Susan Talks the Walk

Last Saturday (Oct. 4) my daughter Hannah and I walked the new 10 mile trail event in North Carolina’s Medoc State Park. It was held concurrently with a trail marathon.

We stayed the night at the sponsoring Holiday Inn in Rocky Mount and though it’s some 35 or so miles away we had an incredible drive to the park. The sky to the east was deep pink to red and the mist was rising from the fields. This was no slight mist, but the kind that’s thick and mysterious. If not for the electrical poles and wires and the random house and car in a driveway, we’d have expected Union and Confederate soldiers to rise for battle. It was a movie director’s dream set.

The air was brisk when we arrived at the park. We were directed to a parking space by some volunteers bundled in several layers of clothing. That mist wasn’t rising because of warm air. The sky indicated a beautiful day and so it stayed throughout.

I like events that start on time and this one did. The marathon actually began first. We were able to see several runners come out of the woods on one side of the drive, cross, and take off on the other side. The marathon was small: 19 women registered/14 finished and 40 men registered/36 finished. My buddy Winston Davis from GA was among the finishers. I haven’t heard his report yet, but if I know Winston, he managed to have a good time.

Anyway, Hannah and I knew we’d be slow, so we were in the 3rd-wave at the start. The waves started 30 or 60 seconds apart, and we wore ankle timing devices, so it was nice to be timed mat to mat and not worry about be trampled by the speedier masses. I think it turned out that we were among the very few who may have walked the entire course. I know we didn’t run a step!

The course is beautiful. Hannah is a scientist whose specialty is fungus (as in the mushroom or growing-on-or-around-trees sort) so she had a great time pointing out the various ’shrooms. I was entertained with her descriptions of the edible ones, including one with “barky flavors,” and which ones would cause a painful and definite death if ingested.

For the most part we walked alone with no one in our view. There were a number of small wooden platform bridges (no handrails), noticeable lack of mud for which I was grateful, and one reasonable hill. When a volunteer asked us how we managed on the “mountain,” I replied with an explanation of where I live and smiled to say, “Sir, I’m afraid your mountain was a bit of a molehill by my standard.” It was a good hill. I suppose the marathoners came to hate it as they looped around the course several times. It was strewn with chunky rocks about the size of my fist which made passage a little tricky.

Every now and then we came to a place where we had to mind the roots. A couple of times Hannah said, “Mom, don’t step off the trail - that’s poison ivy.” I love walking in the woods with a scientist. I was minding the roots, not the leaves.

We seemed to move at an easy pace. I’d joked earlier with a park ranger that we were last because I come from elevation and there was now too much oxygen in my lungs. Whatever happened we finished well ahead of my normal pace. I still puzzle over whether we could have missed a small loop, but we were passed frequently by runners, so I don’t think we were off on some side trail. The trail was marked with red or orange streamers hanging down from trees and by brightly colored foam plates with arrows. We don’t think we missed a section, and I’ve been told I should enjoy my unique and quick day.

The finish was some dozens of yards in very plush deep grass. It sounds lovely and was beautiful to the gaze, but it sure did cause the feet to drag. I felt a bit mired even though there was no muck to suck at my shoes. Most of the 10 milers were already finished. So we got our medals, and our new technical caps, and headed to the food table. There were plenty of pastries and some kind of yummy fudge, but it was only around 10:00 and the pizza wasn’t due until 11:00 a.m. I don’t know why the delay, but I think many of participants didn’t hang around for the pizza. It was simply too long to wait.

This was not a hard event. The course is beautiful. If you’re going to stay overnight near the park, we learned on our drive to and from Rocky Mount that there are a decent number of hotels closer to the event. The Holiday Inn was lovely, but a bit farther than we’d have chosen.

All in all, my appetite for walking trails was whetted once more. The phenomenon of being a walker in a runner’s event often results in some begrudging comments about the slower participant’s presence. I give this event high scores (maybe the highest) for kind runners who encouraged us on, joked with us, and generally seemed quite accepting of our slower pace.

