Running Out of Place

Old friends, new friends

2011-01-17T16:59:00.003-07:00

I've worn Converse sneakers since the latter part of high school. I love them. And any cool kid knows that with Cons, the worn look is the way to go. I bought my last pair while living in Texas, which means they are now about 175 years old in human years. They even look like they were present at Gettysburg.

Over time, the canvas has been no match for my wide feet. They've put up a good fight, though. Although they're now sufficiently ventilated, there's a small piece of fabric holding one side of the right shoe together. It's the difference between a sneaker and a flip flop. So, during my recent holiday road trip, when my aunt took me to the Citadel Outlets in Southern California for a little Mall Madness, I stopped in at the Converse store to see if I could tempt myself into a new pair.

I've always worn black, but was thinking it was time for a new look. The black will always be classic, but I had my heart set on something different. The white ones looked good, but would have been too jarring of a change. "What about navy?" my aunt asked. I tried those on, walked around some, and was sold. She then grabbed the shoebox and proceeded to the register.

As we (read: she) went to pay, I told her, "You know, you just bought me a gift I'll put to good use over the next decade." She laughed. I think she thought I was kidding.

***

Altogether, we spent five hours at the outlet shops. At each store, I found an item or two I wanted to treat myself to. But against my protests, she snatched them out of my hands each time. Holding out her credit card, her consistent response was, "I get points." That's great, but you still have to pay for all of this. Too bad there wasn't an Apple Store...

I know she loves and misses me and genuinely enjoyed practically treating me to a new wardrobe - and lunch! But like most of my extended family, I'll forever be seen as "Little Brian." And of course, I am a poor grad student. I did manage to lose her at Ann Taylor late in the afternoon to buy a few new shirts on my own dime. Then she bought me new pants. Sigh.

***

I haven't thrown the old black pair away. Yet.

Ho ho ho

2010-12-19T22:06:00.003-07:00

I was not the worst Santa ever.

That's what one customer told me at PetSmart today. Apparently, the Santa at the PetSmart in Wisconsin wasn't very good.

The Santa outfit fit reasonably well. The belt was a joke, however. It was definitely made for someone larger than a size-32 waist. My two "elves" didn't like the look of a skinny Santa, so they stuffed a couple of pet beds up my shirt before we got started. Problem solved!

There was one lady who stood out from the rest this afternoon. Her dog's name was Bella, short for Isabella. (As opposed to the other dog named Bella, presumably after the chick from the Twilight series because of the age of her owner.) Bella's mommie was bat-shit crazy. Certifiable. As in, makes me weep for the future of the human race.

Bella was wearing her Christmas outfit, which, I'll admit, isn't so insane. She's had her photo taken with Santa since she was 4 months old. And she has even appeared on a magazine cover. Impressive! I should have said, "So have I!" I wouldn't have mentioned it was on the cover of Alaska Economic Trends, though, haha. Then again, I was Santa, not Brian. It's best I didn't say anything.

The crazy thing about this woman is that she came in for a reshoot. She had visited another PetSmart, but they took a portrait photo instead of one in landscape. Okay, we can fix that. But she took advantage of the situation, taking dozens of her own photos along with the ones taken by our photographers. She even brought her own dog-sized sled for Bella to sit in during the shoot.

And you should have heard her: "Bella, what's Santa going to bring you for Christmas? You just love Santa! Come on Bella, smile for me!" I had to put up with a half hour of this nonsense. The scary thing is that without her dog, she would appear to be completely sane. There wasn't anything wacky about her appearance. The crazies are blending in with the general population!

Besides her, the afternoon was surprisingly uneventful. I'd say at least half of the shots were multi-pet photos. And each time, I thought to myself, "Uhhh, how is this going to work?" The problem was that because of the pet beds up my shirt, I couldn't move around too much for fear of losing my gut. And those damn beds were HOT. I was sweating to death. But my mental mantra was, "It's for a good cause. It's for a good cause."

But it was fun! The photos turned out well. There were no allergic reactions. All of the customers seemed pleased. And, most importantly, my dampness was due to sweat and not cat piss. A good day.

feeling good

2010-12-14T21:36:00.002-07:00

I'm almost done. My paper on the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, my last project for the semester, is 99-percent done. I just need a few more citations. And the presentation looks good. It will be highlighted with photos from the rez. I'm billing it as a combination of breaking stereotypes about Indian casinos and "Here's what I did on my summer vacation."

I don't know what I'm going to do with myself after Friday. Besides those citations, I didn't have any project work that needed to get done this evening. (Hence, this blog post.) And it feels weird. But I deserve the break. Plus, one of the professors I'll have next semester already sent out an e-mail about what to expect in January. Good grief. Like I'm even thinking about that.

***

A while back, I went to an orientation at the Humane Society to see about volunteering. My intention was to go over to walk dogs once a week. I like dogs and miss not having one. I only went twice before school took over my life. In that short amount of time, you should have seen the number of dogs I let escape from their cages to run free through the kennel.

But I'm making up for it on Sunday as I play Santa Claus at a local pet store. Yes, I'll be dressed in the whole Santa suit as I sit for photos with dogs, cats, and whatever other pets folks bring in. I wonder what the weirdest pet will be? I'm just hoping not to get pissed on. The afternoon's comedic potential is quite high. This could be one of the funniest things I've ever done. Stay tuned.

***

I finally kicked my running back into gear. Thankfully, we've had a warm, dry spell (temps in the 40s), so the snow line has moved way up the foothills. That means the trails are mostly clear. I really shouldn't go so long without running. And running on the paved Greenbelt just doesn't do it for me.

Speaking of running, I've pretty much decided I'm going to try my first ultra-marathon next summer. I think I can do it. I'm going to shoot for a 50-miler before deciding whether I can do a full 100 miles one day. There's a race in the Bay Area in July that I'm currently targeting. I need a big goal outside of school to work toward.

bullets of consciousness

2010-12-03T23:01:00.004-07:00

One class down, two more to go. There's still much work to be done, though, before I can celebrate. But I'm loving my end-of-semester projects. I'm going to try to save the world until the professor tells me to stop.
Two weeks from today, the semester will be over and I can turn my brain off for a month. Just before Christmas, I commence my two-and-a-half-week road trip extravaganza without a care in the world.
I'm spending Christmas with family in Arizona. I'm really looking forward to it.
I saw 127 Hours tonight. It was just the pick-me-up I needed after a long week. Right.
When I visit Canyonlands in a couple weeks, I promise to let someone know where I'm going first.
We received about eight inches of snow earlier this week. Nothing major and it wasn't cold. But the street plowing here is non-existent.
It's supposed to be sunny in Mission for the next week. I'm jealous.
I haven't been running much and I'm not happy about it. I can't wait to catch up while I'm out of town later this month.
I continue to dupe others (and myself) into thinking I'm fit for a long-term relationship. The carnage mounts.
It'll be interesting what jobs are available in early 2012. Looking at what's been posted recently, there are some opportunities I would jump at.
I still think I have one last move in me. And that's it. The next place had better be good.
I'm not staying in Boise.
I went to the dentist this morning. Is it just me, or are they continuing to invent more and more fancy gadgets and tools solely to find things that might be wrong with your teeth? And since when did the hygienist start hawking different products and services while you're having your teeth cleaned?
I did like having the TV up on the ceiling to watch while the hygienist blasted the tartar from my teeth.
I signed myself up for an interesting volunteer commitment in a couple weeks. I'll keep it under my hat for now, but it has the makings of a pretty funny experience. I'm such a giver.
I've retyped this last bullet several times, then erased it. Best to keep some things to myself. It's been a weird week.

Vacation

2010-11-11T13:49:00.003-07:00

I take the best vacations, if I say so myself. I always try to pack in as much as possible - places to see, races to run, people to see. But I somehow manage to do it all, even if it's a bit overwhelming. I think it stems from my time in Juneau, where getting down to the Lower 48 was a big deal. The continental road system opens up so many options.

I spoke with family in Arizona last night. And I decided I need to see them. Lucky me, I have a month off between semesters. That's no school and no work. So, I figure I have to go somewhere.

And that one simple destination has set off about a hundred dominoes. There are so many people I can visit, some of whom I haven't seen in ages (including my family, which is terrible, especially considering I actually like them). I've never been to any of the national parks in Utah, so that's an option. When you're prepared to drive a thousand miles for vacation one way, it certainly makes distances relative. And I haven't even looked into races yet! Hmmm... Maybe a nice sea-level marathon? Hmmm, indeed.

I still have a ton of work to do before the semester is over. But knowing I have a big trip ahead is great motivation. I'll try not to let the thought of traversing snowy mountain passes in my little car temper my excitement. (I was going to make a Donner Party reference here, but realized I'm traveling alone.)

Home

2010-11-06T23:08:00.002-06:00

I love this song. It makes me happy. And the video reminds me of long-ago travels.

Sisyphus

2010-10-29T22:50:00.007-06:00

I ran in the High Speed Pursuit half marathon last Saturday. I did end up driving down to check out the course beforehand. And I bought new shoes. I was on a mission.

The race began and ended at the Idaho State Correctional Institution, the prison south of town. The cool thing about this race, in my opinion, was that the prisoners participated as well. No, they weren't let out. They ran their laps inside the fence instead. But how awesome would that have been?

Based on prior years' results, I knew it would be safe to start near the front of the pack. Between the half marathoners and those running the 5K and 10K, there were about 400 runners total. I didn't want to get held up.

I got out fast. It wasn't really on purpose, but I did have the thought in my head beforehand that maybe I should change my slow-out-of-the-gate strategy. Well, it's less a strategy and more about self-preservation. Anyway, my subconscious and I ran the first mile in 6:16. And I was at 12:50 after two, which was also the point where the half-marathon and 10K courses split from the 5K course. Needing to average a 6:50 pace over the 13.1-mile course, I was already 50 seconds ahead. I was surprised, a tad excited, yet leery of the hill at Mile 12.

The course was great. Heading south along Pleasant Valley Road, we ran on the parallel tank track. Between running on dirt, the wide-open vistas, and the breeze, it reminded me of South Dakota. By the time I hit Mile 4 on Barker Road, my time was 26:30, still 50 seconds ahead. Turning north on Cole Road, I lost some time through the halfway point. There was a slight uphill, but it was nothing serious.

I don't know what my problem is in the middle part of these half marathons. Maybe it's losing the high of a fast start. It could also be a lack of focus. It doesn't take me long in a race to separate myself from both the frontrunners ahead of me and the pack behind. And Saturday was no different. It's possible my mind starts to think that I'm just on a regular run instead of in the middle of a race with a chance to meet a goal. Who knows.

Or, in this case, it could be that I dropped my hat on the ground as I was taking my gloves off. Silly me, I put my watch on over the glove, which made it nearly impossible to remove. So, as I'm trying to, no joke, tear the glove off with my teeth, I lost the grip on the hat I had already removed. That was about five seconds lost right there. Lessons learned: 1.) Take the gloves off first, then the hat. 2.) Don't be an idiot next time and make sure the glove isn't underneath the watchband.

There was a slight rise in the road before dropping down into the canyon. Through nine miles, I was exactly on pace. That was a bit disheartening considering how much my pace had slowed and thinking about the hill in three miles where a 6:50 pace would be impossible to maintain for close to a half mile. But I was still on pace after nine miles with a sweet downhill still to come!

It was at this point that a runner caught up to me, the first racer I had seen in six miles and the first and only one to pass me. He approached just as the downhill began, so I was able to hang with him for a bit. At the bottom of the hill, however, we turned east on 10 Mile Creek Road and I let him go. But it's not like he sped away. He remained within striking distance.

At Mile 10, I was 20 seconds ahead. I was excited! This could be the 1:30 race! Now, though, I was running into the wind. After another mile, I was 20 seconds behind. And I thought I had picked up the pace. It sucked. Plain and simple.

The hill began at Mile 12 and it was a bitch. I'm not going to complain about it because no one wants to run a completely flat, boring course. But it was brutal. I've never felt such desperation in a race before, knowing I was so close to a goal with such a huge obstacle in the way. And what a perfect place for the race photographer to station himself! (Click here for photos. Note the hill. And my face.) My legs felt like mush at the top, but, summoning my inner Lewis and Clark, I proceeded on.

I made the final turn onto the last straightaway with a time of 1:25. There were these huge yellow flags at the finish line and just five minutes to get there. I could see them from quite a distance, which just made judging how much further I had to run that much harder. I pushed and pushed, glancing down at my watch as those minutes ticked away. When I realized 1:30 wasn't going to happen, running a personal best was my new goal. And I did achieve that one at 1:30:27.

Twenty-seven seconds. I've got to say, I was pretty emotional about it. Not that I let it show. I let out a "Fuck" or two as my pilot friend, bless his heart, tried to cheer me up. I was so close. And I was ahead of schedule! After 10 miles!!! Even though I thought I was going to break down, I didn't.

The Pilot told me I came in sixth. We walked over to look at the results. Only the first four times had been posted ... and none of them were in my age group. Which meant that as long as the fifth-place runner wasn't between the ages of 30 to 39, I would take the age group, a nice consolation prize. The only problem was that he looked around my age. Then again, some runners age fast. There is such a thing as running too much. I hoped he was a hard-looking 29-year-old.

When the results were updated, I learned that Mr. Fifth Place was indeed in my age group. Figures! I just laughed and that actually made me felt better. When I looked up the results online later, I saw that the seventh- and eighth-place runners were also in the 30-39 group. We all finished within a minute of each other. That also made me feel good. About halfway through the race, I heard a couple runners talking behind me (which drives me batty). When I dropped my hat, I glanced back to see that even though they weren't right on my tail, they were still close. But they never caught me.

And let me not forget about the PR, my second this year. I shaved 12 seconds off of my Brookings time. It is an accomplishment.

