The Secret Passion That Keeps Me Active... It's Not What You'd Expect

There I was in Tensleep Canyon of Wyoming, half way up a route, all handholds small and sideways, and a tiny foothold just above knee height that was just asking for my use.  I lifted my leg and touched it with my toe.  I gave my foot a wiggle to see what the hold could do.  Then, I proceeded to weight it.  The world stood still... it was last Tuesday, 4/2, at about 3:47, just in case you wonder why you suddenly paused and took a deep breath.  Alas, my foot held onto the tiny nubbin, and I moved upward. Of course I fell off about three seconds later, but that's not the point.

That moment, my friends, is one of the reasons why I love climbing so very much.  It is the relationship between a man and his climbing shoes and the mysterious capabilities of the material known commonly as rubber.  I find I am deeply fascinated by the way the soles of my climbing shoes mold around tiny features in such a way that it is "squeaky sticky", yet firm enough that the very thought of chewing on the end of my climbing shoe makes me drool.  Folks, for the first time in my life, on a blog that has been viewed across the world, I am coming out with a dark secret about myself.  I love rubber... I mean I really love it... a lot.

My affections for the remarkable substance don't stop at my climbing shoes.  My love of rubber doesn't discriminate.  A couple of months ago, we bought new tires for our car.  This meant we got to visit the tire shop at Costco.  Though my wife is sickened by the smell of tires, when I walked into that store I paused to snort-in a giant whiff of the glorious smell of tire.  I wanted to run around feeling every tire in the store, perhaps chewing on a few.  I particularly love the truck tires with the very deep tread.  I love the squeakiness.  I love the "sort of firm but not really" feel.  I love tires.



Have you ever noticed that, while you are riding your bicycle, you have a front row seat to the wonders presented by your front tire.  So the saying goes, "the wheels on the bike go round and round", and the whole time I'm riding, I'm watching (and drooling) with fascination over the show that unfolds before me.  I love how road bike tires are so smooth, yet very sticky, and how they develop a flat side after many miles.  I love the way mountain bike tires change colors based on the terrain they face.  I love how they mold around the rocks in the path, and how they gain little gouges as they wear down.  Mmmmm.  I suppose my deep love of tires was one of the contributing factors in our recent sale of our second car to buy my fat-bike.  Of course, I have to ride my bike to school every day, in wind and rain and snow, but it is a small price to pay for the privilege of getting to ride on those giant, squishy tires.



Let us now make one last stop on our exploration of the wonders of rubber.  It would seem that I'm becoming a bit of a trail runner.  In amassing piles of miles training for my 50-miler this summer, I've derived great pleasure in gazing at the soles of my shoes.  As the tread wears, it becomes rough, pliable, gooey, squeaky, ... Oh, is there enough adjectives in the world to describe its wonders?!  Like bike tires, as the soles of my shoes grip the dirt, mud, rocks, logs, and sand, they develop small scars and sometimes donate chunks of tread to the trail.  The bottom of my shoes tell the story of my improving running form as well.  They used to wear out at the heel, now they wear all across the bottom of my shoe, more so on the outside edge of my foot where I first make contact with each stride.

Like the famous fable of the tortoise and the hare, this tale of my secret love of rubber has a powerful moral as well.  There are a million reasons to stay active and healthy... not dying of congestive heart failure being one of them.  More often than not, though, it takes a lot more than fear of heart disease to get you outside and moving on those tough days.  Most of the time I get out because of my love of what I do and my desire to get stronger.  But on those days when getting stronger feels pointless, and not having heart disease sounds too far away, getting out takes a little something special.  That special thing, for me, comes down to enjoying a bit of drooling over a working bike tire or a climbing shoe edging on a small nubbin of rock.  Mmmmm, makes me want to get out there right now... or perhaps at least chew on my shoe.

Perhaps it's a vitamin deficiency???

