Blursday, April ... ?

That "Last Days of Innocence" blog series was a fun bit of escapism. Writing was a gratifying way to relive my recent adventure, even faintly and not with the ending I wanted. It was still rewarding to return to those days; I was weary and in pain and it was 40 below, but things still felt "normal." Much of the past month has been tough for me. It has been tough for everyone; I get it. I'm certainly not complaining, and I recognize my privilege in this situation. But I was struggling. Mental fatigue and physical depletion from the Iditarod compounded the uncertainties of the present and put me in a dark place. Anxiety spiked higher than I've experienced yet, with occasional panic attacks, weird bouts of paranoia, insomnia, tremors and elevated blood pressure.

I'll have to admit that I've suspected my thyroid from the beginning yet still haven't gone in to get my TSH tested. I've had trouble getting through to my endocrinologist, whose practice is part of Boulder's main health care system, which is justifiably tied up right now. The last thing I want right now is to be a burden on medical resources. Also — and this is something I am especially not proud of — there's a part of me that would rather not know whether I'm hyperthyroid again, because of what that might mean and the difficulties it could bring — not the least of which is having an autoimmune flareup amid a pandemic. So I sat on hold a couple of times and gave up. Again, not proud. But as the weeks passed and physical recovery continued, I started to feel much better. I still spend way too much time reading the New York Times and Twitter feeds, and my outlook remains bleak — bleak, but bolstered by gratitude and glimmers of hope. The night panics have stopped and I've been sleeping much better. My blood pressure is back to normal as well.

One proactive thing I managed to accomplish is finally connecting with a therapist, who I now "see" once a week via video conferencing. I've been meaning to seek professional insight into my anxiety for a couple of years now. I do feel guilty that I waited until this difficult time to insert myself into the system. But it's been nice to meet with her. She's already given me some great grounding tools and a basic but helpful meditation practice. I've long carried the silly assumption that I should "tough" out these often random spikes of anxiety, or squelch them with logic. Emotions can be unruly, and it's better to work with them rather than against them.

More than a month has passed since I updated my blog about day-to-day life. I debated just leaving it at "Last Days of Innocence" indefinitely, but it's hard to stay away. Where else would I archive my photos? Anyway, what has happened in April? Like most people right now, not much. Beat is working from home, which he seems to really enjoy ... except for runs and occasional rides out the front door, he hasn't ventured beyond our neighborhood since I picked him up at the airport nearly a month ago. My work has slowed down some — it's an important time for journalism but not great for the business side of newspapers. I've been dabbling in old writing projects and considering making more small books similar to "Meanwhile the world goes on." But motivation has been low.

I've ventured into town a couple of times for grocery runs — those are sort of terrible right now, aren't they? Everything feels strange and everyone is on edge. Toilet paper shelves are still empty, and my Mormon-ingrained hoarding tendencies (ahem, "preparation skills") have me spending far too much on things I don't really need. These once-weekly trips to town also necessitate getting allergy shots, which my allergist urged me to continue amid concerns about controlling asthma that flared up a bit in February. That is unfun — taking all the precautions necessary to enter a clinic attached to a hospital, then being isolated in a room for an hour as concentrated poison (ahem, allergy extract) enters my bloodstream and causes my arms to swell and my head to become foggy. Then I switch to a clean mask and drive to Trader Joes to wait in line outside for a half hour. Day-to-day life has become a drag. But we're all in the same boat here.


Of course, I feel incredibly grateful for what we have. We're relatively safe, we love our home, and feel lucky to "shelter in place" here. Beat and I have discussed what it would be like for us if we still lived in the Bay Area, locked in our small apartment next to busy streets, with all local trails closed to everyone. Here in Boulder, our local trails have been inundated with visitors since the stay-at-home order began, so we've largely avoided them. But even running from home, mostly on roads, affords so many beautiful moments.

It has been a little strange to begin "training" with no specific goal in mind and nothing to train for. For 2020 I had only two big events planned, the ITI in March, and the Silk Road Mountain Race in August. Since traveling to Kyrgyzstan to race an international event seems increasingly unlikely by August, my friend Danni and I opted to defer our entry to 2021. Beat still has Hardrock 100, the PTL and the Tor des Glaciers on his calendar in July, August and September, but we feel there's a high likelihood of all of these races being canceled. Even if they aren't canceled, the travel is questionable. I've been a little sad about losing these adventures. But in the scheme of things, the setback feels so small that I can't even get that worked up about it. My emotions are too focused on uncontrollable, big-picture stuff, which I can't say is great for my mental health. I'd rather be super bummed about DNFing the Iditarod and giving up a fun bike adventure in Asia, then grief-stricken about the plight of medical professionals and the economic volatility that will affect so many.

