation: I do know, I just don't want to admit to you that I was being an annoying attention monger today in class and refused to shut up when my teacher asked me to do so 80 times. I guess she got sick of asking me to behave properly and maturely and it probably has something to do with the fact that I've never been taught how to respect authority because look at how you let me talk to you, Bitch. That's right, I'm talking to you. Now go buy me a new video game.

Scenario #2: Truancy
Parent: I got a phone call from the attendance office at school today. They said you weren't in 6th period. Where were you?
Student: I was there. My teacher is dumb and prolly marked me absent.
Translation: We had a test today so I snuck off campus to get high and hangout at Burger King. And even though I promise you to ask my teacher about it tomorrow, I'm not going to because I just texted plans to get-it-on with Adrian from Bio class in the bathroom during 6th.

Scenario #3: Failing a Class
Parent: Why do you have an "F" in X Class?
Student: I dunno. My teacher hates me.
Translation: Mother, Father, it's a combination of issues here. But what it comes down to is I don't do my work because I don't do the reading at night because you're not checking up on me like you should. Furthermore, I don't ask for help from the teacher when I am confused because my classroom is overcrowded by about 20 kids and I don't want to look dumb in front of my peers, plus the new sweatshirt you bought me with the ipod adapter inside the hoodie strings makes it super easy for me to listen to music during class without the teacher noticing-- which only makes me more likely to not understand what is going on in class and in turn forget to write down the homework. Plus, how can I can get any work done when I have so many text messages to stay on top of?

Scenario #4: Mean Teacher
Parent: Why do you have a "U" in Citizenship in your X Class?
Student: Oh my gosh that teacher is soooooooo mean. He hates me.
Translation: I'm an obnoxious, disruptive, brat in that class and I hate him because he calls me out on my shit every day. I need to learn manners; please teach me how to speak to adults appropriately.


There are more scenarios, but I will save them for later because I have to get to the gym pronto. If you have a particular "teenage response" that you'd like translated for you, please submit it via email or the comment box below: I'd be more than happy to tell you what your teenager is really trying to say.