More fun with charts

This was the first year I tracked my running mileage. My intent was to keep myself on track while training for the Mickelson Trail Marathon in June. By the time the race passed, I was in the habit of noting my mileage on my dachshund puppy calendar upon returning home. So, I kept up with it.

Tallying my monthly distance produced the following chart:

August turned out to be my big month. (Ah, summer. It seems so long ago now.) Cross country began mid-month. And I put in several long runs in preparation for the Sioux Falls Half Marathon.

March would have been my most productive month if not for the two blizzards that hit at the end of the month. (A third blizzard hit during the first weekend in April.) I only put in 18 miles in the last nine days of March. My marathon training boosted my mileage before then though.

I was surprised when I saw June was the month with the lowest mileage. I only ran 75.9 miles, and 26.2 of those were during the marathon. In fact, the marathon was the only time I ran through the 12th. My number one excuse for not regularly running marathons is the amount of time necessary for training. But it looks like my overall mileage drops both before and after race day as well. Half marathons good, marathons bad.

My seven-mile run this evening under a blue moon brought me to a grand total of 1,108.65 miles of running during 2009. That's roughly the distance between Boston and Atlanta.

I'll probably note my mileage during 2010 as well. I know I looked at the calendar a number of times this past year to find stretches of two, three, or four days where I hadn't run. It was easy to lose track because the year was so hectic, especially the summer. So, this exercise definitely kept me on my toes.

I don't think I have a target mileage figure for the coming year. My lone goal is to run 13.1 miles in an hour and a half.

Free at last

Today was my breaking point. Spending the better part of three days indoors is my limit, evidently. I'd been cooped up since Christmas Eve, which was, not coincidentally, also the last time I'd showered. You know things are bad when you smell yourself approaching from a mile away. But I'd been keeping up with my teeth-brushing. Ten years spanning the broad spectrum of orthodontia prevents one from becoming lax with oral hygiene.

But I digress. My point is, I needed to get out.

Freshly bathed (with clean clothes on too, no less), I squeezed myself past a drift and out the door. The hard part was still to come, as I had to circumnavigate several drifts in the road:

None were as large as the one in the yard. In the above photo, note the behemoth looming in the background. Also, the roof of my car is just barely visible above the smaller, middle drift.

Farther down the road, there was no getting around the smaller, yet still knee-dip, drifts. But, as Meriwether Lewis was apt to say, we proceeded on.

Since the roads in town had been plowed to allow at least one car to pass, the hard part was behind me. Of course, I still had to trudge through the snow again to get back; however, that was in the far, far future. I had made contact with the outside world, which was worth the frozen, stiff pant legs upon my return home.

And the best news of all is a front-end loader rolled through around 6:00 p.m., the skies have cleared, and the wind has died down. Guess who's going running in the morning.

***

The Mission Post Office:

Looking north up Mission's Main Street:

Christmas blizzard

We knew it was coming. Meteorologists in Sioux Falls said this could be the worst blizzard to hit South Dakota in 40 years, which is saying something. Local churches canceled holiday services. The folks at KINI told listeners Christmas Eve to make one last trip to the grocery store and stockpile wood to prepare for the approaching storm.

My main concern was losing power. We had freezing fog for three days earlier in the week. The heavy frost was beautiful, but it caused outages Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. In fact, some of the outlying communities were still without electricity and water on Thursday.

When the power goes out, so does my heat. Most of the winter storms are accompanied by northwest winds. Well, guess whose bedroom is in the northwest corner of the building. And it's not like this old place is well-insulated either.

My other concern was the pipes. We had frozen pipes a number of times last winter. Some even ruptured last December when the wind chill dipped to 45 below. Not fun.

The storm must have rolled in fast. When I went to bed Christmas Eve, the skies were clear and the moon was visible outside my west-facing window. Christmas morning, the wind was howling and the snow was blowing horizontally. And it didn't let up all day.

It's hard to say how much snow we received because of the wind. My front door is in the lee of the building. Portions of the sidewalk and my car are clear of snow. But the snow had an unobstructed path between the building and the church. A gigantic drift has formed in a northwest/southeast line:

A tree and a picnic table caused a slight saddle in the drift. The hump to the left is about eight feet tall; the one to the right is slightly smaller.

The road to town looks passable, but my car is surrounded by drifts. Good thing I don't have anywhere urgent to go. As I write this, watch my appendix burst or some other emergency befall. In fact, I feel some pain in the lower-right portion of my abdomen...

I think the snow has stopped falling, but the wind makes it hard to tell. It's still gusting to 40 miles per hour out there, blowing the snow all around. It should calm down by Monday, which is also when the sun is supposed to reappear. I'm anxious to see what the rest of town looks like.

Until then, the building is holding up well; I haven't lost power or water. And I have enough food to last me until early next week. I do get a bit stir crazy, though, if I'm cooped up indoors for long. So, I may chance a run once the wind dies down.

Winter in South Dakota!

The bird's nest

No, not the one in Beijing, but this one:

The curlicues aren't visible from this angle. Actually, my hair is behaving today. It's still early though...

Where's my curling iron?

When I was living in Delaware, Denise cut my hair. I'm not sure when my parents started taking me to her, but it couldn't have been long after we moved from below the Canal to Hockessin when I was five and a half. The place where she worked was literally just a few steps across the state line in Pennsylvania. When she left there to work at a salon in Trolley Square, we (the males in the family) followed her. When I go for visits back east, I always make a stop to see Denise. She's still one of my all-time favorite people.

When I left Delaware for Texas, I became more faithful to the clippers than to a specific hairdresser. I did later find Rhonda in Juneau, however. Like Denise, I followed Rhonda to her new shop. My "3 and 2" haircut isn't difficult. But Rhonda managed to clip my hair without leaving strays. One would think it wouldn't be so hard to spot those missed hairs considering how short I usually keep my hair. But when Rhonda wasn't available, I often found myself pulling the scissors out upon returning home. That's only worsened here in South Dakota, and I've tried hairdressers from Rapid to Sioux Falls.

But I kept my hair longer in my youth. I even had a part. When I was a kid, I would be ready for a haircut before Mom was willing to schedule the appointment with Denise. And since I obviously couldn't drive myself and she controlled the purse strings, I was stuck. My hair is wavy when it grows out. And it flares out in the back à la Carol Brady, just not as severe.

So, to buy a couple more weeks between visits to Denise, Mom would pull out her curling iron and curl the ends under. I'm not sure how this started, whether it was due to my bitching or my parents wanting to save the expense of a haircut for a few more weeks. (Or maybe it was Mom who didn't want me out in public looking like that. Hmmm...) But before school, she'd come down to the basement (where my bedroom was located) armed with the curling iron.

I share this memory because it's now been 15 weeks since my last haircut. Yes, I'm counting, and it's three times longer than my haircut frequency in Juneau. I think it looks... okay. But that depends on how it lays after coming out of the shower, whether I've worn a hat, and my mood. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and think, "Hey, not bad, Bri!" And other times I just look and shake my head at the bird's nest on top of my head, which is an appropriate description considering how dry my hair is, short or long.

There are no hairdressers in Mission, so that's one reason why my hair hasn't been cut lately. But I have to admit my hair's entertainment value has increased exponentially as the weeks have passed. I often find myself running my fingers through it pulling out the knots, just like when I was a kid. And before bed some nights, I head to the bathroom mirror to shape and contort my hair into designs once left only to my imagination. A few more weeks and I'll be ready to join A Flock of Seagulls.

After a cold run

The sun was down, pitch black except out to the far western horizon. It was cold (2 below), but the wind had died down (wind chill of 17 below). I needed to get out for a run.

The roads, both in town and to the north, were snow-packed, perfect conditions for YakTrax use. Because of the recent snow, passing vehicles didn't kick-up dust as the drove by. Not that there was much traffic out anyway.

Most of the dogs were evidently trying to keep warm somewhere instead of "greeting" me as I ran past the usual trouble spots. With just the light breeze and my headlamp visible from some distance, they would have heard or seen me coming. But, no. Just me running up the dark Dump Road and the crunch, crunch, crunch of my YakTrax on the snow.

The best part of my night runs is when I turn around at the top of the ridge to head for home, the lights of Mission and the Antelope Community down below. Prior to heading back, I can definitely see White River in the distance. I'm still trying to figure out if that's Murdo even further to the north. That's quite a ways.

It has been a frustrating couple of weeks. Nothing too bad, but there's plenty going on here. I'm still amazed, however, how quickly it all disappears when I'm at the top of that ridge in the dark. Yeah, my face and the Gatorade in my water bottle were half-frozen, but there was nowhere in the world I'd rather have been. And it's a moment that served more as a reinforcement than a reminder of the great life I have here.