There's another half marathon a week from tomorrow. Since I haven't registered, it would be $60 bucks to enter. I drove the course Tuesday afternoon and it is not PR material. Yes, it would be a pretty run. But for 60 bucks, I need more than fall colors and rolling hills. It's too bad because I think I'm at a really strong spot with my running right now. Oh well, I can start again next year.

I know I'm obsessing about this goal. How else can I describe it when I run the fastest I've ever run and I'm on the verge of tears. But I'd really like to get to this milestone.

Fun with maps

2010-10-27T20:46:00.004-06:00

I'm having a blast in my GIS class. I love maps and I'm a data junkie. ArcGIS brings both together. Heaven on Earth.

I thought I'd share a map I put together recently for an assignment. Can you locate the reservations?

Any fool knows, or can at least guess, that north is up in this map. But the professor is a fan of the north arrow. Thus, as Westley from "The Princess Bride" was wont to say, "As you wish."

What I'm especially stoked about is my final project. I'll be looking at how the regional and statewide suicide rates in Alaska have changed over the past decade in relation to the amount of suicide-prevention funding the state has provided during that same time period to cities, villages, school districts, and non-profits.

And this isn't the only class where I'm using Alaskan subject matter for a final project. I did choose an Idaho topic (disparities in state funding of higher education), though, for my group's final paper in the third class. Wait, actually, someone else picked that; I just tagged along. But even with that one, I have an Alaska analogy.

I probably should focus more on Idaho since I do live here. But really, why? It's just so vanilla here. Yes, yes, Boise is a perfectly lovely place. And I've raved about the trails. That being said, it really can't compare to the reservation and to Alaska.

Game on

2010-10-12T21:56:00.002-06:00

I did it. I signed up for a half marathon on the 23rd. It actually makes perfect sense, except for having to pay the increased registration fee for signing up so late. Typically, I like to have at least one long run (10-13 miles) under my belt a couple weeks prior to running a half marathon before I taper down. Nine miles was as long as it got before Sunday. And I didn't just taper down; I downright stopped running.

But Sunday's race can be considered a warm up for the next race, for sure. I'll certainly get some runs in before now and the 23rd. I got out this afternoon for a trail run and felt pretty good considering I was still a bit sore. (I'm getting old, apparently.) And I'm going to look into new shoes this week. With my increased mileage since moving to Boise, I probably should have replaced my current pair sooner. Taking a gander at the soles after this afternoon's run, two things were evident: 1.) The treads are nearly gone, and 2.) it's easy to tell I'm a toe runner.

This weekend, I'll take a drive down out to the desert south of town to check out the course. The route description on the race website says something about a beautiful canyon. I need to see just how severe this canyon is and mentally prepare for it.

Eleven days...

P.S. Happy 200th post to me!

Beware of the crotchety runner

2010-10-10T21:55:00.008-06:00

The City of Trees Half Marathon was this morning. I knew this race was going to be a unique experience. First, I didn't train for it (no time). Second, I haven't been running on pavement at all. Third, I had run a total of eight miles in October before this morning, including a six-day stretch of no running at all, unheard of since moving to Boise. And finally, did I mention I hadn't run 13.1 miles in a single stretch since my last half marathon in May?

I drove the course yesterday to get my bearings, a good thing since about half of it was new territory for me. The full marathon would begin an hour before the half, with both following the same course for the first 12 miles. Unfortunately for the half-marathon runners (read: me), this was the lame part of the overall course. Marathoners would pass through the more visually pleasing and less traffic-congested parts of town during the final 13 miles.

In order to run a 1:30 half marathon, I have to keep an average 6:50 pace throughout. I was actually about 30 seconds ahead after four miles, which I quickly lost in the next two miles. There was a hill, which slowed me down a bit, but my hip joints also began to get sore at this point. Nothing debilitating, but I wasn't my usual gazelle self out there.

***

I've commented a number of times on here about my running pet peeves. Once again, I had to sift through a crowd at the start of the race. I wasn't too pissed because after passing the starting chute, the course was pretty wide. The entire right lane of a busy road was blocked off for the runners' use, so there was plenty of opportunity to pass. However, I will never understand why folks who will end up finishing with a 10-minute pace feel the need to start so close to front.

But what happened today was even worse. I was just past the halfway point, nearing Mile 7. Remember, this was a half marathon - 13.1 miles. I was running along Federal Way and crossed an intersection. At the opposite corner was a group of fans. As I passed, one of the women yelled, "You're almost there!" Uh, what? I've had fans tell me, "Just one more mile!" when I was still a mile and a half from the finish. And there was the time an aid-station volunteer encouraged me by saying, "It's all downhill from here," when I still had to climb one last hill. But to have someone tell me I was almost done when I still had over six miles left to run was utter ridiculousness.

So, what did I do? I yelled back, "No I'm not!!! Good grief!" My tone was more incredulous than mean. I've never run with music, but this morning's incident made me wish I had been wearing headphones to block out the nonsense spewing from the peanut gallery.

***

Federal Way was a bitch. The course followed the bike path that paralleled the road. It was an alternating mix of asphalt and concrete - not good for the joints. Plus, it's a busy road, not one I would choose for a leisurely jog, let alone a half marathon. It's pretty bad when my landmark is the Fred Meyer. I eagerly anticipated the downhill to the river, but by that point the concrete had taken its toll on me. I felt like a shuffling old man.

The last couple of miles were actually kind of a struggle, reminiscent of the Horsetooth Half Marathon. I was just done. So, no 1:30 this time around. My finishing time was 1:33:02, hardly even PR material.

I know, it's still a good time. I did place 5th in my age group (out of 42) and 24th overall (out of 542). When the results were posted this morning, I was listed as the 4th-place finisher. (Or what I like to call, "1st Loser.") But the results were updated this evening, moving me down to 5th. That actually made me feel better.

Now, the big question is whether to try one of the two half marathons on the race calendar in the next month. I don't know. It would involve training (imagine that!), preferably on the road. Why do that when I can run on the trails? I guess the bright side is that if this is my major concern troubling me at the moment, life must be pretty good. And it is. I'll achieve my goal someday. In the meantime, I'll survive.

Breakfast off the grid

2010-10-08T18:54:00.006-06:00

Last Saturday, my pilot friend zipped us off to breakfast up at Sulphur Creek, located just inside the roadless Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness Area. Between the Dramamine and the smooth flights back and forth, my stomach performed much better this time compared to the last trip.

There was a fire in the area, blanketing the valleys in smoke.

Approaching Sulphur Creek. The dirt landing strip is toward the right-center.

Coming in for the landing.

The view from our table. A beautiful morning, even with the haze.

Dixie.

Another plane touching down.

Some horseback riders heading down the runway toward points unknown.

I convinced myself that this horse was sleeping and wasn't in fact dead.

Let me tell you about my day

2010-10-01T21:23:00.002-06:00

As I was into my sixth hour of all-day, online training this afternoon, I received an e-mail from my supervisor with the subject line, "Potential of exposure to whooping cough." Interest piqued and diversion created, I opened it. I won't cut and paste the e-mail's exact text, but here are the key points:

There is a "very small possibility" that we have been exposed.
The suspected case has not been technically confirmed as whooping cough.
If we start to exhibit symptoms, we should stay home and see a doctor to prevent exposure to the remaining healthy employees.

Here's the thing: I know exactly who brought disease into the office. First, my supervisor, thanks to his complete lack of regard for privacy, spoke with the culprit in her cubicle just prior to sending the e-mail. I couldn't hear every word of the conversation, but "sick" was clearly audible multiple times.

(I mention the privacy thing because my IRB training included a discussion of privacy versus confidentiality. Who knew I'd be able to apply that lesson so fast? Learning in action!)

Second, the sickly woman was still coughing this afternoon! GO HOME!!! And I have class with her. I might as well consider myself a statistic already.

***

I think I've found my cause. Just because I left the rez doesn't mean the need to dispel myths about Native Americans has diminished. In class last week, I practically jumped out of my chair when a classmate thought tribes had money because of casinos. Yeah, the ones located near metropolitan areas definitely bring in loads of gamblers. And they are extremely generous when sharing their revenues with non-profits and other tribes. But then you have the tribes in South Dakota, for example, located off the interstate highway system and among the most impoverished people in America.

And then tonight, a fellow volunteer made a remark about Indians saving a dollar to buy another beer. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. What is wrong with people? Have you ever had those times where someone says something so completely absurd and wrong, but you didn't see it coming and couldn't formulate a response? I know that's just an excuse and I should have said something. But this was a volunteer helping out at a non-profit. I have to be on my guard even there?

***

I stopped over at Walmart tonight after getting a haircut, which I needed badly. I usually do my grocery shopping in the middle of the day to avoid the crowds, but I needed ice cream. (I suddenly can't live without my evening sundae.)

The cashiers there aren't the quickest, so I headed down to the self-checkout stands. Okay, just like my softball teammates last summer played to relive their high school sports-playing glory days, I enjoy assuming the role of cashier again, even if they're my own groceries. That's why I like the self-checkout.

But Walmart, it's time to take those machines out until your customers can operate the damn things on their own. Good grief, every customer required assistance from the guy manning the podium. And it's not like these people only had one or two items either. When I finally got my turn, I (of course) zipped through my items quickly. Apparently, I wasn't fast enough, though, because the guy behind me moved my cart out of his way to start loading up the belt as my receipt printed. I would have exhibited patience and waited the five additional seconds for my turn in line. But I guess that's just how I roll.

***

And now I'm home away from disease and humanity! My sundae was delicious. I haven't come down with pertussis (yet). And my pilot friend is whisking me off to breakfast in the morning. Maybe the world isn't out to get me.

Win, Place, Show, Brian

2010-09-23T21:37:00.003-06:00

The Table Rock Challenge was two Saturdays ago. It was four and half miles up to the top of Table Rock while gaining 900 feet in elevation, and then four and a half miles back down. I had driven up there a couple times beforehand but had never run the course. I figured my regular trail running regimen would mimic the climb and distance.

As always, it didn't take long for the speedsters to pass me, and for me to pass those who started too fast. It was just me and the hill. Through the neighborhood, it was challenging because it never flattened out, but it wasn't overly strenuous either. Only the last half mile on a dirt road to the turnaround point was difficult.

The race was sponsored by local firefighters. So, who do you think was waiting for me at the top? Smokey the Bear, that's who! The good news is I had my photo taken with Smokey before heading back down the hill. The bad news is the Polaroid photo is washed out. You can make out my usual running accoutrements: hat, sunglasses, and water bottle. Otherwise, it's hard to tell it's me. Smokey developed nicely, however.

Here's a view from Table Rock, taken a couple months ago:

Anyway, back to the race. When I met Smokey, I was comfortably in fifth place. Being able to figure out placement halfway through is the best part of an out-and-back race. The first two guys were uncatchable. Third and fourth were at least a minute ahead of me. And, of course, I was dilly-dallying with Smokey. After my photo, I passed Mr. Sixth Place. I was confident he couldn't pass me coming down the hill, but those things are never certain.

Like I said, the steepest part of the run to the top was the last half mile. So, I could really turn on the jets coming back down. And I was flying! Even past the end of the dirt road and back on the blacktop, I was hauling ass. I don't remember ever running that fast. When the grade leveled out a bit and the sight lines were longer, I discovered I had made up significant ground on third and fourth. And I still had three miles to go!

Third moved ahead of fourth some, while I gained steadily on fourth. I was leery of passing him with so much of the course remaining to be run. But I went for it, catching him in about another mile. I still had to move fast because 1.) I didn't want to be caught by the guy I had just passed, and 2.) third was still in reach.

Alas, I just couldn't make up any more ground. I ran hard, but finished in 1:02:26, 23 seconds behind third. (The winner ran the nine-mile course in 53:50. Insane.) The guy who I had passed with a couple miles to go finished just about a minute after me.

The top three finishers each received goodie bags. There was no award for coming in fourth. But I felt really, really good with how well I ran. I can't recall making up that kind of distance on racers ahead of me. Just passing that one guy felt good. If I had somehow passed the other one to come in third, I would have had to retire from racing because that could not have been topped.

So, I was a bridesmaid again. But between Table Rock and the Dirty Dash last Saturday (I did come in sixth there, after all), I feel great about the half marathon I'm running two weeks from Sunday. Now, I just need to squeeze in a long run. This weekend, maybe?

It'll be an interesting race not only because it's a road course, but also because it's mostly flat. Since arriving in Boise three months ago, I would guess 95 percent of my running has been up on the foothills trails. Why run on pavement when there are trails so close? And like I need to mention it, but 1:30 is the goal.

Dirty Dash

2010-09-19T18:38:00.003-06:00

I ran the Dirty Dash yesterday up at Bogus Basin. It was a strenuous 10K course filled with man-made obstacles, a huge water slide (with cold, cold water), and a mud pit at the finish. Crawling through the mud did some damage to my knees and shins, scratching me up pretty good. The bottom felt like it was covered in gravel. But it was worth it!

I went just to have fun, but unexpectedly came in fifth or sixth. And, of course, I got dirty.

Who moved my cheese?

2010-09-14T22:07:00.003-06:00

Between classes, work, volunteer commitments, running, and a special male friend, I've been very busy lately. It's no coincidence that my last post here was drafted prior to the start of the fall semester.

Time management hasn't been a problem at all, however. It helps that my classes are actually pretty fun, further confirmation that I chose the right degree program. And I ran really, really well in a race on Saturday. (Full report to come.)

But with my schedule changing from one day to the next, I'm having a hard time adjusting my feeding times. Working an 8-to-5 day, it's easy to eat at the same time each day. Yeah, it's probably a bit obsessive-compulsive, but there is some underlying logic, besides the fact that I am a tad obsessive-compulsive about certain - but not all - aspects of my life.

