RunningSkiing

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb…?

This was one of those weeks that was all over the road. I don’t mean that in a bad way; it was just literally just all over the road. Metaphorical roads. Physical roads. Snowy roads. I-80 roads. SF downtown roads. Truckee roads. Ski slope roads.

I’ll first blame (attribute it to?) this:

… because somehow in the past eight days, it went from being sunny and normal ‘winter’, to dumping two feet overnight, to rapidly warming up to a balmy 55 degrees, where I acquired very odd glove and sleeve-rolled-up tanlines on my arms from ski teaching on Sunday and ran in shorts through the lingering snowbanks for the latter half of the week.

Otis, mimicking my Monday pose.

It was confusing, but the abrupt (but probably fleeting) arrival of SPRING and SUN and WARMTH was a welcome change and has me feeling slightly more ‘alive’. I really haven’t minded the snow, likely because there is so much of it and Tahoe is a luckily a place that thrives in the cold, but lest there be any doubt, I am one of those people who is warmed to the core by summer sun in a kind of obnoxious sort of way.

 

I spent Monday feeling rough with a capital R – after feeling somewhat decent post-race on Sunday, I crashed and crashed hard and reverted to a streak of not being hungry and not being able to eat anything and throwing up what I did eat, which left me feeling gross and exhausted and generally sorry for myself at my own self-inflicted stupidity. Remember the worst hangover you’ve ever had? Those two days felt like that, and possibly worse, which would be fine and all if I had sucked down some excessive amount of wine or tequila or whiskey (pick your poison)… but running is supposed to be somewhat good for you. Right? Right…?

This Rec Center sign was totally necessary.

After doing some research about epic bonks during ultra-running, I’ve come to the conclusion that my stomach woes were mainly induced by a chain reaction to being way too low on salt and electrolytes, which led to nausea, which led to not being able to eat, which led to nausea, which led to further depletion of salt and electrolytes, and so on. I sweat when I workout (thank you, Sweaty Scott, for those genes), and I routinely finish long runs caked with visible salt crystals all over my body (yes, it’s gross). I do usually take salt pills… but I didn’t. I’m slowly putting together a list of things to start paying attention to and doing differently while running; it might finally be time to stop relying on my years and years of ‘Oh I don’t eat while I run!’ and start finding some combination of things that doesn’t make my stomach revolt so I can not pass out. It’s a frustrating process of trial and error though that I don’t really have patience for.

It’s only taken us four months to actually time it to hit Tost at 2pm…

Anyway, I finally shoved enough food into me and stayed put for long enough where I woke up on Tuesday feeling like a somewhat normal person, and so I forced myself (it wasn’t hard) to get up early and leave the house at lunchtime to shake my legs out in the fresh powder on the ski slope, and I squeezed in a few runs, Alex and I hit Tost (for the first time) at the right time for free champers by the fire pits, and then I spent the rest of the day working from Starbucks in the Village. I desperately needed passive human contact and outside time… and it was awesome (so awesome, in fact, that I rinse-and-repeated on Wednesday). My legs were still shot, and I was skiing like a n00b (it was embarrassingly bad)… but it was totally worth it.

Truckee River rage!

That all happened, and at some point in all of that, it started getting balmy hot. At some point in all of that, I also started running again, and it wasn’t horrible (other than running on 267 – that was horrible).

And then it eventually hit Friday, and I got up and got in the car and trekked down 80 to San Francisco, detoured for a run over the Golden Gate and through the Presidio (during which my stomach died a death/multiple deaths where I finally just aborted), fetched Steve and Chris from their flight from Boston, and we trekked back up 80 to Truckee in darkness.

Oh hey guys!?!

Have I mentioned lately how much I love having a close family? I love having a close family.

We skied… or tried to ski, despite the Saturday Ski Shitshow and the 55 degree temps, and lasted a good half a day battling the crowds and one un-groomed run that was literally the worst snow I have ever seen, and then spent the rest of the day looking at the lake and sitting on the porch watching the sunset over the mountains, and it was all totally okay.

Total fail. I promise they did actually ski.

They got out on Sunday while I baked on the Magic Carpet with a kid who probably ate an entire Costco-sized box of goldfish.

Golden Gate Park, we meet again.

Unfortunately Mother Nature decided to leave Tahoe alone and wreak some havoc on Boston this week, and they ended up swapping their Tuesday flight for the Monday version, and we cut our SF adventure slightly short. Because I haven’t had two consecutive real days off since December (seriously…), I decided to still take advantage of it and spent the rest of the day doing some hardcore introverting and sun worshipping by running through SF and acquiring some even better healthy new tanlines, and once again, it was totally okay.

See? All over the road… but I kind of needed a week like that to shake things up and reset my soul.


(PS. The remaining question of the week: just how many bagels would a beagle burgle… if a beagle could burgle bagels?)

(PPS. Yes, I am reading/watching this fantastic BBC interview. Replace children with dogs, and this is my remote working life.)

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One comment

  1. I think even more important than the bagel burgling is this question: How many Lowes would Rob Lowe rob if Rob Lowe could rob Lowes? Yeah, I don’t know either.

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