It's now 8:00 p.m. The temperature is down to 10 below, 25 below with the slight breeze. I'm stuffed to the gills with spaghetti after a hot shower. I'm thawed, and I'd like the pipes to remain that way. Here's hoping for a night of functioning heat.

Guess who's coming to dinner?

I went to City Council tonight. For this faithful attendee, it had been a little while since my last meeting. The first November meeting was canceled, while I had to work during the second one.

I always learn something new at these meetings. Tonight, it was the complicated topic of governmental jurisdiction, notably state versus tribal. I came home with a worksheet which clears up some of my confusion. And electric rates are going up - again.

After the Council discussed holiday bonuses for City employees ($300, unanimously approved), the City's holiday party was next on the agenda. After setting the date and time, one of the Council members said, "I don't know if this needs a motion, but I think our concerned citizen should be invited." (He's always referred to me as "the concerned citizen." In a good way, of course.) That sentiment was quickly echoed by another member, which surprised me only because of his cool demeanor around me, both during Council meetings and in other settings.

So, I'm going to the City of Mission's holiday dinner at the end of the month. Obviously, it's not that big of a deal; however, I'm thankful for the offer, even if it's just recognition of my biweekly presence. "Thanks for attending our meetings. Here's your pork chop."

And they take note when I'm not present. Tonight, I was asked why I wasn't there two weeks ago. My long hair was also commented upon.

It's this small stuff that makes looking ahead to my departure from Mission very sad. And it doesn't help when I walk into the bank, as I did this afternoon, and all of the tellers greet me. Life on the rez is going to continue without me, for sure. But this is home and, unlike toward the end of my time in Juneau, I'm not in the mindset just yet of looking forward to the next adventure. It'll come, I think, when my grad school plans solidify.

But now? Well, I had better make the next six months as memorable as the last 12.

Analyzing Brian's driving habits

I've had four pretty distinct periods in my life, all based upon where I was living at the time: the Delaware years, the Texas years, the Juneau years, and, now, the Rez year. Each of these four places contributed in its own way to who I am today. I'll spare you the self-psychoanalysis; however, I am able to graphically present the last nine and a half years of my life as a function of my driving habits:

Delaware and Texas meld together in the graph (I moved in May 2001), but I was in the car for different reasons. My first job out of college had me driving to Jersey 53 miles each way, everyday, for close to a year. It wasn't so bad at the time. Howard Stern accompanied me northbound on 295 every morning. When I go back east to see family and subsequently visit friends across the river, I'm amazed I commuted that distance as long as I did. It's really far.

The next two years saw me living in the Metroplex. My intracity commute was a mere three miles one way, but my road trips took me... well... all over the Lower 48: California to Florida, Texas to North Dakota.

And then I moved to Juneau. Outside of one drive from Haines to Fairbanks, Anchorage, and Seward (2,168 miles, five days), my car was confined to the state capital's limited road system. I did rent a car during trips to southern California, Sacramento, and New Orleans; those trips would have barely registered on the graph though. Overall, I put about the same number of miles on my car in less than a year commuting to and from Jersey as I did in five and a half years in Juneau combined.

And now I live in South Dakota. I still like my road trips, but my tolerance for the all-day drive has dropped dramatically. My only long drives thus far have taken me to relatively nearby Denver, Lincoln, and Sioux City. But it was those now-familiar trips to Rapid and Sioux Falls (and Valentine!) that bumped my mileage up to around 20,000 in my first year back in the Lower 48.

A couple quick notes about the data... I didn't exactly re-create almost a decade's worth of driving just for a simple blog post (although I would have). Just for kicks, I started a spreadsheet toward the end of my time in Juneau using the mileage noted each time I had the oil changed or had some other service performed on my car.

The miles driven during specific trips, on the other hand, are kept in a notebook I update each time I return home from an extended drive. My around-the-country jaunt during Spring Break 2000 isn't reflected in the graph since my records only go back to the following 2000 (damn it!). But I can tell you I drove 6,721 miles in 10 days.

Just under the wire

Before midnight strikes, I wanted to note today is my one-year anniversary as a Mission resident. It was this day last year I arrived back in town after PSO, and then promptly headed to Winner to obtain my new driver's license and plates for the car.

It's been a good day of reflection. I'll have more to say later; however, I need to try to get some sleep after watching "Paranormal Activity" down in Valentine this evening.

moccasin telegraph

definition: the swift transmittal of vital information over vast distances via word of mouth in Indian Country, in particular the Rosebud Reservation

usage:

"Did you see all those cop cars headed east on 18 last night? I wonder what happened..."

"Patience, kola. The moccasin telegraph will bring us word before the lunch hour."

Uncle Ben is past his prime

I've eaten more expired food here in Mission over the past year than in my 30 years of living elsewhere combined. And that's okay. It hasn't killed me. But I just returned from the grocery store. I strolled down the rice aisle, looking to diversify my dinners, only to find every package of the brand I wanted had expired in 2008. I guess it will be spaghetti again tonight after all.

This isn't the first time I've encountered this issue at this particular grocery store. This summer, I thought it was odd the Halloween M&Ms were already out. That didn't seem so strange though when I saw the Christmas M&Ms a bit further down the shelf.

The one thing I most definitely won't touch is expired milk, but I've already mentioned that.

Running with a Kenyan

This morning's New York Marathon got me to thinking about one of my favorite running memories.

Two Aprils ago, I spent a couple weeks in Biloxi and New Orleans volunteering for Habitat for Humanity to celebrate my 30th birthday. Besides the good times I had on that trip - the Habitat work, meeting a lot of cool people, flying down to Florida to see my sister, meeting up with friends from Texas in Shreveport - it's what initially got my mind thinking about applying for a VISTA assignment. And now, long story short, I'm on the Rosebud.

Like many trips I took while living in Juneau, I searched for races in the area while down in the Lower 48. For me, running, whether in a race or just for the sake of running itself, is a good way to explore new territory. I found the Gulf Coast Classic, a 10K at the Naval Construction Battalion Center in Gulfport.

The race was supposed to start at 8:00 a.m.; however, it was delayed because the elite runners had yet to arrive. At the time, I didn't know what "elite" meant exactly. After about 10 minutes, the director decided not to wait any longer, and the race began.

A slew of runners started really fast, but since I usually take awhile to get into my rhythm, I just let them go. Gradually though, I picked off runners one by one, which is always a good feeling.

Even with the humidity, I felt great throughout the race, although I was sweating like a pig. If you've ever seen me after a race, you know I'm quite the sweater as it is. It's not uncommon to find salty, dried sweat from above my eyebrows down to my temples. Throw in my god-awful stench, and I'm a hot mess. Add some humidity, and my ripeness increases exponentially.

About halfway through, two of the elite runners passed me - Kenyans! Evidently, they train in Mobile and decided to stop over for the race. They had issues getting to the starting line because they weren't allowed past security at the base's front gate.

I always keep a little extra energy in reserve for the final push to the finish line. As I was about to kick my pace up a notch over the last quarter mile, the third Kenyan passed me. He had a similar plan and was flying. Well, I decided to try to keep up with him. And although I wasn't able to get back in front of him, I did my best to keep up. The fact that his time was already far superior to mine because he started about nine minutes late didn't matter one bit.

Even though the sprint lasted no more than a minute, it turned out to be one of my greatest running highlights. How often can one say they sprinted with a Kenyan?

After crossing the finish line just behind Kenyan #3, I headed over to the board with the finishers' times. I ended up with a time of 45:16 - not my best, for sure. But I blame the soupy air. I looked for runners in my age group to see if I had placed. I saw at least three folks with better times, which meant no trophy for me. I stuck around for the award ceremony anyway.

Not surprisingly, the three Kenyans picked up the top three spots, and then the age group winners were announced. When it came time for the third place male in the 30-34 category (my new age group as of a week and a half prior), the director announced, "Brian Largent from Alabama." I thought to myself, "Hmmm... I think that might be me." I headed over to check out the name on his piece of paper and it was indeed me. Don't ask me how he got Alabama from Alaska. But I got a trophy after all. And a pretty good story.

The Indian taco

When out-of-towners visit the rez, they often seek out an “authentic” Native meal to compliment their cultural experience. We often have one of our partner families cook for our visiting volunteers once during their weeklong stay. Not only does this accommodate the volunteers, but it also earns sweat equity hours for the family. The meal most requested? Indian tacos.

