Filling My Adventure Cup: Grand Canyon R2R2R and beyond....

 Grand Canyon - 6.17.2023 - 6.18.2023

The last time I crawled out of the Grand Canyon, I repeatedly said never again. My first R3 in April 2022 was a shitshow. I was sleep-deprived, undertrained, over-caffeinated, and it just wasn't my day. There were parts that were incredible and beautiful, but I ended the 46 mile out-and-back feeling absolutely gutted.

So when Roger started pestering me about doing it again in 2023, I was not initially enthusiastic. But he wore me down eventually and I found myself wanting to try it again. The time on feet, mental challenge, vert, etc. would all serve me well in preparing for UTMB. I was taking a risk that the North Rim section would be open by the time I arrived. It had been closed for repairs due to heavy snowfall over the winter and the open date was already pushed back once. Spoiler alert: it opened the day we were planning to run. 

Knowing the things that DIDN’T work last year, I aimed to make this a better experience. I booked my flight to come in on Thursday night instead of Friday morning which gave me a better night's sleep. I didn't have anything outside coffee the morning of and actually didn't pack anything caffeinated nutrition or hydration-wise. I trained as much as I could with poles and a heavy pack in the limited time I had between Boston and this trip.

My plane ended up being delayed due to a passenger who was in the bathroom while we were taxiing to take off and we had to go back to the gate. He was escorted off the plane and we eventually were able to leave. Fun. Roger picked me up at the airport late Thursday and we immediately went back to his apartment so we could get some sleep. 

We grabbed breakfast at a local spot in Phoenix on Friday morning. Then we went back to his place so he could work a bit more and I closed my eyes for an hour or so. Because we wanted an earlier start this year to beat the heat, we decided to have lunch in Jerome and then head to the Canyon. 

Arriving at 6pm or so at the top of the South Rim, we made our last minute preparations in the parking lot. We asked someone nearby to take our photo and then clicked the start buttons on our Garmins.

The first few miles were very reminiscent of last year. Roger's blood sugar was tanking and he was sweating profusely. We took those first few miles pretty easy, taking pictures in the gorgeous evening light. A helicopter overhead spooked us a bit as rain started to fall, but it eventually landed a few hundred feet above us. There were only a few other people out and all were headed back up the Bright Angel Trail. 

At Havasu Gardens, we stopped to use the bathrooms. I started talking to a hiker while Roger was readjusting his pack and a park ranger came over and joined our conversation. After indicating we were heading down, she asked me to do her a favor and be on the lookout for two hikers that other people had mentioned were possibly not prepared for the climb out. She asked if I could carry a bag of Fritos and a beef jerky stick to give to them if they needed it and if not, I could keep the snacks for myself. I now had a mission!

We got down to the top of the corkscrew before needing to turn on our headlamps. Darkness fell quickly and our easy banter stopped as we concentrated on navigating the unforgiving terrain down to the river. 

A few miles down from Havasu Gardens, we ran into the hikers that were described to us that might need help. They both had on headlamps and the man was wearing a backpack. We stopped to ask them if they were okay and if they needed anything. Knowing that we were within a few miles of Phantom Ranch and just getting started, I was prepared to give them water in addition to the snacks if needed. However, they both appeared to be in very good spirits and said they were doing great. I now felt awkward about forcing the snacks on them so I decided to just keep them.

First mission completed, we continued moving down towards the river and crossed the bridge around 9:30 p.m. Once we reached Phantom Ranch, we filled up our water for the next stretch to Manzanita. I was eating something every 30 minutes or so and sipping on water and Skratch. Because we were doing a lot more walking than running, everything felt really good. We continued to just power hike the section between PR and Manzanita, aka “the box”, jogging a few seconds here and there on the steeper downs. My one goal was to finish feeling better than last year so I was okay with our slower pace through the night. 