I did a lot of thinking about the fact that walkers complain a lot about not having events to enter or not being treated well when they do participate. The Medoc Trail events welcome walkers and I have to say they treated us very well. One thing walkers should keep in mind: if they want to enter a small event, they should realize that they may be the only ones walking. The more walkers who sign up, the more that will change. You have to start somewhere. The Medoc 10 miler would be a good one to walk with some friends. Just remember to show courtesy to those passing you and step to the side to let them pass. Don’t walk 5 or 6 or even 3 abreast so that the trail is blocked. With those couple of guidelines, it’s then just a matter of registering, showing up, and enjoying a walk in the woods.

Best, susan http://www.walkerfriendly.com

Ever since the big walk in April, I’ve been a little at loose ends with what to do next. It’s not the best of economic times for an overseas lengthy walk, though I do have my eye on a particular trail in Scotland. It might be possible for me to head that way in May ‘09, but we’ll see.

If you don’t know my story, you might not know that almost 6 yrs. ago I started losing weight and walking for fitness, eventually losing a total of 70 lbs. Well, some stressful situations, some chronic interruptions to my own regimen (things beyond my control), and some easy excuses had me slipping from my routines for the last couple of years. The good ole aging process snuck up as well and ta-da…I suddenly found myself sliding backwards in terms of weight control.

That coupled with the lack of a next-great-adventure I decided to sign up for some half marathons within driving distance of home. First up for the fall schedule was the Boulder Backroads half. It was last weekend.

Now, you should understand that I’m not keen on events. I like to walk for the joy of it and the adventure of getting around some place I’ve never been before. To make my half marathons interesting, I decided to choose ones that differ greatly. My summer one was the Seafair in Bellevue, WA. It was 5,000-6,000 participants, in a city. Boulder has a cap of 2,400 or 2,500. It’s also on the backroads outside a smaller city.

Well, it didn’t disappoint. The weather was lovely, the landscape amazing with the Rockies as the backdrop, and the fall colors were just emerging. The course itself is one I would define as “moderately challenging” with some smaller rolling hills. They weren’t bad until a few miles from the finish when one sapped the best of us. It wasn’t the grade as much as the continuing distance up the incline.

The full marathon participants start at 7 a.m., the half at 8 a.m. Both courses share the same first few miles and the same last few, being something of out-and-back courses for both distances. The full marathoners have a loop in the middle, the half simply go out half the distance and then return back down the same roads.

The roads vary from pavement to dirt, some of the latter packed so hard it almost felt like pavement. The images that stand out of me are the wildflowers, the pastures full of cows or horses, the lovely gardens, and lots of very white wooden fences. It is a truly beautiful course if you like the countryside and farmlands. The morning of the race there were huge dark magnificent clouds overhead. I love skies like that, even as I hoped we’d not get rained on.

My personal race was very mediocre. I started off fine, my regular faster walking pace. By the time I hit the half-way I had a stitch in my side. Matt had driven ahead to meet me there and it was good to see his smiling face and get some encouragement. Someone heard me mention the stitch and told me to put my arms in the air above my head. I knew this might help someone choking but didn’t know it could relieve the pain I was experiencing. I was game so I tried it and did experience an immediate improvement. Cool.

The return miles start off downhill. Unfortunately, I found myself slowing in spite of the slope of the terrain. I just didn’t have enough miles in training in the month preceding. I knew it going into the event. After Hercules’ death I didn’t get back on the road to train. It’s as simple as that. So, I just gutted it out and decided to go a pace I could handle and finish with.

I think my big surprise came in that last couple of miles. By now I was in the midst of the full marathon runners. I was walking along and realizing that most of them were walking as well. Matt and I drove the half marathon course the day before but not the full, so I don’t know what these guys suffered in the miles I didn’t go, but they were really looking whipped on that last hill.

I stopped to stretch a couple of times, and I stopped to dump gravel from my shoes. If you consider this race, you might want to have gaiters. By the time I finished it was hot. I had to stop a couple of times, just where I stood, and lean over as I found myself increasingly dizzy. It was an odd sensation and nothing I’ve experienced before. By the time I finished I was slightly numb in one leg. I suspect a pinched nerve in my back. Ah, the aging years are definitely upon me.