For those not in the know, an Indian taco is just like a regular taco, only with fry bread as the base instead of a hard- or soft-shell tortilla.

Speaking of fry bread, did you know it was designated as South Dakota’s state bread in 2005? What’s next, naming diabetes as the state’s official disease?

They are indeed delicious; you just never want to be present in the kitchen while they are made. I’ve never seen so much Crisco go into such a relatively small meal. It takes 24 hours for blood circulation in my left arm to return to normal after consuming just one Indian taco.

During the summer, it’s seems as though KINI, the local radio station, announces at least one Indian taco sale somewhere on the rez daily. Once, the DJ, while running through his announcements, said, “Listeners, I have some bad news for you.” He paused long enough for me to think about what tragedy had struck the reservation. My guess was the passing of an elder.

“The Indian taco sale in St. Francis is all sold out.”

Summertime has passed and with it the Indian taco sales. A group of college students has been here at Habitat since Saturday working on a construction site south of town. I was asked earlier today if it would be possible to get a hold of some Indian tacos for lunch. On such short notice, I couldn’t roundup one of our partner families to cook for them. (Fry bread takes some time to make.) So, I made a few phone calls around town to see who sold them.

First, Buche’s: “We sell them on Thursdays.”

Then, Turtle Creek Crossing: “Only on Wednesdays.”

And, finally, the Antelope: “Just Fridays.”

Indian tacos are a treasured treat here on the Rosebud; you just need to time it right though. And don’t forget to take your blood pressure medication beforehand.

Laramie out, Sioux City in

So, I skipped the race in Wyoming last weekend. The forecast began to look grim toward the beginning of last week, and the projected cold and snow was deemed a certainty as Thursday rolled around. The idea of running in the elements wasn't what kept me home; the idea of traveling all that way to drive in a blizzard was.

The good news: WYDOT closed I-80 and the race was canceled! And I was able to smile while periodically checking-in on the blizzard in the somewhat-climate-controlled comfort of home thanks to the miracle of DOT web cams.

The even better news: There's a half marathon in Sioux City this Saturday. A hilly trail run in the mountains, it is not. But 'tis a bonus opportunity at a sub-1:30 relatively close to home.

I had another awesome run on Saturday and (gasp!) the weather actually looks halfway decent in Sioux City Saturday morning, albeit a tad nippy. And I'm feeling 100 percent healthwise, which wasn't the case last month in Sioux Falls. I probably shouldn't put pressure on myself to run under an hour and a half, but it's a goal.

Racing post mortem

As an extension of yesterday’s post, I thought I’d recap my 2009 racing year. It was difficult to put together a challenging, diverse group of races, mostly due to my isolated location. (Ah, the downside to living in the middle of nowhere.) In chronological order, my thoughts on a year of racing:

March 14, Shamrock Shuffle, Presho
I participated in this three-miler because it was relatively close to Mission (~70 miles) and I was itching to race after a winter of outrunning rez dogs. Otherwise, why torture myself with such a short distance? The course was a square around town. I finished in 20:06, good enough for 8th out of 135. And it was a beautiful afternoon for a run.

April 4, Spring Thaw, Sioux City
I pre-registered for this 10-mile race; however, I skipped the trip due to an approaching blizzard. I would have made it to Sioux City and run the race without a problem; getting home would have been another story. When there’s bad weather, I’d rather hunker down at home than be stuck someplace. I may try to make it to next year’s race.

May 16, Brookings Half Marathon
This was the highlight of the year. It was a chilly start (35 degrees with a light breeze). The course was a good one, winding through the streets of Brookings, home to South Dakota State University. My time was a personal-best 1:32:14. I placed 9th out of 233. And I wear the tech shirt I received all the time. I definitely want to run this one again next year.

June 7, Mickelson Trail Marathon, Deadwood
After three years, I was finally mentally ready for another marathon. Although I was in much better shape than when I ran my first marathon in 2006, I could have used one more long run. The first half of the race was uphill; the second half was downhill. The weather was gray and damp, misty conditions prevailing during the middle portion of the race. With about three miles to go, I knew I had a chance to finish in less than four hours. And I did it! I somehow managed to place reasonably well: 97th overall out of 409, and 10th out of 35 in my age group. I’m still no marathon runner though.

June 20, Oahe Days 10K, Pierre
I hated this race. The course was two loops on LaFramboise Island, located in the Missouri River. It was more of a cross country course, with about half of the running surface being grass (not my fave). And the bugs were terrible thanks to the close proximity to the water. But the tech shirt was nice. The results were not posted online, but I think I finished around the 45-minute mark. Who knows where I placed. I won’t be returning.

June 27, Inaugural Racin’ on the Rosebud 5K, Mission
This was my fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity. I had to put out some fires, but everything came together nicely. We had a total of 45 runners and walkers – not bad for a first-time event. I wanted to make sure the morning went smoothly, so I didn’t run. I kind of wish I had though. I picked a tough course. An ultra-marathoner from Ashland, Nebraska, took home the first-place trophy.

July 4, Scar Top Mountain Top 12K, Coal Creek Canyon
Fun and difficult! The elevation wasn’t an issue; the big-ass hill was, however. I finished in 1:02:44. The race was part of an awesome holiday weekend in Colorado, visiting fellow ex-Juneauites in Fort Collins and Denver.

July 25, Spearfish Canyon Half Marathon, Spearfish
Here’s another one I never want to run again. One would think an all-downhill race on a beautiful morning along a scenic canyon road would be a treat. Well, I got a reality check about five miles in. The course was brutal for a guy who runs on his toes. My time of 1:35:20 was decent, but having folks pass me at the end was not a good feeling. And my quads felt like lead afterward.

August 8, Todd County Fair 5K, Mission
Yeah, it was a 5K, but I wanted to support the 4-H community. And it was free! Down and back along Highway 83, this was a low-key race, so I have no idea what my time was. I finished just ahead of the 2008 South Dakota girls cross country champion. I netted a nice t-shirt and a gift certificate to Stadium Sports.

September 13, Sioux Falls Half Marathon
Whereas I was pissed off after Spearfish Canyon, I was disappointed with my performance in Sioux Falls. My time was fine and I placed well, but I thought I had a chance at 1:30. Yes, I wasn’t feeling well and I lost an entire minute in the first mile alone trying to separate from the pack at Howard Wood Field. But those are just lame excuses. The course was decent and the fan support was the best I’ve ever witnessed.

October 10, Silent Trails Run, Laramie
???

In retrospect, I did fairly well with my race selections. Looking ahead to the first half of 2010, I have my eye on a couple races already. There may be trips to Minnesota and North Dakota. I’d love a mid-winter race in a warm, sunny location too. We’ll see how far I can stretch my VISTA stipend.

Sprint to the finish

I'll run in what will probably be my last race of 2009 on Saturday, the Silent Trails Run between Laramie and Cheyenne, Wyoming. It's a 10-mile race in the Medicine Bow National Forest. The course takes place between 8,000 and 9,000 feet above sea level, a nice challenge for this flatlander. But I think the excitement of my first trail race since leaving Juneau will more than compensate for any adverse effects caused by the altitude.

There's a sizable hill nicknamed "Death Crotch" between miles 4 and 6. Looking at the elevation map, I'll climb 600 feet in elevation over a distance of about 1.25 miles. If I remember correctly, Juneau's Mount Roberts run gained 1,800 feet in three miles, so I have an idea of what to expect.

I think I'd like to run this in about 1:30, which would be around my pace during the Coal Creek Canyon 12K back on July 4th. That was another race with a gigantic hill at high elevation.

I'm expecting the competition to be pretty fierce. I finished 30th out of 105 runners in Colorado, which I was thrilled about. I'm hoping for the same placement on Saturday. I typically care more about my time than where I place; however, this isn't your typical 10-miler. Taking a peak at previous years' results, many of the Silent Trails racers, not surprisingly, live in southeast Wyoming. Cheyenne is at 6,000 feet in elevation and Laramie is at 7,100. Mission, on the other hand, is at roughly 2,600. That's by far the highest elevation I've ever resided at, but I'm no mountain man, for sure.

I may be able to find a local race (as in, somewhere in South Dakota) for sometime in November, but I'm treating Saturday's run as my last gasp for 2009. I haven't had a bad racing year; however, I haven't finished all of my races with a warm, fuzzy feeling either. (I'm talking to you, Spearfish Canyon.) If today's kick-ass 10-miler is any indication though, I should be able to tackle the Death Crotch with ease next weekend.

Grocery shopping in the land of the Lakota

Dual signage at Turtle Creek Crossing, the Rosebud Sioux Tribe's new grocery store:

Speech! Speech!

