I'm King of the World

Zach loved climbing rocks while we were in Estes Park.  Here he is after climbing the rocks behind him and declaring "I'm King of the World".

Konza Konquered

I have been asked, "why in the world would you want to do that?" when I tell people that I was going to run the 25k Konquer the Konza run.

Well, I don't know.  Maybe just to say I did it?  Maybe to have a goal to keep me working out and make me stay in shape?  Maybe because it's a really cool course out on top of the world in the Flint Hills?

Last year was the first time they ran the race, and it was brutal.  I got hurt water skiing over Labor Day and was not completely over the injury at race time.  I was fine until the last 3 miles of the run, during which time I questioned the sanity and whether or not I could finish.

This year, I did not train as well.  I had not really reached the point where I had any right getting out to do it.  The longest run I had accomplished was a 12 mile the weekend before, in which I hurt my calf at the 11.5 mile mark.  I didn't run or train during the week leading up to the run, with the exception of an 8 mile run on Tuesday which was painful and slow.

I got there the morning of the run, after driving all through Kansas due to a road closure and a ridiculous detour, making it in time, doing everything right before the run.  I was hydrated, had gum, had my iPhone loaded with podcasts, and an iPod with tunes and audiobooks.  I did not have my water bottle belt, so I was running, quite ludicrously, with a bottle of bottled water.  OK, not the best gear, but something.  I plugged in my iPod and turned it on and got the "low battery" sound right before it quit.  I think the button gets pushed when it's sitting in my bag, running the battery down.

The race started, and I remembered sunglasses, because the first 2 miles are running directly into the rising sun.  I'm feeling pretty clever until I hit the .5 mile mark and my calf starts to hurt.  Not just little mild pain, but "Ouch.  No way.  Uh oh." pain.  I could run on it, but I think it was with a visible "limp".  So much stuff goes through your mind... "Should I quit? Naw, it's not that bad.  Wait, this is pretty bad.  Well, I can still run.  I spent the time and money and training to get here, I might as well see how far I can go.  Maybe it will quit hurting when I get warmed up." So my conflicted internal monologue played out and I kept going.  And it did get better for a while.  Then it got worse, and then it just stayed at a consistent level of no fun.  But I completed the run!

Running with that much pain took a lot of the fun out of it.  I had a lot of people fall in next to me and engage in long conversations.  That has never happened to me on a run before.  One woman, probably about 30, says to me, "You're an inspiration, sir.  I don't think I've seen anyone as old as you out here." Maybe the pain had prematurely aged me.

It was odd, though.  I got what I call the Invisible Man Syndrome.  I'm kind of used to it.  With a generic name like Mike Jones and generic looks and generic mannerisms, I do tend to fade into the background.  I've never been described as particularly memorable.  This was a little more extreme than that.  They had volunteers at several points on the trail, and they would be cheering for the people right in front of me, fall silent when I ran by, and start cheering again for the people behind me.  There was a pair of course photographers at the 7 mile and 11.5 mile point (you pass it twice).  The second time around, he stopped shooting when I went by.  It was giving me a complex.  I had overheard a couple of women running near me earlier in the race.  One said, "My life goal is to become a photogenic runner.  I want to be one of those women they always take great pictures of while I'm running."  Maybe I had become the opposite, an unappealing runner.  One that you would never want to advertise or promote the run with, because I'm in obvious pain and making the run look grueling and uncomfortable, rather than the uplifting and transcending experience it's supposed to be.

I don't know, I recognized my invisibility and fell into the mode, embracing it.  When I finished the run, no one spoke to me, so I stood there for about a minute and then just left.  I guess it's not a whole lot different than the way I approach my daily running.  I get out and do it by myself, listening to audiobooks and podcasts, and enjoy the time by myself.  I've always felt, since my time in the Army, that running with people is too much work.  You end up getting paced by the people with the worst run times, or you get strung out when some gazelle sets the pace.  In any case, it's usually not your own pace, and it's usually not comfortable.  I also like the thought that my success is in no way linked to anyone else.  In fact, there is no success or failure, it just is what it is.  It's just whatever distance I go for whatever pace.  Sometimes there are those Forrest Gump moments where you see something beautiful or inspiring, but mostly, you just plod along until it's done.  I guess that's not a bad metaphor for life.