First, there's the whole running thing. My stomach is very temperamental. I need to wait a good three or four hours after eating a full meal before heading out for a run. And, even then, I'm not immune from the occasional bowel-movement emergency. (I have examples of BMEs that I won't share here. But I've got some dandies.)

Second, if I don't stick to a regular food-intake schedule, I'll eat more often and in greater quantities than if I stick to my regular three meals, mid-morning snack, and dessert. Granted, I still inhale a ton of food, which is actually kind of frightening when I stop to think about it or compare what I shovel down my throat to how much food a dining companion is taking home from the restaurant. But it works ... as long as I keep running.

But it's impossible to keep any sort of regular schedule. Today, for example, I came home from class at 9:00 having only eaten two meals during the day, including a gigantic dinner at 4:00. I thought that would hold me over until morning. Ha! But I ended up having a sundae followed by some tuna fish. And that breaks another rule: eating within three hours of bedtime. Then again, I may be up for a while reading about the Tea Party candidate's win in the Republican primary for Joe Biden's old U.S. Senate seat.

So, after not writing anything on here for three and a half weeks, that's what's on my mind: food, poop, and politics. Thank you for reading.

What I did on my summer vacation

2010-08-21T19:51:00.000-06:00

I went to the ocean this week. Left Boise Monday morning, returned home Wednesday night. The drive was exhausting, but it was so worth it. I realized this immediately upon arriving in Crescent City, California. I really missed the water.

But first I had to get there.

Probably my favorite part of the drive was along U.S. 395 from Burns to Lakeview. Open country where I could see for miles. The road meandered along the east side of Lake Abert.

After beginning to sink in the flats during my walk out to shore, I backtracked up to my car to resume the drive south.

It took a little over 11 hours and 600 miles to reach Hiouchi, California, my home for two nights. To reach the cool, damp weather, I first had to drive through blazing heat. It was 105 degrees in Medford. And there was a fire near Grants Pass.

After checking in at the motel, I drove down the hill to Crescent City for dinner. Afterward, I went for a walk along the jetty.

Tuesday was sightseeing day. First, though, I wanted to go for a run. (Of course.) It might just be me, but "Coastal Trail" evokes an image of a relatively level trail along the sea. I was wrong. The trail began climbing after just a half mile. I don't mind hills, but this one long hill was too steep for running, requiring fits and spurts of power walking. And because the plan was to run out to a certain point and return, I had to descend this monstrosity. (My poor knees.) Don't get me wrong, the relatively flat sections of the trail were fantastic. And it felt great to just be running in the misty forest. But that hill was hell.

The trailhead was located at a beautiful overlook of Crescent Beach. This scene is why I made the trip. (Crescent City is off to the left in the fog.)

I went back to the motel to get cleaned up and returned to Crescent City for breakfast. Then, I headed south on U.S. 101. First stop, the Klamath River's outlet into the Pacific Ocean.

The great part about this photo is I received a job offer at this spot after returning from a hike down to the overlook. It was such a pleasant surprise since I had interviewed for the position months ago while still in South Dakota and had written off the possibility of ever hearing from them again after the "Thanks, but no thanks" letter. Funny how things work out.

Just a bit further south on 101 was the Tour-Thru Tree in Klamath.

Thank you to the kind motorcyclist who took my photo. Quick, funny story: Later in the evening, I drove up to Brookings, Oregon. While at the Dairy Queen, two motorcyclists walked in and asked me, "Were you down in California earlier today?" It was the same biker who took my photo and his buddy. Small world.

What I later learned was this is not the only tree you can drive through in Redwood Country. There are similar trees in Leggett and Myers Flat.

The southernmost point of my journey was Fern Canyon in Humboldt County. The road to get there was just awful. Terrible! Fern Canyon is part of Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. State park = entrance fee. I never carry much cash, so I asked the ranger if she accepted credit cards. "Nope. No electricity."

I looked in my wallet to discover I was a dollar short of the eight-dollar entry fee. I would have had enough cash if I hadn't just shelled out five bucks to drive through that damn tree. Since the ranger station was three miles into the park along that God-awful road, I was faced with the prospect of driving through six miles of hell without seeing the canyon. I really didn't want to turn around.

I'm sure I sounded whiney and looked pathetic when I told the ranger, with wallet open for her to see, "I only have seven dollars." She looked at me for a couple seconds before replying, "We'll just make you a senior today." And how much was the senior admission fee? Seven dollars!

There were two at-grade stream crossings past the ranger station. I had asked a couple folks beforehand if my little car would make it. "Oh yeah, won't be a problem." Well, the car didn't have a problem, but it was disconcerting nonetheless. I mean, the Weather Channel's mantra is practically "Turn around, don't drown."

After a short hike, I arrived in Fern Canyon. Supposedly, scenes from the second Jurassic Park movie were filmed there.

Heading back north, I stopped at the Trees of Mystery. There was no need to go inside when Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox were available for photos for free in the parking lot. And it's not like I had any cash left on me anyway! Paul's right hand waved and right eye blinked.

I wrapped up my day of sightseeing back in Crescent City. Here's a shot looking south toward Battery Point Lighthouse.

Wednesday was the loooooong drive home, including a stop at Crater Lake National Park. However, since I still live in the 1980s world of 35mm film and I haven't finished the roll, those photos will have to wait. And I've already mentioned my gas station story in Brothers and getting pulled over.

Great trip, but no more road trips for awhile. My life of leisure is exhausting.

Beats a bowl of Cheerios at home

2010-08-21T15:08:00.004-06:00

One of the decidedly decadent benefits of befriending a pilot is flying to breakfast in the mountains. This morning, I was treated to a flight up to Stanley in the Sawtooth Mountains. I had to fight back the turbulence-induced urge to vomit on the hour-long flight home, but it was a beautiful ride.

Looking down at Stanley from the bluff on which the airport sits:

Me, the plane, and the Sawtooths:

Don't do anything stupid!

The approach into Boise:

I managed to make it through the trip without throwing up. But it was close.

Travels along Highway 20

2010-08-20T13:36:00.003-06:00

Brothers

I know I should have gassed up in Bend. But the traffic there was awful. I don't understand the hype about that town. I couldn't have located Highway 20 soon enough.

It didn't take long before the mental math revealed I wouldn't have enough gas to get to Burns, the next sizable town down the road. Brothers was the next dot on the map to the east, so I pegged my hopes that there would be gas available.

There wasn't much to Brothers. But there was a gas station/post office/cafe/convenience store. It thought it was one of those places where you'd expect taxidermy services as well (or a bait shop, if near a body of water instead). So, I got a good laugh when I passed the taxidermist stand just east of Brothers. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I pulled up to the old-time gas pumps, got out of the car, and headed inside. Because, of course, you can't pump your own damn gas in the state of Oregon. The gentleman behind the counter couldn't have moved any slower. He was old, but not that old. The sun had probably aged him prematurely. (Note to self: Must wear sunscreen.)

I was passed over for customers who had arrived after me. I would have made a fuss, but I felt the old man could have refused to fill my tank. When you've literally got the key to the only gas pump in a 100-mile stretch of high desert, you can do that. You can also charge $3.42/gallon. Oh, the power.

With the other customers paid up, the old man grabbed the keys and shuffled out the door behind me. Arriving at my car, he randomly remarked, "Well, you're well-muscled." Only the "you're" came out more like "yuuuuuuuuuuuur." I don't respond well to compliments about my appearance as it is. Throw in the fact that this one came from an aging gas jockey in the middle of nowhere and you've got the recipe for awkwardness.

I did manage to politely say thank you and tell him I was a runner. (I assumed he was referencing my legs.) He added that he used to look like me, which sounded more like sad reminiscing than anything else. But I also thought he was warning me. "One day, you will be me." Some sage advice from a desert rat.

Somewhere between Brothers and Burns

The speed limit on the two-lane highways in Oregon is no more than 55 MPH. Ridiculous. I drove through some pretty desolate (and beautiful) country. There's no way 55 is doable on those roads for hundreds of miles. Most of the other drivers felt the same way.

After my encounter with the old man in Brothers, I continued east toward Boise. I was tired and just wanted to get home. So, when the flashing lights appeared in my rear-view mirror, I resigned myself to my fate. I had just passed a couple of parked sheriff's vehicles. I know I wasn't speeding then, because I had slowed when the truck in front of me turned off the highway at that same spot. Maybe someone was hidden a bit further back?

I pulled over and the officer comes up. "I'm Officer So-and-So from the Sheriff's Office and I clocked you... Well, you're well-muscled." Okay, he didn't say that. What a coincidence that would have been! No, he said got me going 73 in a 55. I had no argument. I was certainly going 73 at some point. When he asked if that sounded about right, I couldn't say no.

"License, insurance, and registration, please." Okay, license? Check. Insurance card? Check. I open the glove compartment to locate the registration ... and I can't find it. He goes back to his vehicle to run my information while I continue to rummage through the few documents in the glove box. Oh, I found my expired South Dakota registration and some old insurance cards. But no Idaho registration. Lovely.

When the officer returned, I said (or maybe pleaded), "I swear, the car is registered. I just moved to Idaho and had the car titled." I still have my South Dakota driver's license, after all. He had noted that fact when I had handed it over earlier, to which I replied that I was a grad student at Boise State. ("You see, sir, I'm a studious young man...") Actually, this would have been the perfect time to pull out the poor-grad-student line. ("Officer, as a poor grad student, I really can't afford the exorbitant, yet deserved, ticket you're about to write.")

Anyway, I was a bit flustered (and pissed off at myself) when he got back to the car:

Officer: You know you shouldn't be driving through Oregon, right?

Me: Uhhh...

Officer: Because I went to the University of Oregon.

Me: Oh yeah. I heard about what happened last year.

Just splendid. I'm pulled over going 18 over the limit without my registration by a Duck. Great. But all he did was hand back my license and insurance card and told me to keep it under 65. And I'm still ticket-free since the age of 17.

Yesterday, I went through my files and quickly located my registration. For whatever reason, I had stupidly filed the damn thing instead of putting it in the glove box. Lesson learned.

Ride 'em cowboy!

2010-08-15T15:39:00.003-06:00

Mom sent me some photos from my family's visit to South Dakota. Included is the long-promised jackalope photo:

I love South Dakota.

From my beard to the rodeo - and everything in between!

2010-08-10T21:36:00.004-06:00

I don't know what it is about the month of August the past several years, but it has been the month where I've decided to shake up (i.e. become lazy with) my shaving routine. And that means it's beard season! I finally got around to shaving my neck tonight, so I no longer look like I've been living in the woods. We'll see how long the facial hair lasts this time.

***

There has (finally) been some weather here in Boise lately to break the California-like monotony. Storms rolled through last night. Not much rain, but a good amount of lightning. And a quick shower fell this afternoon, just enough for that damp smell to blow in through the windows. Very, very nice. If one is to believe the forecast, the temperature won't reach 80 tomorrow. Hot, sunny weather returns this weekend, however.

***

I've had the strangest urge this week to visit the ocean. A very strong urge that won't go away. Maybe the sun is getting to me, who knows. I never felt like this in South Dakota, where I was about as far away from an ocean as one can get in North America. My summer class ends this week, with a week off before fall semester starts. A trip may be in the works.

***

The last week of class means it is final exam time. It was a quick five weeks and I have loved it. The two things I have going for me as the curriculum progresses are 1.) I write well, thank goodness, and 2.) I'm in the right program at the right school for me. The class has definitely been a lot work though. So much work, in fact, that I'm glad I'm not employed at the moment. I've been able to devote all of my energy to this introductory course. Well, and to running too.

***

Turkey jerky is like crack for me. It. Is. So. Delicious. But loaded in sodium, unfortunately. So, since I can't refrain from buying the two-bag pack from Costco and I'm freaked out about hereditary high blood pressure, I'm going cold turkey (jerky, haha). But what to do with the two bags I have left in the cabinet...

***

I've been listening to the new Arcade Fire album, "The Suburbs." Not bad. It can't compare to "Funeral" (What will?), but is superior to "Neon Bible."

***

And break out the western wear, it's rodeo time! The Owyhee County Fair and Rodeo begins tomorrow in Homedale. I'll head out there Saturday night for the final night of rodeo. That's typically when you see the best of the best. Steer wrestling is my favorite event. But it's also fun to watch the youngsters mutton bustin'. Really, it's all a blast.

You're simply the best (of the rest)

2010-08-07T19:27:00.003-06:00

I had my race this morning. First, do you know how hard it is to wake up before 7:00 when you haven't done it in six weeks? Quite. But I was pumped and bolted out of bed. It also helped that I keep the alarm clock on the other side of the room, necessitating that I actually get up to turn it off.

When the race started, a group of about 20 runners absolutely bolted from the line. These people turned out to be of two groups: 1.) The elite runners who were not my competition, and 2.) The poor souls who didn't realize how much of an elevation gain awaited them, poor things. I have to say, though, that the runners (at least those toward the front at the start) did a good job of lining up based on projected finishing time. I've complained on here before about that. There's no shame in finishing toward the back of the back, especially in a race like this. Just don't start right up front so everyone has to pass you.

So, yes, a bunch of folks sprinted from start. I tried to stick to my mantra of "Run your race, Bri," but it is a competition after all. I went out a little faster than I would have otherwise; however, it turned out to be a good thing. I hit the summit faster than I ever had. Just prior to that point, I found myself separated from the other racers, with the fast group way ahead and the rest of the pack behind me. This almost always happens to me. Due to the course's winding nature, I had glimpses of a runner or two ahead of and behind me at times; mostly, however, it was me racing against myself. Good thing I usually run alone.

During the mostly downhill, last half of the race, I did quickly make up a ton of ground on a runner. "Dead meat!" I thought. But no, it was just some random guy out for his Saturday morning jog. Damn it.