This summer, our Habitat affiliate was awarded a $7,000 service-learning grant from State Farm. During the 2009-2010 school year, high school carpentry class students will construct sheds for our partner families, while elementary students will build dog houses, birdhouses, and key holders.

We received the money this summer; however, the formal check presentation occurred at the Indian Education and Dropout Prevention Summit in Rapid on Monday. Many of the folks involved in this project aren't comfortable speaking in front of large crowds. So, guess who made the speech?

The lunchtime speakers prior to our presentation went a bit long. And then we were almost forgotten after a moving star-quilt presentation. After the emcee was reminded of our presence, three Black Hills-area State Farm agents spoke, the "check" was handed over, and I stepped behind the podium.

I really don't mind public speaking. And I can go on ad nauseam about Habitat and the Reservation. Still, I admit I practiced my 400-word speech a couple dozen times. I didn't need to look like an idiot in front of 300 folks, including a sizable Todd County contingent.

The speech went really well!

Afterward, an Honoring Song was sung for the outgoing Director of Indian Education, and those of us involved in the check presentation were invited to join in his receiving line. As the Summit participants left the ballroom for their afternoon sessions, they went down the line, shaking all of our hands.

Talk about unexpected. I never thought I'd be on the receiving end of this traditional Lakota ceremony. I received many compliments on my speech, best wishes on our project, and even a hug and kind words from the Todd County superintendent.

Boots with the fur

Flo Rida will perform in Rapid on November 1st. I may just have to put on my baggy sweat pants and Reeboks with the straps and check it out.

Foggy sunrise

Some of the trees have started to change color and the mornings have been cool. The afternoons are still warm, but fall is definitely on its way. Yesterday, I caught this sunrise through the lingering fog:

Member of the team

Cross country season is now in full swing. Like track this past spring, I'm a volunteer coach twice a week. Track was a blast even though I hadn't ever worked with youngsters prior. The distance kids got used to seeing me around by the end of the season. And I connected with a couple of the throwers.

As much fun as I had with track, cross country has been an awesome experience. The team is a lot smaller and I coached most of the kids earlier this year. But the absolute best part is the fact the elementary and middle school runners practice with the older kids. I've spent most of my practice time running with kids who weren't born until after I graduated from high school.

Our boys and girls high school teams are actually quite good. One senior boy should challenge for the Class A state title, while a freshman on the girls' side won the state title as an eighth grader last year.

The younger kids, on the other hand, are just learning how to run and to have fun while doing it. I guess I shouldn't be so amazed the younger kids actually listen to and value the pointers I have to offer. About halfway into running a mile-long loop with three boys who recently joined the team, I heard a lot of feet shuffling along the pavement. I stopped them for a moment to demonstrate the difference in sound when I lifted my own feet off the street compared to when I didn't. Not only did they get it, but immediately made their adjustments. There wasn't a shuffle the rest of the way.

Back at the track, Coach Tonya talked about setting goals. The kids and coaches took turns announcing their short- and long-term goals. One of the boys from the earlier run said, while pointing at me, "I want to be like him!"

But the most fulfilling moments of today's practice came from one of the girls. She's awfully shy, but I've tried to make conversation with her (and the other kids, for that matter). Today, she asked me for a hug. And then, right after we concluded our goal-setting conversation, she asked if I could quit my job so I could come to practice more often.

My primary intent with coaching track (and now cross country) was to help out in the community outside of my VISTA work with Habitat. Plus, I love to run, and figured I'd be of some general assistance to the teams. But now it's so much more than that.

The one thing kids around here need, however, is consistency. I not only worry about practicing with them only twice a week, but me eventually leaving Mission. I know it's going to happen and it's something I've thought a lot about. It's hard.

For now though, I'm a member of the team. Today was photo day. The kids were all told yesterday to come to practice today wearing their uniforms. I didn't think anything of it. That is, until Tonya gave me a Todd County sweatshirt to wear in the photo.

Hi, it's me

Everything I've wanted to share as of late is not really fit for publication - yet.

Work has been something else. I didn't know exactly what was in store for me by joining VISTA and moving to Mission. I did learn at PSO, though, that my year of service would look drastically different than other VISTAs' primarily because of where I'd be serving. And I'm thankful for that, because it was something I purposely sought out. I figured if I was going to move away from Alaska for a new challenge, I should go all-out and put myself into a situation I wouldn't have otherwise been able experience.

I found it. And then some. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to elaborate much until I leave next year. In the interim, I'll say the two adjectives that come to mind most often when I think about my job are fulfilling and frustrating.

Coinciding with my work drama is the pleasant surprise of finding the guy I want to be with. Well, being found is probably more accurate. Love really can show up at your doorstep. It just takes some folks (i.e. me) longer to figure shit out.

Sorry for the aloofness. I do have some stories to share; I just need to make time to get them on here. Lord knows I'm a deliberate writer. But, all things considered, life is really, really good.

Our busy summer hosting out-of-town volunteers ended a couple weeks ago. Outside of a church group visiting from Iowa next week, another quiet winter is approaching. I'm helping coach middle and high school cross country, which has been an absolute blast. The Sioux Falls Half Marathon is Sunday morning. I feel my 1:30 goal is attainable even with a cold lurking in the shadows. I have another trail race scheduled near Laramie in October. And I scored tickets to a Nebraska football game.

Yup, it's all good.

A love/hate relationship

Oh, Juneau. It was a good five-and-a-half year run. I didn't think we'd last in the beginning. My car catching on fire could have easily been construed as an omen. But we stuck it out and for the most part, you fit me like a glove. Will I ever take you back? I don't see you changing those negative characteristics you cling so strongly to, but stranger things have happened.

What worked:

1. I'll list my job first because I truly lucked out working in Research and Analysis. It's the perfect environment for a data junkie like me. The stories and experiences of my co-workers were priceless. Getting that job offer was what ultimately led me to settle down in Juneau. And I'll be eternally grateful for the ease with which I was able to return after a short stint elsewhere in state government. Is it time for 10:00 break yet?
2. Trails, trails, trails. I miss running Perseverance.
3. Like many aspects of the state, the issues and accompanying politics are unique in Alaska.
4. Knowing Alma would know my exact order at the Valley Restaurant every Saturday morning before I even had a chance to sit down. (Hamburger steak, hash browns, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, hot tea)
5. The Hangar, except when the grasshopper pie wasn't "in season." The mysterious "freezer issue" excuse got really old, really fast.
6. The ferries
7. With most of Alaska four hours behind the east coast, Saturday college football games started at 8:00 a.m.
8. My friends (and for those Juneau folks reading, take no offense that this one comes in at #8)
9. The PFD
10. Seward's Day and Alaska Day
11. Southeast Road Runners puts on an extensive schedule of races throughout the spring and summer. I miss the Mud Run and the East Glacier and Perseverance races the most.
12. Sitting in my usual spot against the wall at the Nickelodeon
13. Costco

And what didn't:

1. Winter sucks. Period. I don't mind the short days. I don't mind the endless, gray dreariness. But walking to and from work in the slushy slop got old quick. Hell, walking anywhere was a pain in the ass once the snow turned into a cold rain. The record snowfall of 2006-2007 forced me onto the treadmill at the JRC, which was as exciting as watching clothes tumble in the dryer. And I don't ski. Yeah, that about sums it up.
2. The downtown parking situation. Of course, I don't mind walking. So, if I ended up far from the Mendenhall (like over by the Governor's House), it wasn't a huge deal. But when it snowed, I'd have to worry about digging out my car and finding a new parking spot if I had to go out to the Valley.
3. Sarah Palin. This one is actually more of a post-Juneau thing. Living in Alaska during her vice presidential run was fascinating. However, I'm still getting the "What do you think of Sarah Palin?" question nine months after leaving Juneau. Enough! Go away!
4. The housing market is ridiculous. Rents are outrageous. Can you say, "$800 for a 300-square-foot apartment"? This isn't New York. And let's not talk about what it costs to buy a home.
5. The idea that some folks think their opinion is paramount in the community because they've lived in Juneau a long time. "Hi, I'm so-and-so. I've lived here 25 years and I'm better than you are." Wanna know what I think? If you were born in Juneau, that's not something you could have helped. If you moved there before graduating high school, that was your parents choice. And what if you moved there in early adulthood? Well, I moved there when I was 25 and, more than likely, you relocated when you were my age. Know what that means? You're bragging that you're older than I am. Okay, you win there! Go get your CBJ senior property tax exemption and leave me alone.
6. Getting caught in a sudden rain storm halfway through a run when I could have sworn I had an hour-long window of dry weather
7. Alaska Airlines' monopoly at the airport
8. JDHS sports events were always fun; however, being so far from professional and (especially) college sports events was hard.
9. The smoke from my across-the-hall neighbor seeping underneath the door to my apartment. I used an old shirt to plug the gap; but that only worked when I was home.
10. I'm ambivalent toward the cruise ship tourists. I mean, it's cool I was able to live someplace on many folks' vacation wish list. (When I tell people here I lived in Alaska, I'm either told how they have always wanted to visit or I hear all about their trip in the mid-80s.) But CBJ definitely caters more toward the cruise ship industry instead of focusing on the people who actually live there.