All in all it was a good experience. The finishers’ medals are the same for the two distances. The race logo made for a very disappointing race shirt, but it translates into a lovely medal. From a walker’s perspective, this is a runner’s event still…mostly because there are so few walkers in it. It was also a little difficult to be a walker on an out-and-back as it meant seeing all the runners in the half in their return stretch while the walkers were still heading toward the turn-around point. At the same time, I felt much better about my position as a walker compared to other walkers when I had started on the return and realized how many miles behind me a good number of the walkers were.

There were hot burritos, fruit, bagels, and beverages waiting for the participants at the finish line.

In summation, this is a good event along a lovely route. Be prepared for moderate rolling hills and the elevation. I have no complaints about the organization, which is actually saying a lot as I am very picky when it comes to race details. It’s still more of a runners’ event but walkers need to participate for that to change. There’s a 7 hr. time limit on the full and a 6 hr. on the half.

If there’s any area that needs improving it’s in the flow of vehicle traffic. The route was not completely closed and things were a bit chaotic on the approach to the finish line.

Next up for me is a new event in North Carolina. I am flying on air miles ($10.00 ticket) and will be visiting a daughter out there. We’re going to walk the Medoc 10 mile trail event (there’s also a full marathon as well). The closer for my season will be the quite small marathon2marathon in the Big Bend country of TX. I think they get less than 150 participants in the two distances combined. Oh, again, I’ll be doing the half. Sticking with shorter distances right now as I lose weight and get re-focused. Besides, this way I can compare events that might not be so intimidating to a good number of walkers.

That’s it for now. Hope you’re all happily walking or running along.

Best, susan

Hey all,

I’m off to Boulder tomorrow. I’m registered for the half marathon and will probably be one of the slowest as my taper seems to have amounted to a couple of hours on the elliptical over five weeks. Not recommended training practice.

It’s been an interesting two weeks since our Hercules died. A friend has offered us a new malamute puppy when he’s old enough to leave the litter. We’re very touched with the generosity of the offer. We have even seen the puppies (before their eyes were even open) and they are adorable.

My event, the Ghost Town 38.5 which is sponsored by zombierunner, filled. We’re in our 4th year and have always reached our peak numbers race weekend (in January). So, selling out in mid-September was a thrill and a surprise. I’ve been kind of upside down and backward with all the activity in what is usually a slow time of year.

It’s great, though, as I’ve already ordered the finishers medals and some other fun stuff for the event. I have plenty of time to work out how to handle the larger field. And probably the best thing of all is that I’ll get to make that many more friends come race weekend. I’m hoping to have a page on my website with bits about the various runners. We are going to have a diverse and interesting field!

The trip to Boulder will be a nice break. I’m hoping the weather holds. We’re having blanket-worthy nights and beautiful days in the high 70s here in the hills of southern NM.

I hope you’re having a great September. I’ll try to get back to you next week with a report on the Backroads. All the best, susan

I actually wrote the post below yesterday. I will have a little more on the subject soon.

Someone let my dogs out this morning. Hercules, 10 yrs. old, shar pei
and terrier, was then run over. I found him right across the road from
the property. He looked like he was sleeping in the grasses. I broke
into tears and was a little stunned, there was no breath left in him.

A neighbor approached in her truck, stopped, saw, and held onto me. We
both cried. Then she went to fetch another from the village to help
with the digging of the grave.

It’s been a sad morning for me. I think what I have the hardest time
with is that some rolled right over him - there are tire treads across
his ribs. Then they left, never stopping to seek his owner. Our cabin
was two lanes of road away. There are no tire treads on the road, they
did not brake, did not swerve.

This was a really bright dog. He came to us at the age of 3 weeks when
the Pound called to say a puppy too young for shots had been
abandoned. I sat with him wrapped in the hem of my sweatshirt while
Matt drove. The little puppy with no teeth growled at Matt.

When we got home we put him on the kitchen floor for the kids to see.
He looked more like a rodent than a dog. He growled some more and Gabe
dubbed him “Hercules” because he was a warrior.

The next day I took him to our vet. I had to give Hercules puppy
formula from my hand for two weeks. He’d eat until his belly was so
fat he’d have to sleep on his back. His home those early weeks was an
old cooler with blankets inside. I would carry him from room to room
to studio and back and keep an eye on him. We had to stand watch over
him when he was outside so that the owls wouldn’t carry him off.