After the final climb, I sprinted the final 10 minutes downhill. There was no way for me to figure out where I was place-wise, both overall and in my age group. So, I just ran hard. And it felt so good! I crossed the finish line strong, relatively free of bugs, and comfortably ahead of the next finisher.

But where did I place? My time was something like 56:45, a personal best for sure, but I knew that it probably wasn't good enough for top-three in the 30-39 age group based on last year's times. As it turned out, the third-place guy finished in 53-something, which just wasn't going to happen for me. (And it won't ever happen unless I lose about 30 pounds. Seriously. You should have seen the twigs that finished ahead of me. And it's not like I have weight to spare.)

If the color-coded tags were any indication, I came in fourth in the 30-39 age group. Not bad, methinks. According to the race website, there were 31 entrants in this group alone. Overall, I finished somewhere around 20th out of around 200. Also not bad. Okay, I did very well. In fact, I did so well, it took two naps this afternoon to recover.

There are a couple half marathons on my tentative agenda in October. And I have a mud run through an obstacle course scheduled in September. That should be something. I'll try to get pictures of that one.

Update: The results have been posted: 56:37, 21/136 overall, 5/26 age group.

human flypaper

2010-08-03T21:30:00.003-06:00

Since moving to Boise a month ago, I've developed a nice rotation of trails on which to run in the mornings. Lately, though, I've been a regular up at the Military Reserve, site of a trail race this Saturday. I haven't raced since May, so I'm itching for the competition. It's a challenging course, but it's totally doable, about eight miles in length - four up, four back down. Based on my training runs, I'm going to really have to haul ass coming down from the summit to make the top-three in my age group. But I gotta have a goal.

Bugs really aren't a problem around here, which I'm thankful for. But the Military Reserve has swarms of black bugs of some sort. By the time I make it back down the hill to the parking lot, my entire torso and arms are totally covered in them. It's quite disgusting, if I say so myself. I should look so pretty when I cross the finish line Saturday morning.

Celery is good for the brain

2010-07-23T20:54:00.005-06:00

I just stopped over at Albertson's to pickup some supplies for tomorrow's hike. As the cashier was ringing up my items, the one in the next lane asked her, "What is celery?" while holding up, naturally, a stalk of celery. (Why he was dressed in jeans, white t-shirt, and a lei is beyond me.) Smart-ass me, I wanted to reply, "A vegetable." But I knew what he was after: "the code."

For those of you not in the know on the ways of the supermarket world, produce items (along with a small number of other items) are assigned a four-digit PLU, or price lookup, code. The cashier types in the PLU to determine the item's price. After time, a good cashier will learn to associate most fruits and vegetables with its PLU. If presented with a bag of bananas or apples, a novice can cheat by looking at the sticker. But every nitwit knows that bananas are 4011. Please.

Returning to my tale... My mind quickly shifted gears after stifling my urge to make a comedic (to me) remark. "4070?" I wondered.

"Celery? 4070," my cashier responded.

Hot dog! I still got it after all these years. My last day as a cashier was in the late 90s and I still know celery. I mean, bananas? Come on. But celery is another story.

Help me.

Note to self on TP

2010-07-23T20:38:00.005-06:00

The idea of a quadruple-sized toilet paper roll seemed like a good idea while at Freddy's yesterday. I fell under the spell of TP efficiency, or whatever you call the behemoth now sitting on the back of my toilet. The roll barely fit on the holder and was so big that it didn't move when I attempted to grab a few squares. And once I finish this roll, his three brothers await on the shelf.

Poor, poor me

2010-07-18T17:11:00.005-06:00

A friend of mine put me in touch with one of his colleagues here in Boise. We had lunch last Friday. When the bill arrived, he picked it up, remarking, "You're a poor grad student. I remember those days." Now, I'm not one to turn down a free meal (especially when it's sub-par almond chicken), but I'm not really poor.

The funny thing is that I was the "poor VISTA" when I lived in South Dakota. Once again, I had money. Granted, I lived solely off of my $850/month living allowance for 19 months. (True, I didn't have a housing payment. But I paid in other ways, trust me.) So, yes, I was technically living in poverty as defined by the government. But I was still able to travel some and pay race registration fees. And if things got bad, my savings were still there. I could have gone on food stamps, but chose not to because I didn't truly need them.

And now? I'm not working, not too worried about it, and enjoying a life of leisure at the moment. (I do have an interview on Wednesday, so light a candle for me. the position is a great fit for me.) Poor people can't do that.

It's not that the negative connotation of the word "poor" bothers me. It's just odd how others stereotypically define poverty. Or is it that I'm a "good" poor person and entitled to a free meal because I joined the national service program, or am now pursuing a graduate degree? Or maybe I'm just completely overthinking this?

I'm thirsty

2010-07-16T18:43:00.003-06:00

It's currently 100 degrees in Boise, Idaho. I can't help thinking about the oft-used response of Phoenix residents when those who reside elsewhere remark about the blast-furnace heat of the desert in summer: "But it's a dry heat!" Ha! It's still 100 degrees and I don't care if the relative humidity is 12 percent. Bring me a glass of water. Please.

On the bright side, it's 96 degrees in Mission. I'd be baking either way.

Thoughts on changing from 67 to 1A

2010-07-13T22:41:00.002-06:00

My forwarded mail arrived yesterday. Included were the two most recent editions of the Todd County Tribune. It was my first tangible connection to the Rosebud since I arrived in Boise two weeks ago, and it brought back feelings I had toward the end of my time on the reservation.

One of the things I was unaware of before moving to Mission was the extent to which white folks come and go on the reservation. On a related note, I also didn’t realize how much of a destination the Rosebud is in terms of church groups looking to perform mission work. (The vast majority of the groups, visiting Habitat or other organizations, are religiously affiliated. Habitat has a few secular groups.)

AmeriCorps is innately a temporary program. Participants commit to a certain amount of service time, with VISTAs working for one year. I knew even before arriving that there would come a time when I would leave, presumably to attend graduate school. That did not stop me from becoming a part of the community, which I did willingly because I genuinely love the place.

But how does all of this look to those who don’t get to leave? I know I did good things for not only Habitat, but for Mission and the Rosebud as well. But I left. Just like the white people who spend a week during the summer teaching vacation bible school. Just like the Teach For America teachers who flee after their two-year commitment, if they make it that long. And just like every other person who “does their time” on the rez before departing for greener pastures.

The high school dropout rate at the high school is atrocious. This is the result of many factors, including, in my opinion, the turnover rate in the teaching corps. The district relies heavily on TFA. I’m sure they’d have trouble recruiting people otherwise. I love the place, but it is isolated and there are many challenges to reservation life.

I extended my service seven months over my original commitment, yet I can’t get over my feeling of abandonment. What makes me different from every other (white) person who has come and gone? The kids I coached won’t see me as any different from any of their former teachers. And should they?

Because I knew my time on the Rosebud would be temporary, I completely threw myself into life in town and the greater reservation soon after arriving in November 2008. My goal was to become a familiar face around town. I achieved and exceeded that goal. People were sad to hear I was leaving. Yeah, they were excited for me about graduate school, but still sad.

There’s nothing I can really do about how I’m feeling. Just like when I moved to Mission (and Juneau before that), Boise needs to be my home now, and it will be. I’ve already met some great people, I’m enjoying the solitude of my apartment, and the first week of grad school has been fun. And the running is fantastic!

It still wasn’t a good feeling to replace my South Dakota “67” plates with Idaho “1A” plates. Nothing against Boise, but it felt like a step backward. The 67 stood for Todd County, home to the Rosebud. 1A is Ada County, so now I’m one of about 384,000 people. Just doesn’t seem as special.

I don’t want to say it wasn’t time to go, because it was. Grad school has been my goal and, like other goals I’ve had, nothing was going to stop me. But 19 months wasn’t long enough. The memory of unpacking the car was still fresh when I finished packing the car back up to leave two weeks ago.

People have asked what I plan to do after grad school. My response has been, “We’ll see what my priorities are two years from now.” If I can figure out a way to mentally make Boise a smaller place than it truly is, maybe it can remain home forever. But if I do end up leaving in 2012 after I graduate, that will be the last move. I’m proud of my background and the interesting places I’ve lived, but this moving stuff is wearing me down.

No matter what, though, I'm keeping my subscription to the Tribune.

Hot mess

2010-07-10T19:22:00.002-06:00

I have a farmer's tan. I usually have one this time of year. Okay, maybe not while I was living in Juneau. But I spend a lot of time outdoors, and before I know it, my arms (and legs) reach a point of no return, a color that will never be achieved by the rest of my pasty-white body no matter how much sun it receives for the remainder of the summer.

Since moving to Boise, I've been running in the mornings, hitting the trails no later than 9:00 a.m. in order to beat the heat. Well, I was out late last night (first date, whoop) and couldn't muster the energy required to get my ass in gear so early in the morn. I didn't run yesterday, so I definitely still wanted to get outside, even if it meant in the middle of a hot, sunny, dry afternoon.

Normally, I run with a shirt on, mostly to save the masses from the glare created from the sun reflecting off my pale skin. (I often joke that people need those special eclipse-watching glasses to view my chest in broad daylight.) And, of course, there's the fact that my tan arms/white chest combo would be visible for the entire world to see. You know how people talk.

Today, I didn't care. Due to the heat, however, there was hardly a soul on the trails. Me and my skinny, tropical arms had the place to ourselves. It was a hard, sweaty run, but well worth it (as always). But I woke up from my afternoon nap (not to be confused with my morning nap) with a burning sensation underneath my shirt. Oh yes, a lovely burn on my shoulders and upper back.

But the greatest part is that the rest of my torso is still halibut white. So, I'm now a real looker, what with the tan arms, pink upper body, and white everything else. At least the skin from my popped blister has almost fully fused back onto my heel. Otherwise, my self-image would have taken a real hit.

Blistered

2010-07-06T18:36:00.003-06:00

It's possible I've been overdoing things with my trail running over the past week. I returned home from this morning's run with the biggest, gnarliest blister I've not only ever had myself, but ever seen on a human being. It was on my left heel. I wouldn't say it hurt, but it was uncomfortable walking on it throughout the day.

So, this evening, I drained it. It's a good thing I had tissues handy because there were copious amounts of warm blister juice waiting to gush into the slit I had cut. I'm all bandaged up now. I still plan to run tomorrow. The joy of being a toe runner...

I was going to take and post photos; however, I think my words provide enough of a visual.

Boise's Bob Vila

2010-07-03T21:43:00.000-06:00

Today's project had me putting together a dresser. The box weighed close to a million pounds. I had a hell of a time just getting it into my car (and out of the car, and up the short stoop).

Not including breaks for lunch and a phone call, it took three hours to put this bad boy together:

Looks good, right? Luckily, you can't see the small blemish I created when I mistakenly slid a piece in the wrong slot. Well, you won't see it unless you go looking through my underwear drawer.

First dispatches from Boise

2010-07-03T19:53:00.002-06:00

I've gone on three runs thus far: one on the paved Greenbelt along the river, two on trails in the foothills. (Can I tell you how much I missed trail running?) All were great experiences. And there were people everywhere! Boise is a very active town. Keep in mind that two of my runs took place mid-morning on weekdays. Don't these people work?
I live in a small apartment complex, just 10 units around a small yard. On a scale of 1 to 10, my apartment is a 9. I can live without an on-site laundry facility; however, the lack of air conditioning could be a problem. I have gigantic west-facing windows. And guess in which direction the sun sets around here. My place turns into a little heat box after 5:00 p.m. But it's no worse than the bedroom I had in the northwest corner of the building in Mission. Hot in summer and freezing in the winter.
Campus is a five-minute walk away. My neighborhood is great and pretty quiet. Folks in golf carts drive around throughout the day, serving as the eyes and ears of the place. Being so close to campus, however, makes me wonder how the serenity is going to change once the fall semester begins. Then again, Boise State is a commuter school.
Speaking of close, downtown is another 15-minute walk from campus. Like Juneau's First Friday art walk, Boise has what's called First Thursday. So, I checked that out two nights ago. I visited the Idaho State Historical Museum (for free), bought a new overpriced water bottle to take along on my runs, and bought a Cowboy Junkies CD for $4. The CD compensated for the water bottle.
I'm not one to run with people, but I'm going to check out the group run next Saturday morning. It was my intention to meet the group at 7:00 a.m. this morning, but I was up past my bedtime last night after a late movie. I figure the running group might be a good way to meet people. If I don't like them, I can veer off on a different direction, never to return.
There's a great independent movie theater, which I visited last night. Imagine the Nickelodeon in Juneau just with more screens. Like the Nickelodeon, I sat against the wall last night. Ah, the security of the wall. The only trouble was picking which film to see. I went with "Please Give." Not bad.
I got my BSU ID card Thursday. Hello student discounts!
I signed up for my first race, a trail run in August. I need the month to acclimate because...
It is so freaking dry here! Good grief I'm thirsty. I don't know how I'm the only runner out there carrying a water bottle. I started running with Gatorade in Mission because of my fear of dehydration while running the lonely dirt roads. But here? I have to be even more judicious with my fluid intake.
I like my part of town. But there's a point within Boise the farther west you go where it turns into your traditional grid of streets found throughout the western U.S. and its accompanying big box stores, fast-food joints, and traffic. It's fairly easy to get around town, even with lower speed limits than you'd expect, construction, and un-timed stop lights. But I'm glad I chose to live "in town" close to campus instead of in suburbia.
I'm not working yet, but not freaking out about the money situation. I'll find a job eventually. I do have a good nibble on one position and applied for another yesterday morning which would be a perfect fit. Let's see if they feel the same. In the meantime, I'm enjoying my time off. Class doesn't start until the 12th.
Overall, I like Boise so far. It'll be easy to call this place home for at least two years. I'm not too concerned with the traffic situation because I really won't have to deal with it much once I get more settled. Boise has more people than what I'm used to and comfortable with. But I've lived among the masses before.