Sorry. I intended to keep this post more positive. It's not quite going that way, but I'm trying. I will say that I'm happy to have removed any pressure on myself to build or maintain endurance right now. Instead I can work on cultivating an arguably healthier fitness routine — running for an hour or two a day, absorbing vitamin D, looking at pretty outdoor scenery and building up some happy hormones. Ideally I can stay active without digging myself into too many physical holes — weakening the immune system, generating inflammation, possibly triggering autoimmune reactions that provoke asthma and thyroid imbalance, and everything else that comes with physical stress. 

Still ... it is nice, for reasons of mental health, to still squeeze in a little adventure here and there. Bikes are great for that purpose. If I was training to ride the Silk Road Mountain Race in less than four months, I would be off to a terrible start. So far in 2020 I've logged fewer than 200 cycling miles on Strava, now closing in on month five. April weather has not been conducive to gravel road riding, but I've managed a few lovely rides since I returned from Alaska.

My favorite adventure this month was just over four hours and 42 miles on the bike on April 10. It felt so indulgent, to spend hours climbing and descending these empty roads until the Indian Peaks felt close enough to touch ... I miss those mountains. I've since learned that Colorado's stay-at-home order asks residents to not only ride from home, but also stay within our own counties. This ride put me in a neighboring county, so now I feel guilty. Ah well. Once the roads dry out I do hope to get out for at least one therapeutic ride per week, but I'll have to rework some of my favorite routes to do so in the most responsible way possible. I'm grateful we can still go out and ride bikes. And I don't take it for granted. I acknowledge that restrictions may need to be further tightened, for good reason. 

 What else? It's been an abnormally cold month, with a weather pattern not unlike January — a fluctuating wave of mild temperatures and sunny days followed by deep cold and tons of snow. Our winter supply of firewood was mostly depleted before we left for Alaska, so we've worked to gather more from home. This has been a fun project — Beat taught himself what he needs to know to safely cut down and harvest dead trees, and I help with the hauling. I love hauling. Can you tell? Monotonous, hard labor is possibly my favorite type of exercise, which is why I've taken to sled-dragging so intently. As I've joked with friends: My people weren't made to run fast; we were made to pull plow. But it's still strenuous, heavy-lifting work for which neither of us is fully conditioned, so we both end up feeling quite sore the next day.

 What else? Our goldfish survived yet another winter. The surface ice on our small pond melted, and they've been especially active on sunny days. These fish are the closest thing I've got to a pandemic pet, so I've been doting on them more than usual — throwing fish flakes into the water and sitting on the rocks to watch them swim. Soon the lilies will bloom, the ground around the pond will green up ... and my allergies will probably coax me to spend less time just sitting outside. But for now I am making an effort to appreciate everything that surrounds me, all of the small things that matter the most.
 

For now, with our January-like weather, spring still feels far away. This week, Boulder surpassed its snowiest season on record — breaking a 111-year-old record — with 152 inches. Boulder also was designated the snowiest city in the United States — a city being a place with more than 50,000 residents, and under those parameters the competition isn't even close. I could live this way year-round, especially with typical Colorado sunny days to break it up, although an endless mud season would be trying. Still, I'm always happy about late-season snow.

On Easter Sunday I was finally able to get out for a run on actual trails, mainly because they were covered in a foot of fresh powder and no one else was around. I've been trying to do my part to stay out of crowds, even on my home trails. But I do appreciate them all the more when they're empty.


The snow and slogging continued throughout the week. We were slammed with two big storms over four days, with a big warmup in between (and another warmup now.) Dynamic weather added to the intrigue of venturing just a few miles from home, with high winds, blowing snow, 22-degree temperatures, and enough strenuous trudging to let us both feel like we were back in Alaska. I greatly appreciate these mini-adventures. It's more than enough to keep motivated, keep moving, and find meaning amid the uncertainty and isolation.

How is everyone out there doing? I know, blogs are no longer a medium for any sort of communication beyond the ramblings into the void for those of us who just can't let go. But for those still reading, I wonder how you're coping? How are you navigating this strange time? Leave a comment if you have the time. I will reply. These little bits of human connection and community mean a lot.

Finally, if you enjoyed the recent posts about my 2020 ITI adventure, you might like the 2018 "prequel" in my recent eBook, "Meanwhile the world goes on," available on Amazon. I appreciate your support!