A few years ago the Percha rose and we had some flooding on the
property. The dogs were here alone as we were stuck in Albq. waiting
for Gabe’s plane to land. They were all okay, but ever since Hercules
was terrified of thunder. We’d put him inside when the afternoon
monsoon storms would start.

I had to call Matt with the news. He arranged to handle work from home
this afternoon and started the 2 hour drive home. He called from his
cell, his voice broke as he said, “Hercules doesn’t have to be afraid
any more.” It was hard to call my kids, this was the dog of their
childhoods.

So, I will pick wildflowers soon. Matt will be free of the phone and
work and we will place Hercules in his final spot. The other two dogs
are resting side by side at the front gate.

I never came or went from the property without Hercules being by that
front gate. When I’d go for miles he’d be there barking at the others
to let them know I’d returned. I’m not looking forward to my next set
of miles, knowing how deserted that gate will seem.

My anger at the driver, whoever it may be, has subsided, but there is
a gnawing as I know it could have been a person as easily as a dog.

I am usually positive, but today I am a little less so. There are a
lot of callous bastards in this world. As my kids’ sensei used to say,
“watch your back.”

Go safely, susan

I’m sitting at my desk which faces a window. Outside is the apple tree we’ve been trying to nurture into good health. It completely blocks my view of the front of the property and the road. It is as though I work in a secret arbor, though it is just the one tree and I am inside.

The songs and calls of many varied birds reaches my ears, but I sit watching the one that is bouncing from branch to branch. She is a cardinal. I only guessed it the first time I saw her with her orange beak, reddish crest and with a hint of red in tail and wings. One day she arrived with her partner, he in crimson glory.

So today, I won’t share much. Just the images from my desk and a quote for the day:

“Nature will not be admired by proxy.” Winston Churchill

If you’ve not gotten outside lately, I recommend it! Best, susan

The Percha Creek runs through the village. This morning’s miles had me crossing the bridge twice. Beside is a dead tree, barren branches reaching toward today’s cloudy sky. I think of this tree as “vulture perch”…today there were some dozens in it and the tree behind. They seemed to be asleep, though more than one perched as though a carved totem: motionless with wings spread wide enjoying nature’s air-conditioning. The big birds creep me out ever so slightly, their feigned sleep a cover for beady eyes watching my every step. It is my habit to mutter, “Not today, boys, not today,” as I pass beneath them.

Today, the sense of being watched was even stronger and so my gaze fell to the creek below. Three mule deer stood on a gravelly break of land between the flowing fingers of the creek. They were frozen waiting to see if I would notice them. When our eyes met, they turned and ran, clattering up the bank on the far side of the creek.

I was tired today when I woke. Today’s miles had to be decided upon - the urge to skip them strong. I’m glad I went. It’s not every day I enjoy so many spectators!

Best, susan

Hey all,

I’ll warn you right now, if you don’t like my stories, you might want to discard this asap.

That said, my conscience is clear and I’ll get on with it:

I get tired of carrying a water bottle with me even for reasonably short distances. Living in the desert as I do it’s pretty much a requirement to have water handy, especially in the summer. Today is overcast with the tag end of Edouard trying to act like it’s still something but so far no rain. I like overcast. It’s also breezy which means when I looked at the enticing elliptical machine in the studio and weighed some time on it against outdoor miles, well outdoor miles won.

My goal was to do half my miles to the west and back, then half to the east and back. I don’t have lots of options for roads, so this would all be on Hwy. 152 with my place in the middle. I figured I could go half my miles without water, so I filled a bottle and set it out in the yard waiting for my return at the half.

Then came Huey. Huey is a chow who lives some 3/10 or so of a mile to the west. Every morning he trots by on his way to the village and pees on our trees or our cars or whatever else is around. He’s very smug and I can tell when he’s around as my three dogs go nuts when Huey wags his haughty-ass past the property. It’s because of Huey that I have one dog who has learned that jumping the fence is fun.

Slim is two. He’s half bird-dog and probably half lab or retriever of some kind. We have fussed at him for jumping the fence, we’ve put him in solitary for bits of time, we’ve even raised the fences. The dog thinks he can fly. He especially hates me catching him because I’m the mom and he hates me fussing at him. “Naughty” and “You’re not being a good dog” are about as rough as I get, but he receives no pats on the head or rubs on the tummy right after an escape has been discovered and he knows it.