Multiple Sports; Why Being Worse Is Better

Folks, I'm going to level with you... there's a wonderful, under-appreciated side effect of being a multi-sport athlete.  When I devote time to climbing, running, and biking, I find I'm much more capable at being worse at all of them.

It's true, if I were a full-time climber, I would be dang good.  You'd be amazed, I promise.  But I don't climb full-time, partly because I get bored with being scared all the time, and partly because I can't help hurting my girly fingers (which, unfortunately, happen to be paired with a set of quite manly thighs).

So when I'm injured from climbing, or I just can't handle the adrenaline anymore, I run... preferably on trails, but also through the dreary, nighttime streets of Livingston if time is limited.  If I ran full-time, logging the 70-100 mile weeks like a proper ultramarathon runner should, I'd be dang good at that too... I just know it.  But there's a problem:  as soon as the outside temperatures are mellow, and my fingers are healthy, I can't help but caress the beautiful face of any vertical surface I come near (even the odd bathroom wall).  Climbing becomes my mistress as I cheat on my ultramarathon training.  I'm a terrible person.

Of course, there's another complication.  All would be fine if I just climbed and ran... I'm certain I'd still be pretty awesome at both.  But I have really sweaty, greasy fingers when I climb on hot days, and I feel like my head is going to explode when I run in the heat.  My wife often explains that I could eliminate a great deal of my suffering if I went shirtless, but as my brilliant, white chest clearly demonstrates, apparently I'm still a bit bashful.

So what does a busy-body like me do when it gets really hot?  Well, I begin dreaming of sailing down trails and roads on my bikes while bearing a giant, bug-eating grin.   Naturally, I am aware that I'd be pretty formidable on a bike if I was a full-time cyclist; but I have a problem with the concept of riding wheel-to-wheel in a pelaton of 100 bikes all traveling at 25mph.  Also, as part of my religious belief, I don't subscribe to bike trainers... It is a must unnatural use of a wheel to make it spin in place.  Therefore, I refuse to train in the winter for races that terrify me in the summer.  I certainly enjoy my recreational rides on summer days, but it would seem that as soon as the temperatures plummet, I find myself forsaking my hard-earned, summertime butt calluses as I take to climbing and running once again.

Okay, so now that we've covered in detail why I'm incapable of being a single sport athlete, and why that makes me sub-par at a number of things.  Lets take a moment to address the main idea here... why being worse is indeed better.

Well, it's quite simple really.  If a guy does three different sports, his act of perpetually cheating on one sport with another sport leaves him fully aware that he'll never be remarkable at any of them.  That's when he gets to just shrug his shoulders, say, "meh," and forget about the pressures associated with constantly feeling the need to train and perform.  He is now free to aimlessly walk through the woods, caressing and fantasizing about beautiful boulders and cliffs.  He is now free to stop for a sandwich on a mountain top without the need for a better round-trip time.  His sports become his escape, his counselor, and his personal trainer.  He is a lucky dude.

Injuries Are Our Friends!

There I was, exactly 100 feet from the summit of Baldy Mountain.  My shoes were loose, my legs and feet were numb from post-holing through a couple of miles of snow, and then the inevitable happened:  my ankle rolled sideways, I felt a pop, and the dull pain and swelling began.  I immediately stopped, cinched up my shoes (as I should have done five minutes earlier), and kept moving.  I was looking at a snowy five miles and 4000-feet of downhill to the trailhead, and there was no time to stop and let the ankle begin stiffening any more than necessary.

The view of the ridge ahead from the site of the ankle sprain.
Still had to run to the furthest visible point on the ridge,
then begin the descent to the "M" trailhead.
I got some mental training in that day.  :  )

After a significant amount of whimpering, an incidental sunglasses-snapping while flailing through the snow, and a really tired right leg from compensating, I arrived back at the trailhead.  Having extensive experience with ankle sprains, I knew by that point that it was a fairly mild grade 2 sprain... not enough to threaten proper training for the Bighorn Mountain Run, but enough to cause about a month of mileage cut-back.