I did stick the landing

2010-06-27T20:13:00.004-06:00

My last night in Mission. The car is about 80 percent packed and there's still plenty of room for me. I took a break to snap some photos of the beautiful sunset. I then thought it would be fun to take one last self-portrait. It took two attempts to get it right.

Attempt #1: Here I am falling off the gate.

Attempt #2: Here's the shot I had in mind.

Oh!

2010-06-25T08:33:00.002-06:00

I just sent out my goodbye e-mail to friends, colleagues, and volunteers. The first three responses began:

"Oh Brian, I can't believe the day is already here."

"Oh how sad for us!"

"Oh my dear, dear Brian!"

Oh my goodness! They were all sweet messages and I'm definitely smiling. It should be a good day.

One box down

2010-06-20T19:38:00.003-06:00

I packed my first box for next Monday's big drive west. I swear, it seems like just yesterday I was doing this.

Dread the packing

2010-06-14T17:26:00.001-06:00

Two weeks from this moment, I'll be driving west somewhere in Wyoming toward my new home. I'm in denial I have to stuff all of my crap into my little car. I hate packing. It falls somewhere on the hate scale between lying and raisins. It's bad enough just putting a bag together for a weekend trip. The good news is I might place a holding deposit on an apartment in the next couple of days. The quicker the move-in, the quicker my worldly possessions are out of the car.

Ugh.

Try it! You'll like it!

2010-06-13T19:55:00.004-06:00

You know it. My family knows it. I know it. I'm a picky eater. So, when there's a food out there I'll actually eat, you can pretty much guarantee that it's plain, not exotic, and palatable to someone who has issues with food textures.

Let's talk about buffalo. It's popular 'round these parts. The Rosebud Sioux Tribe has a buffalo ranch. And buffalo can be found on many menus across the state. I've tried a buffalo burger and, frankly, it tastes just like a hamburger. And it happens to be leaner than ground beef.

Since I happen to like buffalo, it means it's gotta be innocuous. Would Mom and Grandmom try a bite of it during their recent trip? Hell no! Now I know how they must have felt when I was a kid, refusing to try something new, green, or fruity. Or even as an adult how I won't touch chunky spaghetti sauce. But still! If I like it, how bad can it possibly be?

We were pretty chatty with everyone we met during our travels. And the topic of buffalo almost always came up.

"Have you tried buffalo yet? No? But it's not gamey at all. And it's lean!"

But they could not be swayed. In fact, when we checked out of our hotel on the final morning of the trip, Grandmom lied to the gentleman we had met the night before at the hotel gift shop. (A gentleman, by the way, who took a liking to yours truly.)

"Did you try buffalo last night?"

"Yes we did!"

In the end, they both boarded their flight back to the east coast without experiencing a South Dakota delicacy. Their trip was incomplete.

The family visits the rez

2010-06-13T17:23:00.003-06:00

Mom and Grandmom visited last week and I have to say that the trip was a success. My itinerary turned out to be a good one, even accounting for a few unexpected events (a missed flight connection, my attending a wake). This was the first time in the nine years since I moved away from Delaware that any member of my family had come to visit.

All told, we didn't spend too much time on the reservation. But I think it was long enough for them both to get a handle on what my life has been like for the past year and a half. Along with them just having a good time and dispelling myths about Native Americans, that was my goal for their trip.

Now, Grandmom did drive Mom and me crazy at times. It was bound to happen considering the five days and 700 miles in my little car we spent together. And the fact that it is my grandmother. To her credit though, she asked questions about life on the reservation. Many, many questions. Her phrasing was a bit odd; there was a lot of, "So, do the Indians work there?" and such. But I attribute that to both Delaware's distance from reservations and her lack of familiarity about this area of the country and Native Americans in general.

But her questions weren't so far removed from what I hear from Habitat's out-of-town volunteers each week during the summer. And I always tell them that there are no stupid questions, because, like my grandmother, most of them had never before set foot on a reservation.

The highlight of the trip for both of them was last weekend's Crazy Horse Volksmarch. This was the 25th annual hike which takes hikers 3.1 miles up to the future arm of the Crazy Horse Memorial in the Black Hills and back down. Hikers are only allowed on the monument one weekend per year, so I'm glad they (and me too!) had a chance to experience that.

Grandmom had to take a number of rest stops, which was perfectly fine. I tried (and tried) to convince her that this was not a race. The Volksmarch brings out many folks who aren't used to hiking up mountains in the mile-high air. Our fellow hikers were scattered alongside the trail on boulders and tree stumps throughout the entire route. She didn't think she'd make it, but she did and was thrilled at the top. Good stuff.

Besides the Volksmarch, we visited the museum and the purple church down at the St. Francis Mission. We went down to Valentine, where we walked along the Cowboy Trail on the old railroad bridge over the Niobrara, and hiked in Smith Falls State Park, where I had never been before.

Driving out to the Hills, we stopped in the Badlands and at Wall Drug. They could have spent all day at the Wall Drug. You see, Mom and Grandmom are shoppers. The Wall Drug stop was also the source of probably the funniest conversation of the trip, courtesy of, naturally, Grandmom.

Wall Drug is known for its jackalopes, a fictional creature. There's a huge, rideable one in an outdoor area of the Wall Drug. Mounted jackalopes and a variety of jackalope-inspired tchotchkes are available for purchase throughout the store. After lunch, Grandmom refused to sit on the jackalope for a photo. I, with no shame, got up on the thing instead, striking a classic bucking-bronco pose. (Mom has the photos on her camera. I'll be sure to post them when she sends them.)

Fast forward a couple days to breakfast in Rapid with a friend of mine. As we recounted our travels for her, Wall Drug and the jackalopes naturally came up:

Me: And I rode the jackalope.

Friend: You know, it took me the longest time to realize that a jackalope is a cross between a jackrabbit and an antelope.

Grandmom: Brian, you told me the jackalope was made up! (I swear, she had an accusatory tone, like I was trying to trick her.)

Me: Grandmom, think about it. A jackrabbit mating with an antelope?

Grandmom: ...

All told, the five days flew by. The most common theme evident in their remarks about this area from both of them during the trip was about the land:

"There aren't any houses."

"You just never see any people." (Mom said this a number of times.)

"There's no smog."

"The land just keeps going and going."

"You can see forever."

They were amazed, yet their words lacked that Gee-it-would-be-refreshing-to-live-out-here quality. Their comments instead reminded me of the stories I've read about the homesteaders who came out here in the late 19th and early 20th centuries who were overwhelmed by the enormity of the land. (That, and the wind.)

The only downside to the trip was that my dad didn't come out as well. I still think he would have had a blast working with the Habitat volunteers on the job site. But he doesn't travel. Ever. However, word on the street is that he wants to take the family on a vacation. One of the islands and a cruise have both been mentioned as possibilities. If you've known me for more than five minutes, you know I'm not one to lounge on a tropical beach or by a pool on a cruise ship. But an all-expenses-paid trip? I think I can convince myself it would be an adventure.

Class of 2010

2010-05-22T16:56:00.002-06:00

My thoughts from Todd County High School's graduation ceremony this afternoon:

The ceremony began with a drum circle, the singers carrying the drum from the entrance of the auditorium to the stage. I'm thrilled elements of traditional Native culture are still incorporated into everyday life on the reservation. Hearing the Lakota Flag Song sung prior to high school sporting events gives me chills. It reminds me that the Rosebud is different from anywhere I've ever been.
The valedictorian spoke. Based upon what he said and how he said it, I cannot believe he's the valedictorian. It was especially touching when he casually stated that the graduates made it through their four years of high school because of each other, not the teachers.
There were 54 graduates. When the Class of 2010 started high school in 2006, there were approximately 200 freshmen. The dropout rate is even worse than I thought. But it does go to show what a big deal it is around here to graduate from high school. They didn't all make it.
I optimistically and erroneously thought a graduation is an event momentous enough to get friends, family, and the community in their seats by the posted start time. Cheers to TCHS for beginning at 1:00 p.m. sharp.
The temperature reached 95 degrees this afternoon, the first hot day we've had this year. The auditorium also serves as the school's gymnasium. Between the heat and the number of attendees, I was expecting it to feel like a sauna inside. But it was rather comfortable.
It's wonderful that graduation is open to the entire community. Those kids should be celebrated.
I remember bits and pieces of my high school graduation back in 1996. I thought today would jog my memory on additional details, but it didn't. But I can say that the atmosphere and festive nature at Todd County's graduation were nothing like they were at mine 14 years ago.

A small pebble of disappointment among a sea of goodness

2010-05-19T21:25:00.001-06:00

I ran the half marathon Saturday morning. My time was 1:30:39, just shy of my still-elusive goal. But I finished 7th overall out of 271 finishers. And I came in first in my age group. Here are my awards:

Socks! Score!

The recap:

I was on a 1:30 pace through about the first five miles. But before I knew it, I was behind by close to a minute and a half. I experienced more soreness in the middle stages of this race than I usually do during a half marathon. I chalked that up to arriving at the event later than I would have liked. I had only 20 minutes to stretch, jog around, get my bag to the check-in area, and just focus before the starting gun.

I felt as though I was sprinting during the entire race, so there was no way my time could have been even a second faster. I was actually able to pickup some time in the final miles too, evinced by the fact I cut my time deficit nearly in half and missed my goal by only 39 seconds. I was close enough to running 1:30 that I picked up my pace sooner than usual and really, really pushed myself during the final three miles.

The marathon and half marathon courses split between Miles 10 and 11. After this point, the course was like a ghost town: no spectators, no aid stations, no traffic, and no other runners. Besides wanting to put in a strong finish with an outside chance at 1:30, my training really helped me during this stretch. I run alone on empty, wide-open roads here on the Rosebud. (Remember this photo?) Because of that experience, the loneliness during this portion of the race was actually to my benefit. I think it was the most fun I’ve ever had in the latter stages of a long race.

In the final mile, one of the volunteers directing traffic noted that I looked like a sprinter. I’m not sure if that was because of my speed, my form, or my build, but it made me smile. A sprinter I am not! Running too fast makes me nauseous anyway.

Quick side note: From what I've read, my body type is supposedly suited more for sprinting than distance running. That makes sense when you look at the builds of the runners who typically finish ahead of me at these races. I have a few more pounds to haul than the elite runners. Nothing I can do about that.

So, I didn’t achieve my goal. Oh well. But I’m over it and am proud of how I ran and the improvement I made over last year’s race. What I’m most disappointed about now, however, is Saturday was the second and final time I ran in Brookings. It was by far my favorite race in South Dakota. But the trails in Idaho await.

P.S. Soon after writing Saturday’s post, I stopped by the front desk at the Super 8. The woman behind the desk placed a call to Room 125. It was quiet by the time I arrived back in my room down the hall. I slipped back inside as quietly as possible so they wouldn’t know it was me who turned them in.

P.P.S. A couple photos of me, before and after, courtesy of the Brookings Marathon:

Here I am in a post-stretch stance just before the 7:00 a.m. start.
And here is me again at the finish, looking as fresh as a... ummm... never mind.

Live from Brookings

2010-05-14T20:37:00.003-06:00

I'm at the Super 8 in Brookings, South Dakota. My headphones are blasting to block out the loud conversation from Room 125. They have until 10:00 to shut the hell up before I call the front desk. Why must people be so inconsiderate? I need my sleep tonight because...

I'm running a half marathon at 7:00 tomorrow morning. And, man, am I excited! A little nervous too. This is probably the most pressure I've ever put on myself before a race. I ran this same event last year in 1:32:14, a personal best which still stands. My goal is 1:30, of course, and I feel like I have a more-than-decent shot at accomplishing it.

I haven't run since Sunday. I needed the rest though. I ran well last weekend, but volleyball Tuesday night was a bit much on my body as evinced by my soreness Wednesday morning. I'm back to 100 percent now. I love playing with the gang each Tuesday, but with the amount of running I do, it isn't good for my knees.

It's supposed to be cool, clear, and calm tonight. The low should be 44, which is warmer than it was at last year's start. Conditions should be ideal. If I'm going to meet my goal, tomorrow's the day.

Looking ahead to racing in Boise, there isn't much on the running schedule there over the summer that intrigues me. Plus, it's hot there in the summer, so it's not like there are many races to choose from. So, tomorrow morning is my last chance for some time to scratch my competitive itch.

I've told the cross country and track kids more than once they need to say their goals out loud and write them down. Otherwise, who's to say the goal even existed in the first place? (If a tree falls in a forest...)

At this point, I think everyone knows my "hour and a half" mantra. It's good for me. But it's time to get the job done!

Go west young thirtysomething

2010-05-08T21:17:00.005-06:00

I'm moving to Boise at the end of June to attend graduate school at Boise State. It's funny how life turns out sometimes. I mean, Boise? Really? This time last year, I wasn't even considering options outside of South Dakota for school. Then life happened. Boise turned into the plan, then just an option, followed by a distant possibility.

But all it took to completely redirect my future was a very thin envelope with a lot of scholarship money. The funny thing about Boise State is that after researching their public administration program and speaking with its director, it turned out to be a really good fit for me and my goals. But out-of-state tuition and loans weren't going to happen. So when the scholarship money came through (and a bit more since), my decision was simple.

Attending grad school two states away instead of just three and half hours down the road in Vermillion is only going to make leaving here harder. But Boise will be good for me. Besides the school situation, it's a great town for the outdoors. That's the big thing I have missed during my time in Mission. I already have my trail book, and there are plentiful hiking and running opportunities close to town.

I'm trying to convince myself that this is a new adventure, but it does pale in comparison to my past two moves. It's not Alaska, and it's certainly not the reservation. (But can anything really compare to the rez?) And I'll be the first to admit that Boise is pretty white bread. I guess that makes the Rosebud fry bread. (I just came up with that. Hilarious!)