Last year when I’d fuss at him, I’d find reconciliation presents in the trail between the front cabin and the back studio. I’ve been given everything from dead badgers to a raccoon to a beautiful but dead pheasant. Such trifles didn’t appease me when Slim would be caught clearing the fence (now at 6 ft.) and so my presents eventually stopped. It’s monsoon season which means now we have to deal with leg bones, horns and hooves from some rotting cow that Slim has discovered. At least they’re not intented for me!

Anyway, this morning I left the property heading west and hadn’t gone far when the dogs were triggered. Here came Huey back from the village and then here came Slim. I was not in the mood to put him in solitary (the room where they all sleep), so I escorted Slim back to the front yard and ordered him over the fence. Slim waited to make sure that I was not going to walk alongside Huey (who had sashayed on like he wasn’t responsible in any way for the ruckus). Once it was clear that I was not taking up with Huey as an escort Slim reluctantly and effortlessly cleared the gate and was in the yard once more.

Five minutes wasted, I made a mental note as I’m timing myself to make sure I really have lost that extra minute that seemed to have attached itself to each mile when I was sick in June - and I have.

It was a great morning for miles. I was almost chilly! I clipped along at a comfortable pace and decided that the Gila was beckoning so I did more miles west of home than anticipated. I figured all I needed was to get to the first mile marker east of home on the return and I’d still be at the total I sought for the day. It meant I was pushing some extra miles, though, without water.

I was glad when I could see the big cottonwoods that mark the front of my place. I think I actually lost a normal half-minute as the thought of water urged me forward. Then I spotted the place where my water bottle had been - no sign of my stash. There were three dogs in the yard, and he-who-thinks-he-can-fly was looking rather guilty. I was ticked as I figured I was now out one good water bottle. Surely the beastie boys would have chewed it up or hidden it from me for future fun.

Putting it out of my mind and continuing on without water I finished my pre-appointed miles. Then I turned into the drive and saw my bottle lying on the ground just inside the gate. It looked to be intact. Slim lurked a bit behind the other two until I stooped to pick up the bottle and inspect it. Not even a tooth mark was visible. The spout on top was a little grimy with dirt, but from its appearance and Slim’s behavior I had the feeling it had been “saved” for me. The boys crowded around for pats and coos and even Slim received reassurances. He looked at me as if to say, “You forgot it and any ole dog could have come along and grabbed it. I am a hero for bringing it into the no-Huey zone.”

As I unfolded one of his ears that had gotten tangled in some moment of frivolity I told him he was my baby and that I loved him. He looked back at me with eyes I’d describe as “questionably innocent.” And in that moment I knew.

If I want water during miles in the future I will be lugging it along with me. Peace in the family has to come first.

Cheers! susan

Hey all,

It’s rare these days to receive personal mail, but a week ago an envelope thick with several pages inside arrived from overseas. It was from friends I made when I hiked the West Highland Way a couple of years ago. They’d sent several short articles from “Country Walking” - a magazine published in the UK.

Anyway, I took a break from other business to read the articles. Several are worthy of mention for the distances and circumstances under which these people did amazing things. No apology for the subjects being walkers - they are simply terrific stories about people going ultra distances.

Since it’s impossible to replicate the articles here, I thought I’d share links to websites that should get you there:

Jason Lewis spent 14 years circumnavigating the glove on his own two feet - sometimes on rollerblades, but always on his own leg power. Both his legs were broken when he was hit from behind by a vehicle in Pueblo, CO. His book (at time of mag. publication the book was untitled) is due out in Sept. - publisher is Fourth Estate. His blog: www.expedition360.com

Tom Isaacs, diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, decided to take a journey that he’d dreamed of since he was 14 yrs. old…to walk uninterrupted around the entire British coastline. His walk was some 4,500 miles. The book is titled “Shake Well Before Use” and is available from www.cureparkinsons.org.uk

Mark Olver is a stand-up comedian who decided that when he’s touring clubs he never sees the country, so he just walked from his home to the Edinburgh Festival - some 400 miles. His blog is featured on a British retailer’s site: www.berghaus.com

The last story is of two ordinary walkers who walked from Land’s End to John O’Groats (LEJOG). One, Carol Pollock, walked in memory of her daughter who died of brain cancer. The other is Steve Bleases. His route was 1,096 miles. His book is “End to End” and is available through www.landsendjohnogroats.co.uk

Now I’ve got to go order some books!