Wow, I'm all riled up now! I'm thinking it's because I truly do love the place. I did learn a lot about what will be important characteristics to consider when choosing a new home a few years down the road. After VISTA and grad school, all options are on the table. But after that, I'm done with moving. No really, I swear.

Halftime report

Nine months into and most likely the midpoint of my time here in Mission, I think it's a good point to ponder the pros and cons of life on the rez. I have a wonderful life here; so, I thought it'd be fun to list those characteristics I find most endearing. I'd be remiss, however, if I left out those items that drive me bat-shit crazy. No place is perfect.

What I love:

1. My job is at the top of the list, for sure. It has been frustrating at times, especially as of late. But I'm doing some good, meaningful work here. And seeing the housing situations in which our partner families currently reside is more than enough to keep me motivated.
2. I can throw out every statistic imaginable to describe the economic and social ills of the Rosebud Indian Reservation, yet still realize this is one special place.
3. The sunsets
4. There are four real seasons here - and fall is yet to come!
5. The drivers who wave while I'm out running; I now even have folks driving by in the same direction as I'm running waving as they pass
6. Tuesday night volleyball at Lakeview
7. I've been able to run year-round. Turning around at the top of the ridge along the Dump Road before dawn on a cold, winter morning is just awesome.
8. My farmer's tan
9. I'm not a proponent of a road out of Juneau; but regaining the spontaneity of hitting the road is refreshing.
10. Coaching track and cross country
11. City Council meetings
12. Watching storm clouds build in an otherwise cloudless sky
13. KINI

And the things that don't give me a warm, fuzzy feeling:

1. Civic apathy
2. I live outside Mission city limits.
3. Most of the rez dogs are harmless; but there's one in serious need of behavior modification.
4. Winner, South Dakota, must have the most hairdressers per capita in the United States. But do you think any of them would be open on Saturday?
5. The Black Hills are three hours away.
6. My bed
7. The mice who get into my food
8. There are few media outlets here. The state's major papers only report bad news from the Rosebud. Locally, news travels primarily by word of mouth, meaning it's not always accurate and often coated in bias. It's hard to keep abreast of what's happening. (Maybe that's the cause of the apathy?)
9. Practically every time I stop in at the grocery store in town to pick up milk, there are only two gallons of skim from which to choose. And more times than not, they're both expired.

So, much more good than bad. I really can't complain, which is why I haven't.

Coming tomorrow, things I miss about Juneau contrasted with those I really don't.

My disease has a name

Courtesy of a random comment on a random blog, I learned I suffer from vasovagal episodes. I told you about my birthday HIV test where I passed out soon after having blood drawn. Well, it turns out that is one of the triggers for these episodes, which lead to lightheadedness, ringing in the ears, and tunnel vision, among other symptoms. And when the episode leads to fainting, it's called a vasovagal syncope.

I'm somewhat relieved to read that both dental and eye examinations are common triggers for these episodes. I've come ever so close to passing out at both the orthodontist and optometrist over the years.

During my orthodontic consultation back in junior high, I felt dizzy at the sight of my mouth molds. The orthodontist had them in his hands, using them as props as he described how my bucked teeth would magically turn into a movie-star smile - in just 10 years! I couldn't handle it, placing my head on my arms on his desk. My mom didn't know what was going on, but nudged me to sit up straight. We laugh at this story now, as this was when my parents and I knew I wouldn't be attending medical school.

I visited the eye doctor for the first time in 2001 while living in Texas. I was a squinter, for sure; I had known since at least high school I'd probably benefit from glasses. Well, I was fine for the "Which one is clearer, 1 or 2?" portion of the exam. It all went downhill, however, when the woman conducting the exam pulled out that neon blue light, moving it up to my eye ball. I'm pretty sure she thought I was a problem patient when I told her I needed to take a short break.

After the drops were applied to dilate my eyes, I stood up to walk back to the waiting area. That's when the room became fuzzy. The feeling was familiar from episodes involving blood over the years. I leaned down to put my hands on my knees to calm down. Only, I missed my knees, almost rolling forward onto the floor. I never lost consciousness, but it was close. I was given a cup of water and a washcloth as I waited for my eyes to dilate.

This incident had long-lasting effects. It took me seven and a half years to return to an eye doctor. And I only went then (last summer) because my glasses broke.

And I now I find that my affliction has a name! What's better is I could evidently have it even worse. Much worse. Looking at the list of triggers, I see both urination and defecation cause episodes for some folks. Jesus. I mean, passing out while giving blood is inconvenient for me, to say the least. But at least I managed to get a good story out of the ordeal. I couldn't imagine passing out while on the toilet. I'm not so sure I'd publish that on this blog. (I'd probably share that information with a few select people, however.) And I don't know about you, but I have blood taken much less frequently than I use the bathroom facilities.

If you're a sufferer of defecation syncopes, I feel for ya. If there was ever a need for Vasovagals Anonymous, that'd be more than reason enough.

Leave the new millionaire alone

It has been just over two months since local rancher Neal Wanless won the $232.1 million Powerball jackpot. Multiple sources around town reported his family carrying away caseloads of mail soon after. I wonder what all of those kind folks are after? His cattle?

In fact, there has been some discussion on our Board about hitting up Mr. Wanless for a donation. You know, since he promised he'd repay the community that had been so generous to his family over the years and we're just poor poor poor. Luckily, my input counts for something around here. The organization has decided to hold off on sending the letter until Neal's life has settled down some. (Who gets to decide this on his behalf is beyond me.) I'm going to do my best to ensure the letter is never sent.

There was talk at the last Chamber of Commerce meeting about writing a similar letter. Then, I came across this Time article about private citizens raising money to save teachers' jobs. About halfway through was this gem:

Suny Bruun, a mother of two in Winner, S.D., this summer bypassed the PTA and formed an independent parent fundraising group, Keeping Intelligent Determined Students (KIDS). ... Bruun has even made overtures to a local man who in May became the winner of the ninth-largest Powerball jackpot ever: $232 million. "I sent him a letter," says Bruun. "It has gone unanswered."

Well, no shit! I know I wouldn't have responded either in his situation. If I won the lottery, I already know which people and organizations would share in my winnings. And believe me, I've thought about it. A certain friend of mine in Texas and I would fantasy about such a scenario on our Powerball/casino runs to Shreveport. If you're not on the list (a rather extensive one, actually), don't even bother asking.

Geez, you would think a check was already in my bank account! But my point is:

It's tacky to solicit money from any lottery winner. But to go after the local man from a family that's had some hard times over the years, declaring, "Hey, you promised!" is just disgusting. Sure, Habitat could sure put a couple hundred grand to very good use. But how classy is it to send him a letter that is sure to get mixed in with the umpteen other requests for money, the marriage proposals, and the notes from long-lost family members?

I think you call them "people"

Last night, prior to the start of City Council, there was an inappropriate conversation about what to call black people. There was some consensus that "coloreds" was outdated. I'm not sure how all this talk started, but once I figured out what the topic of discussion was, I did everything in my power to feign inattention. Yes, I could have provided the voice of enlightenment; however, right or wrong, I've learned to pick my battles when it comes to race relations. Touchy subject for me.

I think many of the comments were actually borne out of ignorance, given African Americans comprise 0.6 percent of the state's population. Hell, according to the 2000 Census, there were eight total in all of Todd County. But still, stating with authority, "There was a time when you called them [n-word]," is just wrong, even if you whisper the n-word.

Square peg on the softball diamond

Going into the softball league playoffs last week, my team, Lakeview, was seeded sixth out of 10 teams after finishing the regular season at 7-9 - a mediocre record, but we finished up on a five-game winning streak.

We defeated our first opponent via the mercy rule last Monday. The next night brought us stiffer competition in the double-elimination tournament, the undefeated top seed. It didn't look good early, as we gave up five runs in the 1st inning. Our defense held up well after that though. The only problem was our offense. We weren't making contact, which led to a couple 1-2-3 innings.