Bats were dive-bombing us in the box and the roar of the river made it tough to hear each other, but otherwise, it was an uneventful stretch. We reached Manzanita at around 12:30 a.m. and topped off our water once again. From Manzanita, the trail climbs 3,600’ in 5 miles. It’s far less used than the Bright Angel Trail and even less so as it had just reopened. The drop-offs are steep and as we headed into the witching hours of the night, I hugged the inner canyon wall as much as possible.

It was in this stretch that I felt the natural inclination to sit down and take a nap. I purposefully left all things caffeinated out of my nutrition and hydration fearing that it is the culprit for nausea on long adventures. I still felt my stomach sour a bit in the night, but was fortunately okay after the sun came back up.

We began to see the area where trail work had been recently completed with narrow passageways and fresh dirt. About 2 miles to the top, Roger stopped abruptly in front of me, surveying the trail in front of him. There was a rope to his right at about shoulder height and a drop of about 10 feet below where it appeared sections of the trail had just crumbled. Being this close to the top, I was willing to forgo the extra 2 miles if we were unable to pass safely. But Roger figured out the rope was meant to be used to maneuver over 20 feet of horizontal “trail” with most of the trail part missing. 

So we’re 21 miles in, it’s 1:30 a.m (re: dark & sleepy), we haven’t seen another person in about 4 hours, and oh yeah, did I mention that it’s now gusting winds of 20-30 mph? And you want me to hold onto this rope on a cliff? Coolcoolcoolcool.

Roger starts climbing over and I realize that I need to put my trekking poles away because there is no way in hell that I’m going to not be white-knuckling this rope with 2 hands. It takes me a few minutes to get them in my quiver and because I cannot see Roger around the corner, he would later tell me he was wondering if I was ever going to come. Because you’re reading this, you know that I didn’t fall off the cliff already, but it was not a top 10 experience for sure.

We climbed the rest of the way to the top and passed another person in this section. At the top of the North Rim, we snapped a photo, pressed the “we’re ok” button on the Spot (for Roger’s parents and Adam who had our tracking info), and promptly started back down again.

It was just as slow going down, but we knew we were going to get light soon. The wind was really picking up at this point and my hair kept blowing my eyes. I didn’t want to take my hands off my poles and readjust my headlamp and buff, but eventually, I worried that I was going to make a stupid mistake because my vision wasn’t totally clear so I stopped to fix it. The rope treachery was just as awful coming back, but at least I was mentally prepared this time and thankful that there was just one section like this. 

Once we saw the sky beginning to lighten, we both breathed a sigh of relief that we could finally move a little easier. Plus, getting back to a section that was more runnable felt like we were nearing the home stretch. I sprinted ahead to Manzanita in the last half mile of this stretch as I desperately needed to get to the restroom. It felt good to stretch my legs with a bit of running and I was looking forward to picking up the pace in the box.

We stopped for a few extra minutes in Manzanita, putting away our night gear and preparing ourselves to do a bit of running. I had begun making mental checklists of what to do at each stop so that I wasn’t wasting a ton of time in between.

The box was really fun as we did the most running in this section. It was early morning and still cool enough that we were really comfortable. I managed to keep eating and drinking, trying to not get lazy about it as the hours wore on.

At Phantom Ranch, we both put on our sun layers (matchy matchy) and I made it a point to soak my hat, buff, and arm sleeves at this point to stay cool early and often. The sun shirt made a huge difference in my opinion. Keeping the arms sleeves wet kept me cool and I felt a million times better than last April and this was arguably much warmer in mid-June.

Roger had a bit of a rough patch with the climb back to Havasu Gardens, but he was still moving and not taking breaks. I had been there myself the entire climb last year so I was empathetic about how he felt. 

Once we reached Havasu Gardens again, we took a pit stop to fill our water and I reapplied sunblock to my legs and face. A younger couple who were doing a much shorter run had passed us coming up, but were now stopped at Havasu as well. I asked Roger if he wanted sunblock and the girl piped up and asked if she could have some. I tossed her the bottle and the four of us talked for a few minutes before they took off ahead of us. 

