Hair, Century & Fox

No, it’s not a new law firm.  It’s gonna be a recap.  I have been having FUN lately.  It’s like I’m stuck in a permanent snow globe of summer.  New day, shake it up.  Sunshine and feeling good.  Don’t smash my bubble.  Please.

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That’s my little warrior who loves to collect monster tails and experiment with her hair.  Quietly she sheared herself to the scalp inverted mohawk glamorous.  She is clipping comb overs and kicking sad eyes upward, “Mom, hack your hair to look like mine.”

I thought about this.  She’s seven and gorgeous.  There are no wrinkles, no pimples, no teeth, no make up, and….. well, no reason to make two wrongs into a big fat wrong, darling.  Besides, I ripped off my eyebrows and accidentally died my hair orange at sixteen.  A little scalping at sweet seven ain’t no big thang.



I had a great time at the Santa Barbara Century.  What an amazing ride!  9,600 feet of climbing that leaves you lingering along the top of our mountains gazing out at the Pacific and Channel Islands for….well…hours.  The ride has a time trial incorporated into it up the famed Gibraltar Road (I say famed because Lance Romance Doper trained endlessly on it).  I got asked to be on a team I have never met, but since everything is better with a team I quickly said YES.  I did my best up the GIB TT and felt that desperate despair of lack of air concave my chest and burn my thighs.  Sweat dripped off me pooling into my socks washing away the blessed sunscreen… now I have a farmers thigh tan.  You know, a farmer who works in cut off overalls.  Field Studies.

I clicked through the shoot in 41:44 right on my buddy Marco’s tail.  It was good for first place, a bottle of wine for me, and a bottle of wine for each of my soon to meet team mates.  I swallowed a couple aspirin to stop the cardiac arrest and hit the snack shop on top HARD.

The rest of the ride was gravy.  What a fun day.

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Last up was the Fox Fall XC Classic.  It is truly the best little race around.  There are trails to meander, things to dodge, ditches to jump and if you run with your kid…plenty of world class bitching.  Oh, no.  Not from my scalped pony in the picture.  She clocked the kids mile with only the slightest protest.  Well done my girl!

The boy and I set out about the full five mile dirt run.  He shot off like a rocket protesting too much that he knew exactly what he was doing.  By a couple miles in he sagged like a donkey and whined for water the way I might whine for…. um, what’s that drink?

In the silent sun drenched shadows of Lake Los Carneros my son confessed his hate for this adventure, the cruel fact that I was better conditioned for the event, and the obvious fact that his class mate who hike Mt. Whitney at the age of 9 had an easier time BECAUSE HE WAS WALKING!

I tried to encourage the bull by inspirations of my 100 mile bike ride only the day before.  His objection was that this too was clearly much easier because I got SNACKS!

Eventually, we did sight a finish line and he charged it with such a ferocity, I could only, be proud.

That I am.  Very.

Happy Weekend to you all.


Mt. Whitney

Mt. Whitney- 14,505 ft.  She’s the highest peak in the continental United States and she’s kind of right down the street.  Michelle and I packed up her van and went for a little Whitney walking.

We van-mped the night before our climb in the day visitors parking lot.  A little bear said Howdy as we locked up our breakfast and strapped on our fuel packs.  Cold, clear, and crisp, our 4-something am start made the early miles just disappear almost unnoticed.  All of a sudden the sun was coming up and it seemed we were almost on top of the world.

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The altitude didn’t drag us down, but the cold did get to my hands.  They began to swell into fat little sausage fingerlings and they lost mobility.  It was kind of hilarious minus the fact that it hurt.  I wouldn’t have been able to eat a snack without Michelle.  Without Michelle, I would have had to tear through my satchel of nuts and raisins with my wild teeth.

Before 9am, we were on the summit.  We signed our names into the log and had some more breakfast and took photos.  Damn hands.

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We couldn’t wait to be back at camp for a noon time beer.  Interestingly, the trail grew longer and longer as we descended.  That’s weird, I don’t remember covering all this ground.  Do you Michelle?  Nope, never saw it before.

My hands also grew fatter and fatter.  I was worried my rings might have to get cut off so I walked for hours with my hands up like a prisoner.  We would greet each climbing party with Michelle bouncing along while I sauntered the scarecrow.  Good Morning!

And….then…..I had to poop.  Don’t talk about poop.  Where in the wild is any animal expected to carry their own poop?  My dog makes me carry hers!  I was stuck with my wag bag.  I didn’t like it and my hands couldn’t carry it.  Where do you put a wag if not in your hand when you’re wearing only a very small CamelBak?  You stick it between your shirt and the pack and feel your own poop squishing into your back. Go ahead Freud…. 

An additional problem was that there was no beer to be seen at noon.  Is this trail really this long?  Still walking hands up, our good morning turned to good afternoon.  Just before 2pm, the bottom.  Praise!  The wag bag disposal!

Oh look!  A beer!  Oh look, another one!  Oh my, it’s raining beer!  Funny, my hands work well enough now to hold beers.


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SBRS Reminder and Such….

Please remember that this Friday 10/10 there is NO 6am SBRS @ SBRUNCO!  I’m taking a hike.  I’ll see you on the other side.

Also- The Lab 8 week Pilates clinic starts Monday 10/13 at 5:30am!  Sign Up at The Lab under Clinic.

Anything else to share?  Let’s see, Isla and I will be Gypsy’s for Halloween.  We are currently reading Palms for Candy Corn.