Ironically, my ankle sprain was well-timed with the return to full strength of my left middle finger from a ligament injury while climbing back in December.  Though my nightly runs are presently on hold, I feel like a model in a makeup store every time I get to go climb on my wall.  Two months of grabbing big holds and not being able to climb hard are done, and now I get to climb on whatever I want.  To make things even better, we are a mere few weeks away from the spring climbing season.  What timing!

It would seem there is something downloaded into us humans that causes us to desperately want exactly what we can't have.  As such, one of the best ways to curb our apathy and indifference that tends to grow toward a sport we love is to end up with an injury and have it taken away for a period of time.

It was just under a year ago when my training for my first ultra came grinding to a creep.  I'd had it with running through the dark, windy streets of Livingston.  I'd had it with the aching and nausea of the long training runs.  Aside from a medium to long run every weekend, which was largely motivated by fear, I'd nearly quit training during the months of April and May.  Boy, did I feel the effects during the ultra in June!

This ankle sprain comes at an opportune time.  I had really high motivation the two weeks before the injury, and now I can't help but sit here reading running blogs and watching videos of my ultramarathon heroes, all while thinking through my post-injury plan of attack.  I feel a bit like a caged beast, and I can't wait for spring break when, following a month of rehab and rebuilding my mileage, I lace up my running shoes for my first multiple-hour training run since the month of February.  By then the trails will be melting off, my motivation will be renewed, and I'll be ready for two great months of training leading up to my second ultramarathon.  It could very well be that this year will be a breakout performance compared to last, and it may have a lot to do with the renewal of motivation supplied by my fateful ankle sprain atop Baldy Mountain.

Efficiency Rules All

Early in my college career, I made several attempts to run the medium-steepness route up the "M", the great symbol of Montana State which is plastered to the mountainside just outside of Bozeman.  Attempt one was met with 3/4 mile of running, followed by my legs going numb, my lungs searing, and my brain shutting off from lack of oxygen.  I had to stop and hike just over halfway up.  On my next attempt, I attempted to conserve as much energy as possible by milking the flats for all they were worth, and not picking up my feet any more than necessary.  Again, I was met with numb legs, searing lungs, and a cloudy head.  That time, however, I was actually able to run the entire way.

As my years as a student at MSU went by, I kept going back to the "M" a few times per year.  It hurt like a bugger every time.  But ever so slowly, it got a bit easier.  I learned to relax every unneeded muscle in my body and to shorten and quicken my stride.  I learned that on really steep sections it is helpful to turn sideways to not burn-out my calves.  I learned to engage my inner abs to allow my hips to move more freely.  I learned that it is helpful to imagine myself floating up the hill.  

Coming down off the Bridger Ridge between the "M" and Baldy Mountain.  Beating an old time record from college by 7 minutes!  

Now don't get me wrong, running the "M" is not easy, and at it's best it does hurt a bit, but what once used to be a monumental accomplishment for me to run has now become a rather short and simple workout.  It's not that I'm necessarily in twice as good of shape, it's just that over the years I've learned how to run trails.  I've learned something that in the world of outdoor sports should never be underestimated- EFFICIENCY.

Now out of college and having spent the better part of the last nine years obsessing over various mountain sports, the reach of my goals has extended well beyond running the "M".  In the sport of trail running, I'm now putting my thoughts toward running ultramarathons and peaks.  This summer, assuming I survive my June ultramarathon without injury, I plan to begin running the highest points in Montana.    

Unlike my understanding of the term back in college, "trail running" encompasses much more than simply "running" up and down trails.  Rather, it refers to moving over mountain terrain with high speed and efficiency.  Even when the best runners in the world "run mountains", they often spend time power-hiking large sections of steep trail.  "Running" is not always the fastest way to cover terrain... especially the really steep stuff.  