We continued our climb, looking forward to checking off the rest of the route in 1.5 mile sections. Havasu Gardens is 4.5 miles from the top and there is a water stop at 3 miles to go and 1.5 miles to go. Just like in any ultra, we were only concentrating on making it to the next stop. The trail was much more crowded now and we exclaimed good morning to as many people as possible. Naturally, Roger was able to pick out any German accent and I learned that apparently there is a region he described as the West Virginia of Germany. 

At 3 miles to go, we paused to douse ourselves in water and made a few people's mouths drop when they got word that we were on mile 40-something. I have surrounded myself with a lot of really incredible runners in my life so some of this stuff starts to feel unremarkable. But seeing their faces reminded me that this was something to not take for granted. And I definitely was appreciative that it was a complete 180 from the way I felt last year doing this route. 

Knowing we had just one more stop reinvigorated us and we started pushing a bit more on the climbs. We passed the younger running couple a few times back and forth and eventually passed them for good. I could tell as Roger power-hiked past them, he was motivated by leaving them in our literal dust. 

I kept eating and drinking right until the end, knowing that we still had another 2ish days of hiking to follow this crazy adventure. Usually, I just let it go in the last hour or two, but I wanted to make sure I felt as good as I could when I finished. 

Once the top of the rim came into view, I felt so freaking happy that I was feeling so good. Sure, I was tired and ready to be done, but I was also in great spirits. We both started whooping in the final stretch, excited that we'd make the trek back safely and on our own two feet. 

Roger immediately threw his body over his trekking poles at the top, feeling an equal mix of exhaustion and euphoria. I was grinning ear-to-ear, relieved that it went as well as it could. We asked someone to take our picture at the trailhead and revered in the moment a bit before heading back to the car. 

We had a cabin at the South Rim so we checked in, showered, ate, took a nap, and went to a very nice, but very early dinner at the Tovar.

Back at the cabin, Roger passed out and I watched a bit of TV and read before falling asleep myself. 

Canyonlands & Arches - 6.18.2023

The next morning, we got up at 4ish and made our way to Canyonlands in Utah. I was a little unsure of how I'd feel for our next adventure, but we'd planned an out-and-back and I knew I could always just pull the plug if I wasn't feeling great. 

I got a couple souvenirs from the visitor's center once inside the park and then we were on our way. Our initial plan was 13 miles, but we both agreed while we were doing R3 that we should scale it back to just 5 miles. It was long enough to see something, but we could sleep a bit more and take it a bit easier. 

The first mile was pretty tame, but then I found myself climbing over giant sections of slick rock, using my hands to pull myself up. It was a bluebird day and while warm, it wasn't oppressively hot. I laughed repeatedly as we meandered through the trail as it seemed to just get more and more ridiculous. 

The landscape was very different from home, but also very different from the Grand Canyon. I wanted to spend more time exploring, but we had to be at Arches between 2-3 p.m. At the 2.5 mile mark, we turned around and headed back to the car. 

Having more exploring to do later in the day, we cheersed at the car with Athletic Brewing beers (re: nonalcoholic) and I grabbed a lunch of sorts from various things in the cooler. Then we made the drive through Moab and to Arches National Park. The line to get in, even with reservations required, was 30+ minutes, but eventually we were on our way to the next trailhead. 

Though my eyes had been overwhelmed with beautiful sights the past 48 hours, I still had a bit of a pinch me moment as we snaked through the enormous sandstone structures. We parked at a trailhead and made our way down the trail in between columns of rock. I was a little surprised that the trail seemed so easy to traverse given all the structures around me and would soon find out that this was limited to just this short stretch.

Once on the Primitive Trail, the footing became very dicey. We climbed over huge pieces of sandstone, some appearing to just drop off at the edge from our vantage point. Luckily, Roger had done this route before and had programmed it into his GPS watch. The markings were minimal and even with this added intel, we found ourselves going in the wrong direction a few times. 