Best, susan

As you know I had a bit of a setback a few weeks ago when my book was rejected. From my desk I thought the publisher made the rejection quite personal and which made the rejection more startling as he’d been quite encouraging up to that time. So, I’ve not written much while waiting for a few trusted readers to give me some feedback as to whether or not the story even merited telling. I sent those early pages to a person who doesn’t know me at all, but who has the creds to be trustworthy when it comes to appraising manuscripts. I also sent it to two friends who know my other books and who’ve been after me to write another. Since they know my style and are very trusted friends (even brave as reviewing a manuscript takes some guts) I know they’ll be honest with me. First words back to me were encouraging and had some great valid suggestions on how to improve what I’ve started.

All that said, I was still licking wounds and sitting the fence about continuing the project. I even considered starting an online magazine - not just for my own stuff but for the many great stories that never get told because publishers aren’t necessarily the best judges of what’s good and/or interesting.

Then Monday I received a phone call from a friend in the village. She was having a few other people over for a luncheon on Tuesday and was inviting me to come. I didn’t know the other women except one by reputation - she’s the author of a book that was turned into a successful movie some years back. I’ve wanted opportunity to sit and visit with her, but our paths don’t seem to cross. I was then told the other women invited are all authors as well.

I’m not much of joiner-of-groups. I got a little panicky over the thought that this might be the start of something and what if I was the odd woman out? Silly to be nervous, but hey, I’ve been in the art and literary worlds long enough to know I’m more comfortable in the running and walking worlds. I like us. We’re rather down-to-earth and you should take that as a compliment - all of you!

Anyway, I went to the lunch and the food was good. The conversation was even better. They didn’t know my books, I didn’t know theirs, but when they learned what I’d been through with the publisher recently - whoa, the stories I heard about that particular publishing house and their opinions of it. I immediately felt better.

Then, the oddest thing happened. Legitimate advice started flowing my way. I have a whole page of notes now on places I should submit the manuscript and various articles to. One person even gave me the name of her contact at a publishing house and encouraged me to use my new friend’s name in way of introduction. Wow.

I don’t want to read like a bumpkin, but this was almost as good as the support runners and walkers give each other in online forums and when they get to visit on event weekends. My habit of using ultras as metaphor for life and vice versa has been questioned (mostly kindly) by a random reader from time to time. I’m even guilty-as-charged of dragging writing and publishing into the metaphoric maze, but without wanting to be tedious I have to share:

I left the luncheon feeling as though I’d suddenly gained a pacer or two. The woman who really stepped up with advice and leads followed me home to get copies of my books. She just called to talk more. She’s got an agent and contracts and royalties. (I’ve had a contract and still get royalties, but no agent…sigh.) She told another in yesterday’s group that there are three things necessary for one to be a successful writer:

1. talent
2. persistence
3. contacts

Now those don’t all translate to the running world, but the persistence certainly does. As a person who has more than once in her life been told “you are so damn independent” I am not used to such support. I was told today, “You’ve got books to write.” I don’t think my new pacer is going to let me slack off.

It’s all got me thinking (I can hear you saying, “Oh no, here she goes again…”), but even the most independent of us here has had pacers. We apply their hard-earned tips and suggestions on everything from gear to blister remedies, and even if they don’t run alongside us in an event, their words echo in our heads. We come to that spot on a course and remember the advice given on how to survive that hill or that dangerous patch of scree. We remember what we’ve read about pacing through the many miles, and what it means if our hands are getting puffy and we’re feeling disoriented.

So I have to conclude that no matter how solo we may think our runs or walks are, we’ve all got pacers. Just because they’re invisible on race day doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Next time I’m out there, I’m going to nod when I look over my shoulder, even if no one else knows why! susan

It’s the high season for some pretty impressive ultra events. In the last few weeks I’ve enjoyed reading reports on (in no particular order): the Vermont 100 (miles), Hardrock (little more than 100 miles) up and down through the Rockies, Badwater (135 miles through the Mojave in July), the Big Horn 100, and most recently Vol-State (300+ miles on roads from one end of Tennessee to another).