This move is also different from the last two for several other reasons. Unlike both Juneau and Mission, I've actually visited Boise. Granted, it was just a long weekend, but I did get a feel for the place.

Also, I actually know someone there. He was the reason I applied to BSU in the first place. I moved to Juneau without knowing a soul in all of Alaska. And I had only spoken with my future co-workers here at Habitat over the phone.

And the actual move is shorter than the last two. That's not exactly a bad thing though. Yes, it's still over 1,000 miles; however, I'll be able to leave one morning and arrive in town the following afternoon. There won't be a three-day ferry ride this time around.

It's not a fair comparison though. Each move, including the first one from Delaware to Texas, served its own distinct purpose, and this one will as well. Besides the great outdoor opportunities, the winters are moderate (I'm not going to know what to do with myself!), there are college and minor league sports events to attend, and there's a Costco and Fred Meyer.

So, seven weeks to go. The stretch run to the finish. I won't be sitting idly watching the clock either. I have a half marathon next Saturday. My mom and grandmom are coming to visit in June, which should be something else. And then there's everything going on at work. There's a lot to accomplish between now and June 25th. I'll pack the car that weekend before heading west.

That sounds good. Heading west. I will say it was a strange feeling to be driving east on I-90 moving to what would be my new home. It seemed like I was going in the wrong direction. Mission is west of the 100th meridian, but just barely. This time, though, the road signs will be pointing west. That feels great.

Boise or bust!

Did anyone bring a map?

2010-05-02T18:54:00.004-06:00

I went to the 86th annual Howard Wood Dakota Relays last night. The top high school and college track and field athletes from South Dakota and surrounding states converged on Sioux Falls for the two-day event. I happened to be in town for meetings held on Friday, so I was able to attend yesterday's evening session.

The highlight for me was watching Todd County's distance runners participate in the 1600. The ninth grade girl, in particular, was awesome. She finished fifth in her heat, picking up the pace and passing a number of runners during her final lap.

Up in the stands, it was fun to listen to where the spectators had traveled from to watch the races. The older man in front of me spurred many of the inquiries, asking where I was from soon after I arrived. But that was one of many similar conversations that followed a familiar back-and-forth:

"Where are you from?"

"Small Town, South Dakota."

"Oh... And where is that?"

It was a veritable South Dakota geography lesson.

Runners and their times were posted on the scoreboard. There was only so much room, so the school names were abbreviated. That led to some more geographical banter:

Old man in front of me: ORR. What school is that?

Me: I have no clue.

Woman behind me, eavesdropping: Did he just ask where ORR is?

Me: Yes.

Woman: Oldham-Ramona/Rutland.

Me: Wait, what? (There were too many towns in there. And I still had to pass the information along to my new hard-of-hearing friend in front of me.)

Woman: Oldham-Ramona/Rutland. (She was obviously up on her high horse for possessing information so valuable to humanity.)

Man next to her, also eavesdropping: It's near Madison.

The thing about the rural schools here is, outside of those located on the reservations, the number of students attending is dropping. That makes sense given the overall population of the state's rural areas - a large portion of South Dakota - is aging and decreasing. The solution for many districts is consolidation. And when it comes to sports, you often have nearby schools combine programs, which is the case for "ORR":

Oldham-Ramona School + Rutland School. = Oldham-Ramona/Rutland

The 2008 Census Bureau population estimates for these three towns are:

Oldham, population 181
Ramona, population 191
Rutland (unincorporated), population 236

All told, I was at a track meet when a geography lesson broke out. And now, I pass my newly acquired knowledge on to you, dear reader.

And now for this evening's final agenda item...

2010-04-25T19:54:00.004-06:00

The City of Mission is about to commence a storm sewer and paving project in a part of town with poor drainage and dirt streets. The Council discussed the project for months, the engineer drafted the plans, the project was put out for bid, and a final cost to the affected property owners was calculated. April 15th was the public's opportunity to provide direct comment to the Council before they voted on the funding mechanism.

April 15th also happened to be my birthday, which, in itself, wasn't going to hold me back from attending. What was a problem, however, was friends of mine had already invited me over for dinner that same evening. What's a nerd like me to do?

I find City Council meetings to be informative and entertaining. Evidently, I'm the only one who feels this way because I'm typically the only member of the public present on the first and third Wednesdays of each month. But with the City about to assess property owners $86 per foot of street frontage, there was bound to be a crowd for a change. A vocal, agitated, and antagonistic crowd. So, I chose to push back my birthday dinner to the next night.

It's a good thing I arrived earlier than usual because a standing-room-only crowd showed up. I'll spare you the details, but I have to say I got a kick out of some of the comments from the residents and business owners in this supposedly conservative area. There was no question that everyone present was in favor of proceeding with the project. Storm sewer! Pavement! Curb and gutter! They just wanted someone else (read: federal government) to pay for it. "Can't you apply for grants and stimulus money?" A tea party it was not.

What was also strange is the crowd left before the final debate transpired and the actual motion was voted upon. In the end, the Council compromised by splitting the total cost of the project with the homeowners 50/50. That plan to assess $86 per foot? Poof! Gone! Folks will now pay $54.40. I'm not sure where the City is going to find that extra $250,000. There isn't exactly a lot of economic activity around here.

The special meeting then adjourned. And my birthday cake was brought out! Talk about a surprise. I had casually mentioned to the City's finance officer at the last regular Council meeting that the meeting allowing for public testimony on the special assessment was going to take place on my birthday. Well, she told one of the Council members, who had her daughter (a caterer) bake me a cake.

It's one of the sweetest and most memorable things anyone has ever done for me. I mean, how many people can say their birthday was celebrated by the City Council? And I don't even live inside the city limits!

Turns out, it was a good thing I postponed my traditional birthday celebration by one night. I would have felt terrible if cake and ice cream had been planned and I didn't show.

But it does tell me the Council now counts on my presence at their meetings. It's not like I say much, if anything. But I've been told by one member in particular a number of times how he appreciates the fact I just show up to take an interest. Maybe if certain property owners affected by a certain infrastructure project would have done the same, they wouldn't have been caught off guard by their special assessment. Just sayin'.

The following night was fun. Dinner was delicious, I finally won a game of Dutch Blitz, and there was another cake. Tack on my departure to Colorado the following morning for a long weekend, and my 32nd birthday turned into an extended celebration. I wonder what number 33 has in store. (Good lord, 33...)

Don't call me stubborn within my three-foot comfort radius

2010-04-24T20:41:00.007-06:00

This weekend's task in preparation for my next move is to go through my box of "important" documents. Old credit card and student loan statements, utility bills, and other miscellaneous junk from the last 10 years will be dropped off at a shredding company while I'm in Sioux Falls next weekend.

One document I'll continue to store for safekeeping, however, is the results of a behavior assessment I took back in 2003 as part of a job interview. Some of the results are spot-on; others are just absolutely hilarious. They are primarily directed toward interactions with me in a professional setting; however, there is definitely overlap with personal relationships as well.

Under the checklist for communicating with me (listen up, everybody!), these are some of the things that will make me a happy camper:

Be patient and persistent.
Respect my quiet demeanor.
Have the facts in logical order.
Provide a friendly environment.
Keep at least three feet away from me.

And here are some behaviors that will cause you problems:

Be redundant.
Offer assurance and guarantees you can't fulfill.
Debate about facts and figures.
Pretend to be an expert, if you're not.
Make statements you cannot prove.

The one thing worse than a know-it-all is one who doesn't. And if you're going to debate numbers with me, proceed at your own risk.

I also got a kick out of the "Perceptions" section. "See yourself as others see you." According to the report, I usually see myself as considerate, good-natured, a team player, thoughtful, dependable, and a good listener. Wouldn't you agree?

But then we get down to the dirty section of others' perceptions. Under "moderate" pressure, tension, stress, or fatigue, you may see me as nondemonstrative, unconcerned, hesitant, and inflexible. Hmmm...

And under "extreme" circumstances, I may come across as possessive, detached, stubborn, and insensitive. Stubborn! I'm not stubborn!

The narrative section of the assessment focuses on my attention to detail, search for the truth (the truth is out there, by the way), and need for data, facts, and figures. But I love this sentence: "If he feels strong about an issue, he may retreat to gather his resources and then return to take a stand!" (The exclamation point is theirs!)

But this whole supposed stubbornness issue rears its ugly head again: "Stubbornness surfaces when his ideals and beliefs are confronted." But what if I'm right?

Keep in mind that I took this assessment almost seven years ago. Deep down, I think I'm still the same Brian now compared to years past. But who I am as a co-worker (friend, significant other, etc.) definitely manifests itself differently now compared to when I moved to Alaska. Those of you who have known me well over that period have seen the difference, for sure.

And to those who call me stubborn? I know you are, but what am I?

P.S. I was offered and did accept the job for which this assessment was administered.

The bright side of Horsetooth

2010-04-20T19:08:00.003-06:00

My time at Sunday's Horsetooth Half Marathon in Fort Collins was my worst ever at that distance. Thankfully, that's about the extent of the bad news I have to report.

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. The course profile was on the event website. I figured if I could muddle through the first two miles (and its accompanying 500 feet in elevation gain), a "decent" time was manageable. What I didn't consider was running 13.1 miles on a course situated a mile above sea level.

After cresting Monster Mountain and the short downhill to the 2-mile marker, my time was a smidge under 17 minutes. As a point of comparison, in four weeks at Brookings, I should be around 14 at the same point. So, an additional three minutes. No big deal for a really big hill.

By the time I hit Dam Hill at Mile 4, I was back down to a sub-8:00 pace. I was picking up time and, with just one hill to go, the remainder of the race was downhill. Sweet!

But I was only able to maintain what I had already established. Looking back, that was a miracle in itself. Besides the two marathons I've run and one trail race I should have skipped because I was ill (I threw up when I got home after that one), I've never had such a strong urge to walk during a race. My body felt okay; I just couldn't make myself go any faster than what seemed like slow motion at times. But I did not walk.

The final four miles of the course took runners along the Poudre ("POO-der") River. Or, more accurately, the CONCRETE path along the Poudre River. Good god, to design such a great course only to destroy the runners' knees on concrete for the final third of the race. There was a narrower gravel path which followed the wider concrete trail; however, at times, the two often strayed from parallel. I had to choose between less wear and tear or keeping to as short a trajectory as possible. For the most part, I chose the latter.

And there was nothing I could do about the hordes of runners passing me. No one really smoked me as they passed by, but the passing was definitely consistent. For a slow starter like myself who begins to pick off runners as a race progresses, this did not feel good at all.

Which brings me to the highlight of the race: the awesome tech shirt! Not only does it fit perfectly (it had better not shrink in the dryer), but the course profile was printed on the back. Whoever came up with this brilliant idea deserves the Nobel Peace Prize in Running. Yeah, it sucks to get passed over and over (and over) again. But when a runner with their altitude-adjusted lungs ran by wearing a race shirt, I was provided with a reminder of the severity of the next hill as they passed by. Great idea!

I came into the race with a 1:35 goal. Ha! It didn't take long for a mid-race reevaluation to occur. I decided I'd be happy with an average 8:00 pace and not walking. I met both of these - and then some.

My final time of 1:43:52 (7:56 pace) placed me 131st out of 1,206 finishers. I placed 33rd out of 116 in my age group. My worst half marathon time had been 1:41:22, the first time I had ever run that far. That was back in 2005 in Juneau.

But what I'll take away most from the Horsetooth in 2010 was finishing as the fourth-fastest non-Colorado and -Wyoming runner in the entire race. (For you guys from Chicago, Minneapolis, and upstate New York, I tip my hat to you.) And for you runners listed in the results without a hometown, I'm assuming you live in Colorado just because it makes me feel better.

I concluded the elevation was the culprit behind my slow time after my very quick recovery after crossing the finish and my lack of muscle soreness. And there's nothing I could have done about it. I'm a sea level baby and Mission sits at about 2,600 feet. Unless I move to the mountains someday, these types of races will always present a challenge to me. It's a good challenge, though, because I did have a fantastic time on a beautiful morning. I love pushing myself like I did on Sunday. But I'm not going to lie. It still felt so good to be done. And to have that nifty shirt.

Brookings now awaits and the elusive 1:30 seems within reach. It seems strange to think that way considering I ran 14 minutes slower than that Sunday. But I know I really can't compare the two races. I feel strong and fit at the moment. And to have mentally pushed back the urge to walk on Sunday gives me the confidence that if I'm anywhere close to running a 1:30 in the final miles on May 15, my brain may be able to override my body. I can do this!

32

2010-04-15T21:20:00.002-06:00

So much to say, so little time. But I had a fantastic birthday. I didn't pass out like last year; however, it was still a memorable day. And there's still more to come. I'm being treated to a belated, home-cooked birthday dinner tomorrow night. (Chicken, mmmm...)

And then I'm off to Colorado on Saturday to see friends and to run my first race of 2010. The Horesetooth Half Marathon course isn't PR material because of the hills. But I'm running really well and feeling strong. It should be a blast!

More to come.

Running PSA

2010-04-08T17:28:00.003-06:00

High school track season is now in full swing, and I'm once again a volunteer coach. I spend at least two days per week with the distance runners. I don't get a chance to attend most of their meets because they're held during the weekdays. But I was able to take some personal time off of work in order to spend a glorious sunny day over at the track today to watch the Falcons run, jump, and throw against nine other schools.

There was just one thing, one ignorant little comment, that cast the smallest of clouds on what was otherwise a perfect afternoon. (Well, two things, if you count my sunburn.) I've talked about this before, but I just can't stand it: the ignorant, demoralizing comments from parents and coaches.