Grasshopper & Spider Summer

I heard that spiders are getting bigger because of climate change.  I can believe it, the Orbweavers are huge this summer.  The grasshoppers are different this summer, too.  Usually, we have those yellow/tan ones that are armored, have spiky hoppers, and spit "tobacco" at you when you pick them up.  This summer we have these big green ones with yellow stripes as well as tons of other types.  We also have a Gardener Spider back in the front yard, and I believe he really likes grasshopper blood!  Cool.

Frozen

Zach and I spent part of the day watching the Disney Movie Frozen.

Then we went out and experienced it.  It was probably the last day before the sun would be coming out and the temperature would be rising, so the snow and ice might be gone soon.

We walked out onto the point at Jacomo and found that someone had used the dock and chopped a hole in the ice to fish, but no one had come down the walkway out to the main body of the lake.  Ours were the only footprints.

The sun came out from behind the overcast shelf of clouds overhead, and gave us a colorful sunset, and the ice shelves shown beautifully.

We hiked up through the woods to the rock bluff above, slipping all the way up.

I think it helped to want to be out in the elements after Disney made all that ice and snow seem more magical.

Speedy Lost

Well, we lost another Tortie.  Speedy was the almost identical twin sister of Cupcake.  Cupcake died by getting hit by a car, almost right in front of us.  Speedy just disappeared.  Like Cuppy, Speedy loved to go outside at night.  For a long time, I would go outside and get her when she was out late at night.  Often, when she was hard to find, it was because she had a mouse or a mole.

Sunday night, she had gone into the spare bedroom upstairs, as she often did, to nap.  I had closed the door, and heard her scratching sometime later, and opened the door to find her eager to get out.  Shortly afterwards, she asked to go outside (by standing at the back door on her hind legs, pointing to the door handle and meowing at me a certain way).  I let her out, figuring she had to go to the bathroom after being stuck inside and politely not using the spare bedroom as a litter box.

I never saw her again.  I tried to search for her from the time she was let out around 9pm until about 2am.  She always either sat in the window in the wing wall or came across the roof to my office window and meowed to be let in, but sometimes you could go down by the barn and scare her out.  Not this time.

She stayed out all night a few times before.  She would always be at the back door first thing in the morning, waiting to be let in.  Not this time.

I searched the barn, the woods, and nearby neighborhoods to see if I could find her, but no luck.

A second night passed, again with no luck.  A second morning came, again with no Speedy at the back door.

I remembered losing El Tigre years ago, around the time my father died.  She fell through a very old and thin roof on the well and clung to the edge of a pipe and died.  It was terrible to find her, because you just knew if you had found her in time, you could have saved her.  I remember a kitten years ago went into the barn and was playing on a pile of wood that fell over and trapped her.  I found that one, barely alive, covered with fleas.  That was terrible.

In some ways, it's worse to have them simply disappear.  I assume that a bobcat, fox, or coyote (possibly an owl) got her.  However, she could also have been chased but escaped, in which case she might have lost her sense of direction in the pursuit and is out there somewhere, confused about where home is.  She might also have gotten beyond a yard with dogs in it, and now does not want to cross to get back.

We put up Lost Cat signs around the neighborhood, but after two nights, I'm not so sure we've got any chance.  She was always shy or terrified of strangers, so I'm not sure how she would go about looking for help from some other house. Maybe if she was hungry enough she might approach someone.  Given the way so many people hate cats, they might be just as likely to take a shot at her as to help.

In any case, it's probably likely that we'll never find out what happened.

Speedy was not my favorite cat, that was Cuppy.  After she died, Speedy kind of took her place.  She used to come up and try to get in front of my work so she could get some attention.  I put a little blanket on my work table and she used to nap at my elbow while I worked.  Occasionally, she would drape herself over my arm.  She would crawl up in my lap and fall asleep, contented dead weight pinning me down.  She always jumped up on the counter when you made cereal in the morning, knowing that she'd get some milk for her efforts.  She was pretty consistent and predictable, a sweet and kind-hearted little cat, but a night prowling hunter, too.

She will be missed.