My exploration for maximum efficiency and speed has become an incredibly engaging endeavor.  The tactics of a mountain run are far beyond those of attempting to "run" the "M" in terms of its considerations regarding efficiency.  On a mountain run, not only are you focusing on efficiency in stride, you are also constantly assessing which sections of trail you should be running and which sections you should be power-hiking.  Much like riding a bike, you also have to learn to let go on downhills and carry your momentum into uphills.  

I've run Baldy Mountain in the Bridger Mountains many times, and it seems that every time I do it I use a different combination of hiking and running, and I improve in my ability to brake less on downhills and carry my momentum into uphills.  I've watched my round-trip times on Baldy Mountain fall from just under three hours down to about exactly 2 hours.  I can assure you that fitness improvement can only account for a small percentage of my time improvement.  Mostly, my improvement is a consequence of better efficiency.

Much like trail running, efficiency is also paramount in rock climbing.  I remember working my first 5.12-graded route at the natural bridge by Big Timber.  It was slightly overhanging, and it was one tiny edge after another.  I fell off five or six times on my first go, and my forearms were rock hard from desperately trying to hang on.  By my fourth try, I was able to climb to the top of the route without falling.  Obviously, my success had nothing to do with getting stronger.  I had simply learned the movement on the route, relaxed my fear (and along with it my grip), and I was able to focus on using my feet to their maximum potential.  Most people who start climbing feel their arms burning and think they are just out of shape.  In reality, they are just moving inefficiently and using their arms too much.

On a route such as this one near Dayton, WY, your only prayer in making the top is to be efficient and use your feet and relax your grip.  Only pull hard when you absolutely must!  

I can't help but think about how many other things in my life could do well to be treated with the care toward efficiency that I demonstrate in my running and climbing.  Perhaps at work meetings I could do my part toward keeping them unemotional and focused on the goal of the meeting.  Perhaps I could find other ways to grade student homework so more of my time could be spent on lesson-planning, an often more efficient application of time when it comes to student learning.  Perhaps I could get rid of some possessions so I don't spend so dang much time looking through and sorting so much junk.  Perhaps I should realize that sometimes being the most efficient comes down to being okay with taking a day off from working, or running, or climbing, and just lying on the couch watching movies instead.  

Dear Mr. Skunk... Thank You for the Excitement.

Its brilliant white tail was rigidly extended, glowing in the light of the moon.  I slowed my run as I squinted and focused my eyes to make-out the tail's owner.  "Ah hah!" I thought to myself.

"Ah hah!" was the last conscious thought that needed to go through my mind.  From there, it was all primal flight instinct... beautiful, primal flight instinct.  My body new exactly what to do when it spotted the skunk setting up to spray, and my conscious mind was nothing more than a passenger and an observer as the magic unfolded.

In no more than two steps, I had executed a complete 180-degree rotation and was liberated from the odoriferous keester cannon of the skunk in question.  I felt an icy chill trickle down my spine, alerting me to the fact that my sympathetic nervous system was fired up and ready for action.

And action it got.  I had the privilege of repeating this similar encounter several other times... all within the next ten minutes.  There were a lot of skunks out there that fine Wednesday night.

When I walked into school the next morning, I stepped in front of my classes with a renewed confidence.  I guess there's just something about taking a close look at an armed skunk nozzle that brings new clarity to one's life.  Expensive car problems, mean students, too much "extra-curricular stress"... their hold on my psyche wains.  It's kind of inexplicable really: I can sit and try to counsel myself, watch a movie, eat copious amounts of cereal, and my everyday problems still leave just as big of a knot in my stomach.  But then I nearly get sprayed by a few skunks while out running, and I'm suddenly excited about life and exploration and I release the worries that the world tends to guilt me into carrying.  I find I like myself a lot more.  

I feel that in our culture we've taken to carrying large loads of mental engagement and responsibility while our physical bodies are left to coast alongside.  Think about how much of your day is an almost entirely mental activity, and how much of your day is a physical activity!  Alarming, isn't it?