During the distance runs, I positioned myself at the 200 mark (halfway around the track from the start/finish line) to root on the runners - from Todd County and the other schools. When you get up to distances such as the 1600 and 3200, there will be, obviously, a greater disparity between the first-place and last-place times compared to the sprint events. Some kids even get lapped. It's these runners who need the most support from fans during a race.

Throw in the physical struggle just to get through a one-mile or two-mile run (one girl collapsed after her 800), and a race can quickly turn into a demoralizing experience for kids who don't realize that doing your best is all you can control. So, when I hear a coach (from another team) yell to one of her charges toward the back of the pack, "You can run faster than that!" it makes me livid. It wasn't the first time I had witnessed this at a track meet either. And, unfortunately, it probably won't be the last.

It's that kind of crap that will turn kids off from participation in sports. Although academics will always be the top priority for any high school student, athletics and other extracurricular activities play important roles in their scholastic experience as well. Especially around here, where the line between "good kid" and "bad kid" is, from my vantage, oftentimes based upon the student's level of participation in any after-school activity. (This line of thinking isn't infallible, of course. But don't get me started on the parents who don't want to parent and the impact that has on kids.)

My point is: If you can't be positive and reassuring at a race, please keep your mouth shut. There are plenty of fans and coaches who are more than happy to cheer your kid across the finish line, even if it takes them just a little bit longer to get there than you had hoped.

On almonds and other minutiae

2010-04-05T19:22:00.005-06:00

My grad school plans are set and I'm registered for fall classes. It's exciting to once again have something concrete to look forward to.
Much about my future remains unsettled and I'm okay with that. I'm just going to go with it and see what happens.
I'm running the Horsetooth Half Marathon in a couple weeks. Here is the elevation profile. It's not a PR course, for sure, but it should be a challenging race.
For someone who doesn't care much for fiction, I really enjoy reading Willa Cather.
Small-town life suits me well. Not being able to find what I'm looking for at the grocery store does not.
My birthday is next week. Kind of anticlimactic considering I turned 32 in my head months ago.
When people guess my age, it falls somewhere between 25 and 28.
It's calving season 'round these parts. I love, love, love looking into a field and seeing cows with their newborns. So cute.
Tackling calves during last year's branding is one of the highlights of my time here.
I'm disappointed when people let me down, especially when their behavior isn't anything out of the ordinary.
Sometimes I wish my instincts we're so damn accurate.
If you ever make me banana bread, please leave out the nuts.
Yet, I haven't been eating enough almonds lately. That's all I'm saying about that.
I wonder why I even bother trying new foods. I know what I like. Chunky spaghetti sauce isn't on that list and never will be.
A Board member offered to cook a homemade pasta dish for Thursday's meeting because my birthday is coming up and she's knows it's my favorite. I wonder if there will be chunks in the sauce.
The chunkiness of the sauce will be the least of my worries. Thursday's meeting could be brutal.
Whatever happens Thursday night, I'll have 11 weeks to deal with the consequences.

Also known as Snottsdale

2010-03-25T19:28:00.004-06:00

Part of a conversation at dinner this evening with a woman I had met only once before:

Woman: We're moving to Arizona next Tuesday.

Me: Oh, really? Whereabout?

Woman: Scottsdale.

Me: Oooh, Snobsdale.

Woman: Yeah, I'm from there.

Oops.

What makes this story even funnier is earlier in the evening I extolled my tact during a particular e-mail correspondence with her mother to everyone seated at the table. On the bright side, the woman's husband seemed to enjoy my sense of humor.

Hug

2010-03-24T19:48:00.003-06:00

AmeriCorps is a temporary program. Members of VISTA, for example, commit to one year of service. I knew this up front, of course. In response to the few people in my life who had reservations about me moving to the reservation (haha), I would say, "Well, worst case scenario is I'm there for a year. I can do anything for a year." (Boy, can I.)

With me relocating to a new area and needing to adapt to a new culture where I'd be a minority, it was important for me coming into this situation to be sincere in my intentions. That included making Mission my home, not just a way station between Alaska and grad school.

Well, it worked. Even though I've communicated the fact my presence is here thanks to AmeriCorps (i.e. short term), locals associate me more with Habitat. Or coaching at the high school. Or the Chamber. Or the weird guy who faithfully attends City Council meetings.

This morning, a parent of some of the track and cross country kids stopped by the office. I've gotten to know her entire family fairly well. They're all great people. Anyway, she talked about her daughter's interest in starting up a Girls on the Run program here on the Rosebud. She was hoping I'd help out. Great idea, but...

She was surprised to hear I was leaving. Very surprised. I told her about my plans before wrapping up the conversation. It got a little emotional there at the end. And I got a hug afterward.

After the meeting from hell last night, it was what I needed. Even with the struggles I've faced at work, I feel as though I've succeeded here. With the temporary nature of VISTA and the fact do-gooders come and go around the rez, I was afraid I would be lumped into that group by folks who have been living here all their lives. And that categorization would have been completely justified. But not only has that not been the case, but the opposite has been true. Folks trust me, and for someone with his own trust issues, I know this is a big deal.

But it's not going to make leaving any easier, that's for sure! There are still 13 weeks left, however. There's much to be done, including beating a couple of the track kids in the 1600.

Wrong medium?

2010-03-23T21:31:00.003-06:00

I haven't written a lot on here lately. It's not because nothing has been going on. Rather, there have been noteworthy events, just ones I can't or don't want to share online. It makes me wish I had started an old-fashioned journal instead. The further I've proceeded into my term of service, the more ridiculous the stories have become. There's no way I can spin them without crossing the line of turning a professional situation into something personal.

The issue I'm struggling with is the decision of whether to keep my head down and not make waves for my remaining three months, or continue to serve as the voice of reason and, subsequently, as a punching bag.

The level of deliberate deceit betrayed at a meeting this evening was astounding. The resulting pressure inside my head made me think my skull was going to explode. How can I present reason in the face of lies?

All of this is incredibly vague, I know. Ask me about all this in person sometime. Well, maybe wait until after I leave. I'll need some time to digest and reflect, that's for sure.

Despicable

2010-03-16T20:08:00.003-06:00

I hate lying, and I hate liars even more. I'll just leave it at that.

Imagining my future refrigerator

2010-03-09T19:52:00.003-07:00

I'm out of books. My latest Amazon order hasn't arrived yet. Without my usual reading entertainment and the snow keeping me from running, I decided this evening to go through the boxes I schlepped down from Alaska.

As it turns out, I did a decent job of purging when I left Juneau. I enjoy throwing things away. But I must add that my car was quickly filling up and a lot had to be donated or tossed into the garbage because there just wasn't any room left.

But I found a stack of papers that must have skipped my perusal in my haste to leave town. That last day in Juneau went by so fast. I vaguely remember throwing it all into a bag, promising to take care of it soon after settling down in Mission. If I had had the time to go through it (like five spare minutes), all of it would have gone into the trash, as it did this evening.

And then there was the pile of miscellany that had hung on my refrigerator: cards, photos, racing bibs, fortunes from fortune cookies. "You will make a change for the better." I'm glad I found it all. It'll feel good to put these things back up.

I found the notes I took during my interviews for my current job. They were accurate of what has since transpired - to a point. For all of the unknowns about my new life on the Rosebud, much of what I was told by my future co-workers about the work environment eventually came to fruition. As much as it was possible, I knew what I was getting myself into as far as works goes.

So, I really didn't have much to throw away tonight; however, the old Rummy scores and rental car receipts did meet their demise. When the time comes at the end of June for me to once again pack up the car and hit the road for my new home, wherever that may be, the process should be painless. Well, the physical process, at least. Emotionally, I don't know how I'm going to react to leaving. It still seems too soon in many respects.

But I am really looking forward to having my own place again. And my own fridge.

Family values

2010-02-27T20:45:00.003-07:00

Hey moms and dads! If you have enough money to take the entire family to the violent, R-rated "Edge of Darkness," then you have the financial means to hire a babysitter to watch the youngsters back at home. That way, you could have enjoyed the movie in peace instead of having to occasionally give your rambunctious children a half-assed shush - that is, when you weren't just ignoring them. Instead, you chose to subject your elementary-school-aged kids to the vision of practically every character in the movie -- spoiler alert!! -- getting shot to death. If you can't take the responsibilities of parenthood seriously, please don't become a parent.

Monday morning

2010-02-21T20:57:00.004-07:00

The alarm clock is set for 5:30. My cell phone is set for 5:33 and is strategically placed across the room, forcing me out of bed if I reset the alarm clock. I will run in the morning.

***It was cold, I smelled a skunk nearby going out and back, and there was a mysterious rustle on the side of the road, but I did it. No cars, no dogs, and a star-filled sky. But mostly I'm thankful I didn't get sprayed by the skunk.***

The windup and the pitch

2010-02-17T19:01:00.003-07:00

Last night, my cell phone rang with an unknown number on the caller ID. It had a 302 area code, so it was someone from Delaware. Intrigued, I answered.

It was a senior from my alma mater, the University of Delaware, calling under the guise of reminding me of my upcoming 10-year reunion and updating me on current events on campus. Really, they just wanted my money, and I patiently waited for the pitch.

I could have just hung up the phone, of course. But I've made enough survey phone calls in my life to know she was just doing her job. Might as well help a fellow Blue Hen out.

"Would you be able to make a $250 donation this evening?"

Holy shit! Two hundred fifty dollars! Earlier in our "conversation," I had mentioned I was working as an AmeriCorps VISTA. So, either she 1.) was clueless about VISTA and, therefore, unaware of how little money I was making; 2.) knew I had no money but was forced to stick with her script; or 3.) didn't listen to a single word I had said up to that point. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, just because I'm that kind of guy.

"Well, like I mentioned earlier, I'm an AmeriCorps VISTA working on the Rosebud Indian Reservation making poverty-level wages. I am not able to make a $250 donation."

"Oh, I certainly understand that. How about $150?"

The buzz words of "Reservation" and "poverty" evidently didn't sink in. I had to get more specific.

"I make $833 a month. I can't afford that."

"Would you instead consider $75?"

"No, I am unwilling to make a donation this evening." There, that was my problem. Obviously, I hadn't been direct enough. No means no, right?

"We're also focused on the percentage of each class that donates, and 43 percent of the Class of 2000 has already contributed. Would you be willing to make a $25 donation?"

Sigh.

At this point, I wanted to not only teach her a lesson on active listening, but also mention how I disagree with the University's recent nickel-and-diming of loyal, multi-decade purchasers of football season tickets (like my father). Instead, I only repeated myself:

"I will not be making any donation this evening."

She didn't go any lower. But holy smokes, 250 dollars! Whatever happened to a "meaningful" contribution? And the University seriously needs to let their salespeople deviate from the hard sell. Now I wonder what she would have said if I would have told her I was unemployed? Maybe something like, "Well, how much of your weekly unemployment check can you spare? And did I mention we also take EBT?"

By the way, I'm not going to the reunion.

¿Cómo se llama?

2010-02-13T16:01:00.004-07:00

Better

2010-02-12T19:33:00.002-07:00

Man, what a difference a day makes. I made a significant dent in the list of action items I developed for myself during last night's Board meeting. I came across a funding opportunity which could net the affiliate some bucks. I have a chance to help an ill colleague with a grant application. I finished a project this afternoon that brought back memories of my job in Alaska. I had an awesome run this evening. And then I shoveled a trough-sized portion of spaghetti down my throat for dinner. Oink.

All is right with my world again.

At a loss

2010-02-11T20:05:00.003-07:00

My frustration with the situation at work is metamorphosing into anger. Not coincidentally, my sunny outlook dims a little more at the monthly Board meetings. This month's concluded a half hour ago. I want to tell you the whole story, but that's part of my problem. I think it would come across as whining about difficulties everyone faces at their place of employment from time to time. But that's not really the case, and I know it.

I am utterly alone. It's not a woe-is-me-I have-no-friends type of alone. It's more like I'm on a ship with a breached hull and it's slowly sinking. Not only am I the only one trying to patch the holes, but I'm dealing with fellow passengers standing idly by with a deer-in-the-headlights look, while another is intent on making the situation worse before he leaves in the one lifeboat.

I don't want to call bullshit because I would prefer to remain professional and diplomatic around the true decision makers. But I can't just sit back like the others and not say a word. And when I do speak up, drawing everyone's attention to issues that are either conveniently ignored or were not even considered, I receive zero support. And I hate that.

Tonight was bad. My last day as a VISTA is June 25. I had already extended my term of service through the end of May; I decided one additional month was all I could commit to while still accommodating both of my graduate school options. Keeping in mind I have already more than fulfilled my year of service, I was asked this evening how I would be able to contribute to the organization after I leave Mission. In other words, 19 months of free labor is not enough.

I do see this as a compliment; in fact, I received much praise during tonight's Board meeting. Unfortunately, it was a three-hour long meeting and we hadn't even started my agenda - or, more appropriately, the items left off of the official agenda that I wanted to talk about. They are all contentious issues; however, they're not going to just resolve themselves. There's no such thing as ignoring something long enough to make it go away.

I'll skip the details that require a long backstory. But the meeting did conclude with the executive director clearly stating he didn't care about the ramifications of his decisions now because he won't be around to deal with them. (He already plans to leave the organization in a few months.) And trust me, there will be consequences.

It literally took my breath away to hear what I already knew to be true. And if that wasn't enough, one of the Board members laughed. I actually had to say, "That's not funny," in response.

So, let me get this straight. The administrative leader has no concept of leaving a legacy for those who will follow him. He'll continue to make decisions detrimental not only to the organization, but to its service population as well. The Board is silent (save for the occasional giggle, evidently). And I'm the one who's supposed to chip in from a distance, whether it's from the other end of the state or a time zone away. Does that sound about right?

I was warned when I moved here by someone active in the community it's a reservation phenomenon for those willing to lend a hand to be completely taken advantage of. And her premonition was correct. See, there's a core group of people here who are involved in every aspect of civic life. The upside to this dynamic is it's easy for a newcomer to get involved in a cause or grab the ear of the local decision makers. However, the message that's communicated, either purposely or subconsciously, is "What more can you give?"