We were down 9-1 when we figured out what the problem was: their pitches were nowhere near the plate. Evidently, their regular pitcher was out for the season with an injury. We started taking pitches, and we started walking. And walking. And walking some more.

The walks and runs began to mount. The opposing team was visibly frustrated. They must have tried four or five different pitchers. Same result with each one, however.

***

I've mentioned before about the unsolicited coaching I've received over the season from my teammates. The most vocal have been some of our most unreliable, least athletic players. I'm not sure how that dynamic originated. All season, I've bitten my tongue and nodded acknowledgment at the supposed words of wisdom. On this night, I released a little of the tension at a situation so insanely ludicrous it required a response.

Our team was on a roll with all of the walks when I stepped to the plate. The most nerve-wracking times I've experienced during the season have occurred while batting in a clutch situation. I've actually been relieved while in the on-deck circle, watching the hitter in front of me make the third out before the game was on my shoulders. I really don't want to be the one to kill a rally and then have to walk back to the dugout to face the team. Why I put that kind of pressure on myself is beyond me.

All of these walks preceded me, so I figured I needed to take at least one pitch. Ball. I took another. Ball. The count was 3-1. (At-bats in our league start at one ball, one strike.) It was at this time that I hear a timely remark screamed down the third base line, near my dugout: "Don't swing at the first pitch Brian!!!" My immediate response was, "What are you talking about?!?! I didn't swing at the first TWO pitches!" I walked after taking the next pitch for ball four.

I can't say with 100 percent certainty which ignoramus yelled (and I mean yelled) the helpful hint, but I have a pretty good idea it was one of the dickheads on my team. (And he's a certifiable dick. I've received independent confirmation.) So, it's bad enough when one of these guys decides to teach me how to play ball; it's a whole other ball game (ha!) when they're not even fucking paying attention to the goddamn game. Holy smokes.

***

Back to the game. We surged into the lead. Okay, "surged" is a bit dramatic considering the lead was practically handed to us on a silver platter. The point is we took a 13-9 lead into the top of the 7th. A rally was staged, but it wasn't enough to keep the previously undefeated team from falling into the losers' bracket.

At this point, we were guaranteed no less than third place. Next up after a short break was the second-seeded team. I don't know if we were rusty from all of the inaction from the evening's first game or if our opponents really were far superior, but we were quickly dispatched to the losers' bracket ourselves via the mercy rule.

Fast forward to last night. Our opponent would not be known until the first two games had been completed. The other diamond was not in use, so we were able to put in some needed BP. (That stands for batting practice, for the uninitiated. See, I do know a thing or two about softball.) It was while playing second base that I sustained my final injury of the softball season: a hard groundball to the outside of my left knee. There was no blood, but there was some swelling and I had a bit of a limp the rest of the night. It's one thing to incur some injuries while playing sports; it's another when said injuries mostly occur prior to the start of the game.

Our opponent last night was a team that had manhandled us twice during the regular season. Their lineup was filled with big (huge!) guys who can hit it out of the park with ease. (Getting around the bases is another story. But who needs speed when you've just hit a home run?) They're also a controversial bunch. They had to replay one of their playoff games from last week because they used an ineligible player. (Playoff rosters may only contain folks who played at least 10 games on the same team during the season.) Their game last week was held up 45 minutes because they tried to skirt the rules. They've been asked to not participate in the league next year.

Courtesy of one big inning, we found ourselves up 12-5. Our offense then went to sleep, and our opponents crept back into the game, taking a 13-12 lead into the 7th inning. I led off the top of the 7th, hitting a grounder to the left side of the infield. I just missed beating the throw. As I made it back to the dugout, I was told, "That's why you have to leave the box quickly after making contact." I ignored him.

A rally was not in the cards, and we went down with a whimper in the 7th. Game over. Season over. Third place.

***

Looking back at my first softball season, I shouldn't complain with my play. On defense, I played second base for the most part. I missed a couple balls, but so did everyone else on the team. There was a time or two when I didn't cover second base when I should have - my bad, for sure. And I probably played it safe more times than not - catching the ball with two hands to get the sure out at second, for example, eliminating a chance at a double play with a quick throw to first.

And I hit the ball well. I often found myself on-base. I even had an inside-the-park home run after an outfielder underestimated me. I think I struck out two or three times though, even once looking. (Okay, that's bad. But I own it.) Overall, those damn high standards of mine often left lingering thoughts that I could have performed better.

I did have fun this season. No, really, I did! Some of my teammates just pissed me off on a regular-enough basis to leave a bad taste in my mouth. The capper was last night while playing second base. The first baseman told me when and where to backup certain throws from the outfield. I made an adjustment and tagged a guy out at second who had overrun the base. The first baseman's response back in the dugout afterward: "See what happens when you listen to me." Nice.

I can own up to a mistake and accept some positive guidance. (I did make the adjustment.) I just don't want to hear the condescending remark afterward. I thought about this on the ride home last night. I'm a runner. The camaraderie between runners at races big and small is an aspect of the sport I love. We're all out on the course competing, but we're really all in it together, especially with the longer races.

The inability of my teammates (and players on other teams) to see that we were just playing slow-pitch softball and not curing cancer really did take away from my enjoyment some. And this is coming from someone who considers himself pretty competitive at times. But what do I know? I truly was the square peg in this round hole of a team. I didn't grow up with these guys. I didn't play ball in high school. I'm not overweight. And I don't use chewing tobacco, one of the nastiest habits I can think of. Actually, seeing pieces of chewing tobacco in a guy's teeth is probably even more vile. ("None for me boys. I enjoy having a jaw bone, thank you very much.")

The verdict? The good times definitely outweighed the bad this season. But am I going to run out and buy a "I'd rather be playing softball" bumper sticker? Nah. I have a half marathon to train for.

Okay, now I don't feel so bad

The results from Saturday's Spearfish Canyon Half Marathon have been posted. My time of 1:35:20 was good enough for 29th out of 225 runners. I'm still not thrilled with how I felt after crossing the finish line; however, ending up close to the top 10 percent in a race I hated is definitely a silver lining.

I went for a run along my usual Dump Road route yesterday afternoon. I don't know what got into me, but I was back at the property in record time. Maybe some lingering race frustration?

Read all about it

Sandy and I visited Tribal Council last week to present the Tribe with a certificate of appreciation for their support of our mission at Habitat. Specifically, the President's office wrote a letter of support for a grant I had funded.

I drafted a press release and sent it into the Todd County Tribune. They included it and a photo in this week's edition (article here). They've been great about publishing anything I've sent over, as I try to spread the good word about Habitat.

All downhill from here

I registered for yesterday's Spearfish Canyon Half Marathon awhile back, intrigued by the all-downhill course. I figured my ultimate hour-and-a-half goal would be feasible on a course without uphills, with high canyon walls to block out the sun, and entirely on asphalt, a fast surface.

The goal was surprisingly within reach both physically and mentally through the first five miles. I ran seven-minute miles through the first three. That was encouraging because that's my usual pace on a flat course. I figured I wasn't giving 100 percent yet and had plenty left in the tank for the remaining 10 miles.

Then, supposedly, I ran a 5:45 fourth mile. I'm thinking instead the course was mismarked, because 5:45 is really fast for me, even on a track. Another mile later, I was still running around a cumulative 6:50 pace, about what's needed to finish in 1:30.

But my legs began to get sore at about that time, which is too early for that to be happening. Typically when I get tired, I notice more of an up-and-down component to my form, which is a waste of energy. This time, however, my stride had shortened. I tried stretching it out a bit, but found it difficult. Just like it was abnormal for soreness to be creeping in so soon, it was out of the ordinary for me to be trying to mentally override what my body was telling me.

I do a good job during both my races and everyday runs here at home of remaining aware of what my body is experiencing. I have never run with music because I find the sounds of my feet hitting the ground and my breath to be soothing. Plus, it makes it easier to quickly become aware of, diagnose, and rectify issues with my form and whatnot.

As it turned out, the problem was the course's impact on my form. I am typically up on my toes when I run. It's not something I do by design; it's just always been comfortable. And I've talked about the braces I wore on my feet and calves for some time during junior high to "fix" my toe-walking affliction.

Running downhill, however, makes it very hard to stay up on my toes. The tendency is to go heel to toe, heel to toe. Which is fine, except when I have to do it for 13.1 miles. And that was yesterday's problem. I tried in vain multiple times to revert back to my toes. Whether it was the blister I could feel forming on my left foot or the overall discomfort of forcing a style that was not conducive to the situation, it didn't work. My 1:30 goal quickly faded, as did breaking my personal best time of 1:32:14 from Brookings.