It was beautiful and terrifying to stand atop slickrock with the wind blowing sand in my face. It is in these experiences that I find myself wanting to continue to say yes to the things that feel far from the mundane in life. I can’t do them every day, partially because I’m not independently wealthy, but also, they would lose their luster if they became the norm. But if I can slip them into life at intervals and appreciate them in the moments I’m there, that is the magic.

We made a point to push the pace a bit in the second half as I needed to check in for my flight and WiFi was spotty at best. I felt as though we had truly lucked out with all of our timing and the things we were able to see in just a short amount of time. We made it back to the car, happily wrung out and ready for food and beer.

Thankfully, Adam checked me into my flight as we drove back to the hotel; I was flying Southwest and dreading getting stuck in the C group on the way home. After getting cleaned up, we drove over to Proper Brewing Company for burgers and a few pints. My beer choices ended up being unremarkable, but it was good to sit and relax after the gogogo of the day. Back at the hotel, we went for a short dip in the hot tub before crumbling to exhaustion. 

Arches & Four Corners - 6.19.23

The alarm went off at 3:00 a.m. and I felt dizzy from the constant sleep deprivation and activity. But I had laid out my gear the night before and went through the motions of getting ready. Down at the car, I realized I left my headlamp in the hotel room and hurried to grab it thinking we were short on time.

At the trailhead, Roger realized he miscalculated the time and we had another hour plus before we needed to start hiking. I immediately threw my seat back and passed out until I heard the alarm once again. Though I was groggy to start, I started to awaken with first light as we followed the trail out to Delicate Arch. It was another easy trail to begin followed by bouldering and sketchy rock shelves that seemed extra scary in the dawn light. 

But it was all worth it when we turned the last corner to see the arch come into view at sunrise. We stood and soaked it in for a few minutes. A couple had reached the summit shortly after us and we took turns taking pictures before Roger and I beelined it back to the car. 

I had mentioned to him a few weeks ago that I really wanted to try to go see the Four Corners if we had time. We would only have time if we hurried our morning so we got cleaned up and ate breakfast in record time and got on the road. 

The drive to Four Corners was uneventful and the monument itself was rather unremarkable, but I was happy to cross off this thing that I had been enamored with as a kid. It’s the only place in the United States that you can stand in four states at once! We snapped a few photos and then made the long drive back through Arizona so I could catch my flight.

I was sleep-deprived, slightly sunburnt, lips beyond chapped, feet swollen, calves tight, and 100% couldn’t wait to fill my adventure cup to the brim again. 

June 2023

Dropping a few musings into the universe with no idea if anyone reads this without a link. If something resonates, I'd love to know. 

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Some memories I love to go back and trace my eyes over the words like I would my fingers on carved rock. Strangely enough, I like the painful ones just as much as the joyous ones. Something about coming out of darkness makes me believe I can do it again. And it’s when I get really deep that I think about how insignificant my little blip of a moment is in this vast world, across vast amounts of time, in this vast universe doesn’t actually matter. My brain will never understand that in the moment. It will fight me to believe it is so important. But only to me and me alone. And I don’t mean this in a sad way, but ourselves are all we truly ever have.

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A different day all together. Brisk and sunny. Grateful to wake up and feel the biting cold as I chew up the road, heading east.

Out on the dirt road, I let the silence and cold swallow me up. I want to run forever into the low winter sun. My legs feel tired, but my heart is warm. This heart of cards will tumble though. Just as it always does. I'll find new depths to linger in and if I'm lucky, I'll climb out to find joy.

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I had this hope that I would one day find myself sipping an Aperol spritz somewhere in Europe one summer, feeling careless, free, happy. And over the summer of my 40th year, I did indeed find myself exactly in this spot. It was shared with a friend, not a lover and perhaps that helped me feel at ease. Of course, we want our friends to be happy, but there is an entirely different feeling of relaxing when it’s just to enjoy each other’s company. Friendship requires work in the same way a romantic relationship does, but they are inherently different.