The worst part for me though is the lack of camaraderie. It's absolutely maddening to not have that one person who knows, who really knows, what I'm going through. I confident I'm not delusional, especially when comments are made, like the ones this evening, and there isn't that one rational explanation I just so happened to have missed. But it's still hard not to have that corroboration, that knowledge I haven't completely lost my mind (yet).

When having options is too much for people to handle

2010-02-07T13:49:00.002-07:00

Overheard at the next table during breakfast this morning:

Customer: I'll have two eggs scrambled, hash browns, and toast. Is your sausage links or patties?

Waitress: Oh, we have both.

Customer: Okay, I'll have the ham.

Maybe it was just a hypothetical question.

I keep telling myself having options is a good thing

2010-02-06T07:46:00.003-07:00

I've started to have anxiety about leaving Mission. I have four, maybe five, months left, and what's really getting to me is leaving behind everything I've built for myself here. I'm still looking forward to grad school; it was on my agenda even before VISTA presented itself as an option. And I know the reservation will go on without me. But I've made a home for myself here, I'm involved in the community, and people know me. And now I'm just supposed to leave.

So you can imagine what was going through my head last week when I received a phone call from a work colleague strongly encouraging me to apply for a job here in Mission. She phoned on a Thursday; the vacancy's closing date was the following Monday. The position involves community development work, a lot of which I already do. She thought I'd be perfect for it with the contacts I have here, plus the convenient fact that I not only live in Mission, I actually like the place.

She had an answer for all of my questions, specifically my desire to pursue graduate education. Not only is the organization supportive of continuing education, they'd pay for it. (That's how she obtained her master's degree.)

And then I told her that I still had several months remaining in my VISTA commitment. That wasn't a problem either; in order to accommodate a relocation back to the area, there was a several-month gap between when she accepted her position and her first day of work.

I promised her I would seriously consider applying. So, I sent an e-mail to the hiring manager asking those same questions of importance. His responses were a bit more understated, probably the result of my inquiry coming via e-mail versus over the phone or in person. The bottom line, however, was the position was a good fit for me, even if it meant modifying my long-term goals a bit.

I woke up Friday morning and jumped in the shower, where I do my best thinking. My decision was easy: to not apply. I determined it was the right job just at the wrong time. I've had a vision of what the grad school experience is going to look like, and working full-time while taking classes online is not going to get me there.

In some respects, I think I chose "the plan" over fate. But do I really even believe in "things happen for a reason"? At the very least, I decided to stay the course over pursuing an opportunity I didn't see coming at all.

I'm thankful to have gone through this exercise. I tell people all the time how much I love living in Mission and on the Rosebud. This was a chance to test my conviction. Am I fond of this place because my days here have always been numbered? Or could this be home indefinitely? I can undoubtedly answer the latter.

Now, instead of incorporating a third option into my post-VISTA life, I'm still at two. I won't be able to make a decision on which of two grad schools to attend, though, until what each has to offer is known.

Whether I end up in Vermillion or Boise next fall, it's going to be more difficult to leave here than I could have imagined a year ago. Looking back, I couldn't have left Delaware fast enough. Any trepidation I may have had leaving Texas and the life I had there was muted by the fact I was fulfilling my goal in moving to and living in Alaska. I left a great life in Juneau, but it was to pursue this new challenge on the Rosebud.

Maybe when I know where I'll be moving next, I'll be able to focus more on the future and not worry so much about what I'm giving up. I think that helped in Juneau. I knew I was moving to Mission for four months prior to my one-way ferry trip south. And I was ready to go by the time November 11 rolled around - even with the economic meltdown!

(Side note: I have to say, for better or worse, when I have a goal in mind, nothing is going to stop me. I mean, who quits their job and relocates to the reservation to become a professional volunteer during the worst economic environment since the Great Depression? One person's tenacity is another's tunnel vision, I guess.)

I still have plenty to look forward to during my remaining time in Mission. High school track starts up again in a month. I have several projects at work I'm excited about. I still have my sub-1:30 half marathon goal I need to accomplish (Brookings in May, hopefully). Spring is coming. And family will visit in June. I'm not done with the rez just yet.

I hope this house is clean, Carol Anne

2010-01-29T17:31:00.002-07:00

So that feet-to-hooves story must have messed with my mind. I woke up around 3 this morning from a dream in which I was chased and attacked by a poltergeist. When it was just inches from my face, I started screaming; who knows what was actually transpiring in my bed. I'm not much of a screamer in real life, just when I'm about to be attacked by great danes. (Some of you know that story. Good times.) I've been known to talk in my sleep though.

Then, I had another dream with a supernatural element; sadly, I can't remember the details to that one.

And now I discover Tangina from the Poltergeist movies just passed away. Creepy.

yuwipi

2010-01-28T19:37:00.004-07:00

There's a church next door to the building in which I live and work. Our property is at the end of a dirt road on the edge of town. Unrecognizable cars sometimes circle around to throw their trash bags in our dumpster. Evidently, a puppy was dumped last night.

Two guys are making repairs on the church. The whimpering puppy belonged to neither one of them. But one of them offered to take it home tonight. He needed a puppy for a yuwipi, a healing ceremony. The Lakota participate in a yuwipi when they seek the source for some sort of negativity in their life and, hopefully, its cure. The puppy comes into play because dog soup is made.

"Wait, are you serious?" I had to make sure he wasn't joking around when he told me this, as he is wont to do.

"No, dog soup is consumed. The broth is kind of greasy."

"But why can't they just take one of the random dogs running loose around town?"

"The dog has to be just the right size and age."

He then told me a story about how his name once came up in a yuwipi. He was fired from his job two weeks later, and he hadn't even been present at the ceremony.

And then there was the story of another man who was excused from a yuwipi for arriving drunk. During his walk home, the man heard footsteps following him down the dirt road. He would turn around only to find he was alone. He continued to hear the footsteps, which sounded more like it was a cow or a deer following him. Still, he was by himself on the path. The man began to run, but the animal kept pace. He then looked down to find his feet had turned into hooves. By the time he made it all the way home, his feet had returned.

The church is just outside my bedroom window. It's quiet out there now. The construction guy must have taken the puppy home.

Today in bulleted form

2010-01-14T20:48:00.003-07:00

We received a $1,500 check this morning from a company in Winner. The store manager came out to present the check. I then gave him a tour of the five-bedroom home we're building for a family with 12 children. He's excited about Habitat and wants to spend a day on the job site this spring with his employees.
I had low expectations, but I came away with a $300 check for a rebar cutter-bender during an afternoon meeting. The effort-to-reward ratio was the highest for any project I've worked on since arriving here over a year ago. But it pays (literally!) to be prepared.
Tonight was our monthly Board meeting. I'm thankful I have a good grasp of when it's appropriate to be optimistic versus realistic. I was the foil for my E.D.
A Board member brought some kick-ass lasagna for the meeting. Another brought her perfect, homemade banana bread. And I got to keep the leftovers of both.
I wish people who want to give up but don't have the guts to say so would just be honest with themselves and the rest of the group and just leave. Stop pretending as though events are out of your control. I can see through it; I'm sure others can as well.
I had a great conversation with an education major thinking about teaching here in Todd County after graduation. She's looking for something different and, boy, is she going to get it.
I was told tonight that I'm obviously someone comfortable in his own skin. I would agree with that assessment.
"How old are you?" "I'll be 32 in April." "You don't look it." I agree with that assessment as well! I really liked saying I'm turning 32. And I'm thankful this experience hasn't, apparently, aged me too much.
I'm already thinking about lasagna and banana bread for lunch tomorrow.

19 weeks later

2010-01-09T22:01:00.003-07:00

I had my golden locks cut off today while in Rapid. The hairdresser just stared at me, via the mirror, when I told her I wanted my usual 3-and-2 cut. I just wanted it all gone. So, I'm bald again, four and a half months of work gone in about five minutes. If I ever start talking about letting my hair grow out, please knock some sense into me.

I feel so much better now. And lighter.

The end is near - again

2010-01-08T20:18:00.004-07:00

I consider myself to be a generally upbeat guy. So when I say I'm surprised to find myself in such a state of giddiness this evening, I'm not trying to give the impression I'm usually mired in the gray blahs. But it's cold outside; my dry, cracked hands seem impervious to moisturizer; I haven't run since Monday; and I had to vacate my "home" this evening to accommodate a late meeting. I shouldn't be in a pleasant mood.

I did have an evening of peace after all, however. I started reading "My Antonia," which I already love. And I'm treating myself to a day in the city (Rapid City, that is) tomorrow.

Mostly though, my thoughts are on the future. The near future, to be precise. I have two grad school choices. Money could be the factor that chooses the school for me; otherwise, I see the good in both programs and their respective locations. I'm not sure I have a preference at this point.

My summer plans and how long I remain here in Mission hinge on this decision. I'd like to make a trip back to Delaware to see my family and pickup some boxes I shipped to them prior to leaving Alaska. I also want to make the long haul up to Juneau for a visit. And, oh yeah, I have to pack up the car and move. Again.

I'm thankful my thoughts tonight turned toward what may be found around the proverbial bend in the road as opposed to worrying about what I'm about to leave behind here in Mission. It's a distinct shift to positive thinking from my anxiety as of late.

What will happen to Habitat after I leave? Is it really time to start all over again, again? What about the relationships I've made here? Am I even ready to go?

These questions are tempered by some cold facts. As evinced by tonight's events, for example, I really, really want a place of my own again. Sure, I can joke about how I'm Mr. Adaptability (and you better believe I am!), but it's time to make a home again.

I haven't talked much on here lately about Habitat. But the organization is hurting right now. I've pushed the boundaries of what it means to be a VISTA, and it still isn't enough. And it won't ever be enough as long as it feels as though it's me against the world.

Good things are still happening though. The Habitat year in review I wrote for the Tribune was published in last week's edition. It turned out really well. And I received a phone call yesterday notifying me of a successful grant application. It was funded for the full amount requested, in fact.

I have four, maybe six, more months here in Mission. From the start, I've considered myself more an employee of Habitat than a VISTA. Maybe that's where these mixed emotions are coming from. VISTA assignments have both a start and an end date; I'd conveniently blotted out the latter. And it's starting to really hit me that this really wasn't an open-ended commitment.

I don't know what my remaining time on the rez will bring. It will certainly look much different than what has already transpired. A lot is still up in the air. It's exciting on one hand; on the other, I've seen some foreshadowing of what may be in store, at least as far as Habitat is concerned.

What I've told people in e-mails and phone calls (which both allow for more candidness than this medium) is my time here seems to get crazier and more challenging by the day. But I still wouldn't change a single thing about this experience. I guess that says something, right?

More fun with charts

2009-12-31T19:38:00.003-07:00

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

2009-12-27T18:17:00.005-07:00

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

2009-12-26T12:57:00.003-07:00

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

2009-12-12T13:14:00.003-07:00

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?

2009-12-11T19:56:00.004-07:00

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

2009-12-09T18:42:00.003-07:00

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?

2009-12-02T20:39:00.002-07:00

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

2009-11-22T19:46:00.007-07:00

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

2009-11-21T22:46:00.002-07:00

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

2009-11-12T19:03:00.002-07:00

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

2009-11-01T14:29:00.003-07:00

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

2009-11-01T08:02:00.003-07:00

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

2009-10-19T16:45:00.001-06:00

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

2009-10-13T18:48:00.003-06:00

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

2009-10-05T17:26:00.002-06:00

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

2009-10-04T13:39:00.002-06:00

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

2009-10-02T19:20:00.003-06:00

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

Speech! Speech!

2009-10-01T17:59:00.004-06:00

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

2009-09-24T10:37:00.002-06:00

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

2009-09-17T06:42:00.003-06:00

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

2009-09-16T19:07:00.004-06:00

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

2009-09-10T21:10:00.002-06:00

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

2009-08-26T18:19:00.003-06:00

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:

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?
Trails, trails, trails. I miss running Perseverance.
Like many aspects of the state, the issues and accompanying politics are unique in Alaska.
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)
The Hangar, except when the grasshopper pie wasn't "in season." The mysterious "freezer issue" excuse got really old, really fast.
The ferries
With most of Alaska four hours behind the east coast, Saturday college football games started at 8:00 a.m.
My friends (and for those Juneau folks reading, take no offense that this one comes in at #8)
The PFD
Seward's Day and Alaska Day
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.
Sitting in my usual spot against the wall at the Nickelodeon
Costco

And what didn't:

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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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
Alaska Airlines' monopoly at the airport
JDHS sports events were always fun; however, being so far from professional and (especially) college sports events was hard.
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.
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

2009-08-25T18:16:00.004-06:00

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:

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.
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.
The sunsets
There are four real seasons here - and fall is yet to come!
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
Tuesday night volleyball at Lakeview
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.
My farmer's tan
I'm not a proponent of a road out of Juneau; but regaining the spontaneity of hitting the road is refreshing.
Coaching track and cross country
City Council meetings
Watching storm clouds build in an otherwise cloudless sky
KINI

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

Civic apathy
I live outside Mission city limits.
Most of the rez dogs are harmless; but there's one in serious need of behavior modification.
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?
The Black Hills are three hours away.
My bed
The mice who get into my food
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?)
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

2009-08-16T20:07:00.004-06:00

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

2009-08-07T07:23:00.001-06:00

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"

2009-08-06T18:39:00.006-06:00

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

2009-08-04T17:00:00.004-06:00

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

2009-07-30T20:05:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-29T19:49:00.003-06:00

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

2009-07-26T15:52:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-20T09:41:00.003-06:00

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

2009-07-10T08:17:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-09T21:48:00.003-06:00

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?