More folks than usual passed me during the latter stages of the race, which I hated. But it makes sense since I had a certain pace in mind, which I was only able to maintain for less than half the run. I finished in 1:35:20, good enough for 28th out of 150 to 200 runners. (The official results haven't been posted yet, and I didn't stick around long enough for everyone to cross the finish.)

Don't get me wrong, it's still a good time. The course was the exact opposite of what works best for my body. The race started at close to 5,000 feet in elevation. Plus, it was pretty dry. But I know I'm making excuses because I'm disappointed and I feel as though I've regressed. And what's worse is that my race sadness allowed some negative thoughts to creep into my head about some personal stuff going on. (Don't worry, it's nothing bad. Just things I don't want and shouldn't have to deal with.) So, a full-fledged pity party had broken out.

But it's situations like this that are conducive to learning a lesson or two (or three, in this case). First, I will never run this or any other all-downhill race ever again. It's not as fun as it seems. Second, I have a month and a half to ramp-up my training for the Sioux Falls Half Marathon. I know that course fairly well from runs I've done while on the town's circumferential bike path. (Circumferential - what a great word!) My goal is doable. And third, I need to be training at elevation. This won't be rectified right away considering my VISTA and grad school plans. But it needs to happen.

I guess there's a fourth lesson in here too. At some point, my half marathon times are going to plateau. I mean, I can't keep setting a new PR with each race I complete, which was the case up until yesterday morning. It's best I deal with these feelings now as opposed to the day, long into the future hopefully, when my body can't perform to my standards.

Emotionally, the race is in the past. In the grand scheme of things, it was just a race, after all. My quads are tight today, but some stretching will cure that. And I'm looking to the future. I know from my softball experience I'm able to turn frustration and anger into results on the field. Hopefully, I can do the same in Sioux Falls on September 13th.

P.S. I'm not usually so concerned with my race times. I judge my performance mostly on how I feel afterward. But I consider the half marathon "my distance." And it's the only one in which I have not only set a specific goal, but a lofty one at that.

Updates and looking ahead

It has been a busy summer for sure, both at work and with life in general. I look at the calendar and can hardly believe it's July 20th already. Tomorrow marks eight months into my VISTA stint. I'm still thankful I'm extending my time here. I couldn't imagine leaving in November.

Last week's activities provide a good representation of what a typical week nowadays looks like for me:

• Monday: Special Chamber of Commerce meeting that was a complete waste of time; tornado warning that night
• Tuesday: All day in Rapid at a (free!) conference put on by the South Dakota Community Foundation
• Wednesday: Opening (finally!) of the new Tribal grocery store, Turtle Creek Crossing; City Council meeting
• Thursday: Homeowner education class
• Friday: Frustrating conference call; more relaxed after a good, sweaty run
  

This week is no different: Tribal Council tomorrow, RC&D meeting in Winner Thursday, Habitat South Dakota Board meeting and strategic planning session in Chamberlain Friday, half marathon in Spearfish Saturday morning, Sun Dance this weekend.

High school cross country begins in August, and I've already promised to help out with the team. (Didn't track just end?) And after Spearfish, I'm only registered for one more race, a half marathon in Sioux Falls in mid-September. I'm still shooting for sub-1:30.

As far as Habitat goes, we're halfway through a 10-week stretch of visiting volunteer groups helping out on the job site. This week, we have a group of high school students from suburban Minneapolis. I got a good vibe from them when they arrived last night. I may have even recruited a running partner or two for the week.

Tomorrow was supposed to be the last night in the softball regular season. However, with last Monday's storms, we have to make-up a couple games. Even though some of my teammates have pissed me off at times and I have felt as though I should have played better some nights, it has been a fun time. I would like to avoid any additional injuries the rest of the way.

Speaking of my softball mishaps... I'm going to have a scar just beneath my left eyebrow for at least some time. It's definitely noticeable, but not disfiguring. And the scrape on my right knee would have healed faster if I hadn't kept picking at the scab. But then that would have been no fun.

When good animals take out the power grid

A bull snake caused a power outage in parts of Pierre Wednesday night when it made its way into the equipment at a substation. (Story here.) It reminded me of the time in Juneau when an eagle dropped a deer head into a power line, taking out the power to a good portion of town. (Story here.)

Unfortunately, the snake did not survive the incident.

Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full

I traveled to Colorado over the 4th of July weekend, stopping in Fort Collins and Denver to see friends from Juneau. (Us ex-Juneauites are everywhere!) Prior to leaving Denver on Sunday to head back home, I stopped at the Costco in Arvada for a necessity:

There are no Costcos in South Dakota (although there is a rumor of one opening soon in Sioux Falls). So, until now, I've been surviving off of expensive one-pound bags of sub-par almonds found in the baking aisle at the grocery store. Quelle horreur!

Nine pounds of almonds should last for some time, assuming the mice don't get into them. But it's never too early to start thinking about replenishing the supply. Maybe Omaha next time?

Mr. Cereal

I'll be the first to admit I'm a picky eater. It doesn't take long after meeting me to figure that out. It could be a meal at a restaurant with a new friend or a potluck at work. The topic always (always!) comes up. Which is fine. After 31 years, I just don't give a damn if I come across as wacky because I have a short list of foods I eat, a much longer one of foods I won't touch, or because cereal makes up about two-thirds of my diet.

But with my current living situation, I'm meeting new groups of people weekly, on-site to volunteer for Habitat. Since I share a kitchen with these folks, my eating habits are on full display everyday, three meals a day. And that means the comments and questions quickly follow. Like these nuggets from the past two days:

• Stated while I was eating cereal at the kitchen table: "You're more than welcome to join us for any meal while we're here. It might add some variety to your diet."
• Once again, while eating cereal: "There's Mr. Cereal."
• And one more time while eating, you guessed it, cereal, this time for dinner: "Does your mother know that all you eat is cereal?"

I will say all of the groups have invited me to join them for meals. I like to think it's because of my wit and personality; however, I'm sure the facts I'm a poor VISTA volunteer and my seemingly monotonous meals attract an audience also play roles.

No matter the reason, I do try to join each group for dinner at least once during their stay. And if I forge some sort of connection with them, it will be more than once. I have met some interesting people so far, and our busy summer season has just begun.

Tomorrow night, Indian tacos are on the tentative menu. I think the cereal will be remaining on the shelf. Well, for dinner, at least.

Softball karma

Before softball last week, I warmed up with a teammate, tossing a ball back and forth. Usually, I wouldn't classify playing catch as a hazardous activity. But one throw clipped the top of my mitt, the ball bouncing up onto the rim of my sunglasses. My brow got smacked pretty good. It didn't take long before I felt the warm blood ooze.

I went to the bathroom to take a look, where I saw the decent-sized gash. I probably needed stitches, but I had games to play. Luckily, we had a first aid kit on-hand. The cut required a single bandage and I was good to go.

I returned to the field. The guy who had thrown the ball asked how I was doing; the other guys didn't give a shit. Okay, it's not like I had to have something amputated; but if it had happened to one of them, I would asked if he was alright.

Besides that, the night was a normal one. After two stellar weeks of play, I regressed. (I blame the eye.) Christ, I even struck out. Twice. Who the hell strikes out in slow-pitch softball? Heading back up to bat after the first strikeout, one of the guys implored, "Keep your eye on the ball." I actually found that funny since I was working with only one good eye, the band-aid pushing down on my left eyelid. So, instead of channeling my anger like the previous week, I proceeded to strikeout again. Piss me off and I'll get on base; make me laugh and I'm quickly back to the dugout.

And it was another week of unsolicited pointers from practically the entire team. But I've already talked about how much I love that.

The following morning, the cut was a bit swollen and my lower brow and eyelid were red. I swear I was going to wake-up not being able to open my eye. But the worst of the damage was hidden unless I purposely showed off my wound. What fun is that?

A week later, my eye has just about healed, not a bad recovery considering I was popped pretty good. The cut is still noticeable and, given my body's propensity to scarring, will probably leave a mark. But I was in need of a facial scar anyway, you know, for street cred.

Here I am looking tough after arriving home from softball:

P.S. The sunglasses weren't even scratched. Good thing because I was wearing the Oakleys.

Not exactly rockin' the vote

The Todd County School Board election was yesterday, which presented my first voting opportunity since moving to Mission. And it turned out to be a microcosm of life on the rez.

It was impossible for me as a newcomer to figure out who to vote for. I'm used to decent election coverage from the local newspaper or a mailer from the League of Women Voters. Here? Nothing besides a listing of the candidates and polling places. Outside of the published meeting minutes, the paper doesn't report on school board issues.