We have the ability to move, to react without thought to a skunk, to change direction in an instant when we nearly step on a rattlesnake (another story for later).  We can run for an entire day, climb cliffs, boulders, and trees.  We can achieve amazing physical feats that are right up there with all of the other wild animals in the world.  Yet we sit at desks and get stressed.

I believe that those good feelings I get from being physically active... the "runners high" as they call it in running, are very important indicators that we are made with a need to move.  By paying attention to my reactions to my days spent running and climbing, even the ones that don't involve nearly getting sprayed or bitten, I've noticed that my life feels so much more balanced when I am allowed to move.  Just as our physical bodies are forced to sit idly by as we work or watch TV, it's important to give our minds a rest and allow physical motion to take control.

The Great Work-Play Balance

I was at about 9,000 feet in elevation, around switchback #15 en route to the Froze-to-Death Plateau in the Beartooth Mountains.  This trail, which begins in the West Rosebud Canyon at about 6500 feet is one of the most popular approaches to Granite Peak.  I personally had traveled the trail many times, but this time was different; this time I was running.  I passed two climbers, each loaded with 40 lb packs as they slogged their way to Montana's highest peak.  Under the misery of their large loads, they silently stared as I ran past, bearing looks that suggested that they had just seen an alien.

Though my time as a mountain-lover has been life-long, my career as a trail runner has truly only been a few years.   Every year, my love and understanding of the sport increases.  One of the most interesting, and at times embarrassing, components of trail running is my encounters with others.  Like the two climbers that day near the Froze-to-Death Plateau, some people just stare... at times with pained looks on their faces.  Others simply think something is psychologically wrong with me:  On a separate run in the Beartooth Mountains, a middle-aged man once asked me if I was on amphetamines.  How does one respond to a question like that?

Thankfully, aside from the awkward stares and remarks of a few, most people cordially say hi and look at me with a sparkle in their eyes, as if my choice to run mountain trails is something of note, perhaps even a bit inspiring.

You feel a bit bizarre as a Montana trail runner, especially one who goes deep into the mountains.  Aside from the ultramarathon I ran last summer, I'm the only trail runner I've ever personally seen more than 5 miles into the mountains; and when it comes to ultramarathons, it's been estimated that probably less than 0.1% of Americans have completed one.

More than any other activity in which I have been involved, trail running clearly demonstrates to me just how different we all are.  Running in the mountains is becoming a part of who I am, a necessary component of "me."  Though it is often painful, it has a way of inspiring me with the simplicity of its motion and the speed of its exploration.  It's a place of restoration and happiness for me.  Though the masses may look to those who enjoy hours of running up mountains as pillars of discipline and fitness, most non-runners lack an understanding of just how simple it is; In my life, staying fit just happens... it's just what I do.

To no surprise, there is always a trade off.  Though I'm gifted with a love of movement and exploration, I'm not gifted with a tolerance for long work days and massive "to do" lists.  Not unlike those climbers who stared at me as if they'd seen an alien, I find myself doing the same with some of the teachers with whom I work.  Somehow, they are able to teach all day, organize region-wide competitions, serve on committees, contact piles of parents a week, and then coach a club or sport for good measure.  And they keep at it week after week!  I try to pretend to keep up with them once or twice a year, but then I usually experience something resembling a nervous breakdown.

During one of my little breakdowns in the month of December, I had some discussions with myself that involved some heavy consideration on whether or not I would be able to continue as a teacher.  I simply couldn't keep up with everything that I "should" be doing.  I racked my brain for a couple of months, and right about the time I was signing-up for my next 50 miler, I had a little reality check.

I really enjoy quite a lot about teaching.  I love entertaining the students, I love writing interesting and applicable activities, I love thinking about how to outsmart misconceptions, and I enjoy working in an environment with intelligent coworkers who care about what they do.  To top it all off, I've had quite a lot of success.  Why on earth would I not be teaching?  Like mountain running, it's part of me as well!