I digress. The drink itself was good, but the experience was what I will remember. It was a warm afternoon, the skies sunny after a morning of dense fog. People spilled into the cobblestone streets, soaking up the sunshine and human interaction after a long few years of isolation and darkness. Dogs were tied to bistro chairs, children shrieked with laughter, and friends conversed over frothy beers.

I think fondly back on the cappuccinos we drank quickly while sitting next to Grimselsee. It was idyllic. My heart was still racing from the switchbacks of the road, but slowed as I relished in the moment. We were next, next, next in our country hopping, but I never felt rushed. Perhaps because we never HAD to be anywhere. We had an agenda, but if we took extra time anywhere, it didn’t really matter. My head swam nightly from too many espressos and too much alcohol, but part of being in the moment is ignoring future consequences.

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The tears dripped off my sunglasses and onto the gravel. It was sunny and chilly, my favorite running weather. My legs were tired from the trail run the day before. I wanted to feel all the happiness I could feel. To soak in the sun on my face while the cold wind nipped my cheeks. To lose myself in the steady movement of looping over and over on a familiar trail.

When I stopped, I broke. It came rushing out in the middle of the parking lot. I sat on the running board and sobbed. I sobbed for you, I sobbed for him, I sobbed for her, I sobbed for myself. I let myself feel sad.

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The stillness of the morning before the rest of the world wakes. Stirring coffee in the press, the aroma wafting through the air. A winter sunset, crisp, quick, and colorful. Sitting at a trailhead, legs caked in dirt, equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction. An unmessy buzz and loud music. A messy buzz and louder music. Where the water meets the sand. Wandering cities alone, but never alone. Laughing. Laughing until there are tears. The tickle of anticipation. A first. A last. The taste of ripe summer fruit. Observing the scene from afar.
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This life is so long and so short. The monotonous days are aplenty. All chores and emails and television series that blend mindlessly into the next. The days that we hold dear are so few and far between. The ones that bring a smile to our face or make our hearts flutter. New memories replace the old ones over time, burying our former selves into the ground a bit further each year.
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I loved feeling the cold against my face, the pain a reminder that I was indeed alive. Summer warmth feels like a haze of existence. The sharp edges of winter are what I prefer.

I chattered away, forcing my mind escape the constant whir of worry. Out in nature, I am free to think only of me. Of how I will carry my body through the forest. Of how I will move my feet over rocks. Of how I will conserve enough energy to make it back to my car.
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I look to the things that make the glass half full. To the absolutes. I can find the black and white amongst all of grey.

It's nearly impossible to steer my mind these days so I just let it float. It rides the current, soaking up the sunshine and banging into shorelines all in the same day.
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I walked alone at the beach, letting the cold bite at my cheeks. Families and couples climbed over the huge trees and made paired footsteps in the sand. I was happy to be by myself though. I wanted to stop and stand and let the wind rip through my hair. I wanted to stick my fingers in the salty sea. I wanted to watch the sun dip lower between the trees and waited for the darkness to arrive.
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You are white marble and I am fiery magma.

You are smooth and chiseled and I am curvy and soft.

You are tidy and thoughtful and I am messy with one foot in my mouth.

You have a routine and I have a new way to wake up each day.

You stew quietly and I overreact.

You are the lifeboat and I am the sea.

You put a wall up, but I am yelling over it.

You skate around your own heart and I unfurl mine in your lap.

You have checkboxes and I lost the piece of paper.

You folded everything up nicely and I am combing through piles on the floor.

You use a knife and plate, I am letting the juice run down my arm in the grass.
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I had grown accustomed to living in the desert. I stopped missing the rain and the green and the flowers because I had forgotten. Their memories faded with time and I settled into a landscape of dust and brown. Every once in a while, I would remember how the effervescent forests of ferns would look on a June evening, lush and verdant amongst the trees. I should have known how toxic the tunnels of mountain laurels were, but I couldn’t escape their sweet scent and beautiful flowers. The thicket of blackberries bursting with ripened fruit were buried beneath painful thorns.

You were my oasis. But I couldn’t stay. Because I belonged in the desert.
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