Because (or regardless, depending on one's level of cynicism) of the lack of media coverage, votes seemed to be garnered more by one's name recognition and standing in the community as opposed to campaigning on issues. I'm sure this happens everywhere to some extent; but family names, although quite familiar to me at this point, mean nothing when it comes time to step inside the voting booth. Well, if there were actually voting booths here...

Since I couldn't not vote, I decided to go with the two incumbents out of the six candidates. I figured I would have heard some uproar about either one of them if anything controversial had transpired during their respective terms.

I went to the elementary school to vote during my lunch break. Every jurisdiction is different, so I waited for instruction from the poll workers after showing my ID and answering the requisite "Are you a teacher?" question. (White man in Mission=teacher. No joke, I get this question all the time.) I was given a paper ballot and told to go to the back of the room.

Silly me, I looked for the booths with the red-white-and-blue-striped curtains. (Bri, you're not in Juneau anymore.) I must have looked perplexed when I asked the ladies again where I needed to go. This time, they were more specific: Find a pencil and fill out the ballot at one of the tables. So much for privacy.

I picked my two candidates, folded my slip, and placed it into the box. And that was it. I didn't even receive one of those nifty "I voted today" stickers. In Juneau, I always voted prior to going to work not only to get it out of the way, but also to be able to wear my sticker all day.

When I returned to work, I asked LaCosta if what I had experienced was par for the course on the rez. Sometimes, she said, stand-up boards are provided, partially shielding one voter from another. But for the most part, everything is out in the open. And the setup here is similar to the one in the small, non-reservation town she grew up in.

Life truly is different here, and yesterday was yet another example of that. But I learned some lessons for the future. Like I now must start attending school board meetings. And I need to contact the Secretary of State to see about providing stickers to voters.

The next best thing to the Senator himself

Recently, announcements on the radio and in the newspaper notified residents that a representative from Senator Tim Johnson's office would be in Mission for a day. She was going to be available at one of the local grocery stores for an hour to meet with constituents. I didn't have much of an agenda, but figured if I could have the ear of the Senator's office for a few minutes, I'd make the most of them.

I arrived promptly because I expected a crowd; this wasn't an everyday occurrence. I didn't know where she planned to meet folks, so I walked around the store looking for her. It wasn't entirely obvious where she'd be receiving visitors, so I stopped by the customer service counter. "Oh, she's back in the deli." I had gone back there already; there had only been a couple people eating breakfast. Well, as it turned out, one of them was indeed her. She sat - alone - eating her sausage and eggs as she waited for company.

This is one thing that drives me nuts about living here. The apathy is just appalling. Maybe residents save their energy for tribal politics, I don't know. But one would think that someone besides the new guy on the rez would want to gripe about something - anything! - to the Senator's aide. Then again, maybe this was another example of Indian Time. (It's pretty bad when calendar events on the local radio station implore, "Be on-time. No Indian Time!")

She was happy to see me. I introduced myself as I joined her in the booth. I figured I wouldn't have much time to speak with her, so I kept my comments to the two programs that brought me to the Rosebud: AmeriCorps and Habitat for Humanity. It was a good conversation, but I felt myself monopolizing her time. After 10 minutes, I got up to leave.

But our conversation continued. I looked around and noticed there wasn't anyone waiting to speak with her, so I sat right back down. I was there for another 25 minutes. So, all told, I took up over half of her time talking about housing, building partnerships within the community, life on the reservation, Senator Johnson's views on a multitude of issues, and much more.

On one hand, I was thankful I had such a beneficial, informative conversation with a member of the Senator's team here in South Dakota. On the other hand, however, it made me sad that people didn't take advantage of this resource in their own backyard. Sad and disappointing.

There were several excellent actions that resulted from our conversation. First, she had a meeting scheduled with the head of the Tribe's housing authority later that day. Habitat's relationship has been strained with them, so she promised to put in a good word for us. Second, I invited her to the Mission Chamber of Commerce's monthly meeting, which just so happened to be scheduled during lunchtime that same day. Third, and most importantly, she has not forgotten about either me or Habitat since returning to Rapid City. We've been in phone and e-mail contact, as she brainstorms ways for us (me) to bring in funding for the organization.

After our chat at the grocery store, I was in good spirits. I don't know what it is, but I really get a good buzz off of these types of connections. And later that day, I went to Chamber and informed them of our special guest. She spent a good 40 minutes with the group, answering questions from Chamber members.

I'm a big believer in Habitat's mission, not just here on the Rosebud, but worldwide. But the issues plaguing the rez are so much bigger than Habitat. I think that's the big reason why that day meant so much to me. I was able to not only share my personal story (and I think I have one in my short time here) but bring someone with state- and national-level resources to the same table as our small town. It felt good.

Batter up!

I never played baseball growing up. No Tee Ball, Little League, nothing. The closest I ever came to stepping in the batter's box was Whiffle Ball in the neighbor's backyard. So, when I was approached about joining a slow-pitch softball team, I needed some assurance on one issue.

"How competitive is this team you're putting together?"

Now, don't get me wrong. I get a bit competitive at times. There's the running thing. I like to win at Rummy. During a recent game of Spoons with a bunch of college girls, I was out for blood. (But guess who won? They didn't seem thrilled.)

However, I had never played softball before. Sure, I'd give 110 percent, but I also wanted to have fun in a no-pressure environment.

As a confidence builder, LaCosta's husband and I hit some balls around one Tuesday evening before volleyball. I hit the ball often and hard enough to prove to myself I wouldn't make a complete fool of myself when the season started. Our team played two games at Cody's Circle C Days in May, where my play received comments such as, "You're not so bad for never having played ball before." I took the compliment, even if it had a qualifier.

Most of the guys on my team indeed played high school baseball. Plus, they're all from the same area and know one another fairly well. I'm definitely the outlier (in more ways than one, let me tell ya). They arrive at the diamond in their cleats and baseball pants; I'm there with sneakers and shorts. I've felt like I've had to earn my keep on the team, whether that's logical or not. It's me applying the pressure for sure; there are certain activities I feel I should be good at. Softball is one of them.

I am happy to report that three weeks into the season I am by far not the worst one on the team. During the first week, I played right field, which, because most of the hitters are right-handed, is a virtual no-man's land. Thankfully, no fly balls were hit my way; I had trouble keeping my eye on the balls hit to other parts of the outfield.

The next week, I played second base, and that's where I started to earn my keep. Granted, second base is the right-field version of the infield, but a couple grounders came my way. I even threw a zinger over to the first baseman to get an out. (The guys liked that one. High five!)

And last week I played catcher. I was actually pretty excited about this. I was warned not to stand directly in the baseline if there was a play at the plate to avoid getting run over. Ummm... Aren't catchers supposed to do just the opposite? The point is to prevent the opponent from scoring, right? I'm tough. I have wrestled calves, I'll have you know.

In the end, I did make a couple outs, but, alas, I didn't have one chance to throw-out a home-advancing runner. Oh well. The bigger news last week is I got on base five out of the seven times I was up, including smashing the ball over an outfielder's head, who had played in too close. That's what you get for underestimating me!

Softball is fun, but a couple things do bother me. Because most of the guys have "played ball," it's like there are 10 coaches on the team. I'd actually be okay with taking instruction if the most vocal of teammates were a bit more consistent with their play. Seriously, don't coach me if you're 0-for-6, 'kay?

Then there's the assumption I know knowing about softball because I never played organized baseball growing up. This isn't a new phenomenon either; over the years, many people have assumed I know absolutely nothing about sports. I'm not sure where that comes from.

Two weeks ago, while playing second base, there were two instances where there was a runner on first with less than two outs. That means, there's a force play at second with a chance to turn a double play. I know that. So, I don't need the shortstop to remind me three times. Thanks for the hint though!

And the racial makeup of the teams is interesting. As it was explained to me, there are "white" teams and "Indian" teams. A quick look at the opposing dugout over the past three weeks supports this. As one of the games finished, one of my teammates waited until all of an Indian team's players were gone from our soon-to-be dugout prior to unloading his gear because he "didn't want anything stolen." Pure ignorance. It's startling and plain weird to be in a situation where race is an issue when it hasn't been for me in the time I've lived in Mission. Then again, we play down in Valentine, the "white" town just across the state line.

But it's all in good fun. As far as social activities in the area go, this is a biggie. And my confidence is high after last week's play, especially considering I had run a marathon two days prior. I had better stick to running though. Softball is not a workout by any stretch of the imagination.