It is so easy to fall into ruts of guilt and inadequacy as we struggle to keep up with all of the tasks and the other people around us.  The teachers that can juggle all that stuff are beasts to me, plain and simple.  However, just as a 5K runner shouldn't feel guilty for not having the necessary desire to train for a 50-mile run, I realize that I shouldn't feel guilty for being unable to juggle the tasks of a "super-teacher."  I have a strong desire to teach math well, to help out a little extra in the school, and to run a climbing club.  For some reason, I am also drawn to climb and to run in the mountains, and I can't allow myself to become so over-stressed from too much work that the mountains lose their meaning.  All of it, from the teaching to the running, comprises "me".  It's a shame for any of us to lose a meaningful part of ourselves to the overabundance of tasks which are constantly vying for our attention.

A Wild Way To Become More Active

Have you ever watched a giant, grey squirrel eat a chicken strip and chase it with a French fry?  Well, I don't mean to make you jealous, but I have... and it was the darnedest thing I've ever seen.  My wife and I were on the deck outside of a grill in Yosemite Valley, and I must admit that it was an afternoon to remember.  Cuteness abounded as its little nose wiggled away as it chewed on the enormous chunk of chicken.  Yet for all the cuteness, I felt a bit of a disappointed feeling in my stomach.  There's something kind of wrong as you watch a creature go against what it was born to be.  That squirrel should be bouncing around in trees and eating acorns, not dragging its haunches across the deck while scavenging from the grill.

I'm sure that for that squirrel, when the peak tourism season comes to an end, it is a real bugger getting back up into that tree and having to go back to being a real squirrel.  I have a feeling that to be a wild animal, it's a lot less stressful to just stay one than to toggle back and forth like that.

Just in case you don't know where I'm going with this, I shall now translate the above metaphor.  I've found that when it comes to staying wild, it's been a lot easier for me to just learn to be wild all of the time.  I think we all know several people who have tried to start exercising and quit within a few months or less.  Indeed, back during my days at college I used to do a fair amount of toggling myself.  Eventually, as I ran further and further, and climbed harder and harder.  I began learning that to run further and climb harder, I had to eat things that made my tummy feel better and muscles feel springier.  I also learned that to keep doing fun things without hurting myself, I had to keep at it even at times when I wasn't feeling it.  Before long, my wild side was feeding off of itself.  Eating better made me feel better which made me want to get out and play and then playing made me want to go home and eat better so I could play better the next day... whew!  The cycle continued (except for the occasional breakdown like those three s'mores I "found in the forest" at last weekend... oops).

If you want to be a lightweight, strong, and just generally lean machine, then you need to eat like you're wild and move like the animal you want to be.  Personally, I want to be a land endurance animal who can also scale cliffs.  So I try to eat food that's reminiscent of what is in the wild, and I spend a lot of time on mountain-like terrain so my body adapts to it as if it's my natural habitat.  It's a lot easier to come home from an exhausting day teaching and go for a run or get in some climbing if I am a wild animal who teaches math, rather than a domesticated teacher who sometimes goes into the woods.  The more the outside feels like my home, the more I go to it.

Almost everyone wants the lean body of the wild animal that they were made to be (yes ladies, you can still be wild and shave your legs).  The difficulty is that many people identify themselves as domesticated creatures who belong in houses and think that "sweet" and "fat-alicious" are the only flavors that their tongues are capable of tasting.  In my experience, remembering that my body is no different in its makeup than any other wild animal in the world is a fun reminder that successful trail running and climbing really come back to letting my inner wild animal in me be free.  It's been a process of several years, one that is still not complete, but I am learning that the more real food I eat and the more I spend time moving, the easier it is to keep moving.

Remember, don't immediately throw yourself into the wild and come whimpering back home.  Take it easy, find stuff to love about it and remember that, just like a grizzly bear, your body was originally made to be wild.  Try to enjoy an apple instead of a snickers bar.  Try having one more active night a week.  If the occasional chicken strip falls into your path, go ahead and eat it.  Just don't be like that squirrel and permanently hang out at the Yosemite Grill eating French fries and being pitied by tourists.