The people who share their experiences from these events inspire those who read their reports. They share generously from their successes and their failures. I, as an onlooker, am always in awe that they even dare to dream of such things.

And so they have me thinking. My book was recently rejected on the first 59 pages by an editor in chief whose criticism was that there wasn’t enough life-threatening drama in those early pages. His main complaint was that I prepared so thoroughly for my trek across the Jornada del Muerto and up toward Santa Fe that I’d eliminated all risk. He then went on to patronize me and explain that good travel or adventure writers not only introduce a place to their readers, the writers also give the readers knowledge of themselves (the writers) and others they meet along the way. His suggestion was that I didn’t reveal myself in my words. That I have issue with. As Matt says, “You’ve gone beyond painfully honest to just simply completely honest.” I have wondered if the EiC even read the pages he received, but that is a little off point.

I am the first to admit that I prefer not to have life-threatening experiences during my adventures. Sometimes they happen anyway and make for dramatic stories. So far I’ve been lucky and have never suffered more than a cold dunk in a river or a few bumps and bruises. Most people who undertake adventures plan carefully, train if required, and don’t hope for death-defying moments.

In my writing I relate closely to those who have gone before me. Oh, I am not an academic and so my relationship to people from another age is a bit organic. I find history interesting because of the humans involved. So, in my crossing of the Jornada I thought a lot about the preparation the early caravans went through. Expeditions, whether across such challenging land or even over the ocean from Spain, would have required incredible planning. To forget or run out of supplies would most certainly been life-threatening.

As I read the many reports of those who have successfully covered their 100 or 300 miles and of those who have stumbled in their efforts, I have to admit that I am inspired. No one I know in the running and walking world ever wants to hear of another seriously injured or even dying because of the sport. We know it can happen - so we train and take our best care to push ourselves to new limits without crossing into life-threatening situations.

For me, my adventures might be tame to an Editor in Chief sitting in his office. He wrote me that my book certainly wasn’t going to be as exciting as say, “Rafting Down the Boh.” (The Boh is a river in Borneo - he explained such to me.) I suppose locations close to home do not seem so challenging or very exotic, but then he didn’t have the whole story.

Which brings me to something that has been nagging at the edges of my daily thoughts. There is a difference between life-changing and life-threatening. Even tame adventures can be life-changing. I think of those who just completed Vol-State. They will be forever changed by their experiences. It may take a while for all the lessons to settle. I often think we gain little wisdoms from such experiences. They may be insights into ourselves, or small changes in our perception of a place, people, even the world. Little wisdoms gained in such experiences are life-changing in both subtle and large ways. They influence people as people allow them to.

If I move forward with my book (and I am still not sure) it will be the story of at least one adventure of just me - an ordinary woman living life the way she needs to. I would hope to share some little wisdoms and to entertain.

Life-changing may not have the dramatic tension of a life-threatening situation, but life-changing adventures whether they are big or small are important. What’s more, they are accessible to everyone.

I’m not angry with the editor in chief, nor am I defensive. He has the right to accept or reject any manuscript he chooses. What is interesting is that he made it so very personal. Most rejections are simply “While this is no reflection on the quality of your work, your manuscript does not meet our needs at this time.” Something I wrote must have really bothered this man.

In the meantime, I am doing what I need to. I have already had my miles today, I am dreaming of future adventures, and I am waiting for inspiration. I am even writing some. For those who have been battered and bruised and blistered and bloodied with their involvement in the summer ultras have inspired me. They, regardless of success or failure, have had their lives changed and by their sharing of their experiences they have touched others’ lives as well. To them I am grateful.

As I’ve been writing I’ve been thinking on how to close this. It’s a little more serious than I wanted but such it is. So on a note that expresses my sentiments in a way I probably wouldn’t write, but do appreciate I’ll give you a quote from a movie currently in theaters. “Wanted” is definitely violent, incredibly far-reaching, and still entertaining. The last line of the movie, the hero looks at the camera and says,

“What the **** have you done lately?”

I know how he feels.