Pep Talk Issue 4

Welcome to Issue 4 of Pep Talk.

Today’s issue is something a little different – more of an essay style post. I know the focus of this newsletter is to support trying your best, even when the results don’t always match your effort. However, mentally dealing with the impact of climate change has been incredibly difficult for me this summer. It’s been challenging to enjoy a lot of my outside activities for a variety of reasons. It’s so hot here, which isn’t typical of the Netherlands. It’s also very dry. All the areas that are usually bright green and vibrant are dead and brown. We haven’t been affected by the wildfires in France and Spain, but I can’t pretend they don’t exist just because I’m not breathing in the smoke. Furthermore, our old home in Milwaukee has had a rough summer dealing with wildfire smoke from Canada.

There’s a quote that floats around far too often that says something along the lines of “Climate change will be experienced as a series of videos of disasters on your phone until the day you look up and you’re the one recording.” I’ve been feeling that very heavily all summer and I don’t think that feeling is going to go away anytime soon.

I’m curious to know how you’re all dealing with watching the climate crisis around you. Please feel free to share in the comments. I’d also love to know if you have ideas or resources about what to do – I hate feeling helpless and I know I’m not the only one.

Thank you all again for subscribing. Please feel free to share the subscription link widely!

Chasing Beauty Across America One Marathon at a Time

I hate Las Vegas – its fake, cheap glamor, water sucking casinos, the desperate, empty-eyed people at the airport lining up for one last hit at the slot machines. However, traveling twenty minutes away from the city made me feel like I was in a completely different state.

The light started to spread across the sky as we got out of the rental car. The dark mountains on the far side of Lake Mead stretched in the distance, the sky a watercolor template come to life with layers of blue, grey, lavender, and rose cascading above the lake.

It was still cold enough for me to wear my coat, but I knew it would warm up by about twenty degrees in first hour of the marathon. We asked a fellow runner if they would take a photo of us with Lake Mead in the background, a lasting memory of that gorgeous sky.

Eventually, the starting gun sounded and the race began. The course was a double out and back which is one of my favorite types of courses – I like knowing what to expect in the second half of the race. I also like how easy it is to break a double out and back into smaller pieces. It’s only running 6.55 miles four times.

The course flattened out after a steep initial climb, and we left the paved path for the dirt trails around Lake Mead. We followed the path through the old rail tunnels right up to the Hoover Dam. My phone was in the front pocket of my hydration pack. I stopped periodically to snap photos of the series of contrasts that made up the stunning landscape; the rich burnt sienna of the rock walls to our right compared to the scrubby sage grasses on our left; the clean morning light broken by the darkness of the tunnels. It’s rare that I stop and take pictures during races but I’m so glad that I did in Nevada.

Running has always been my sanctuary. I love the feeling of the air on my face, the pounding of my feet on the ground. Running is how I experience new places and how I clear my mind when things get a little too loud. Running is also how my husband and I came to visit every state in the United States – we ran a marathon in each one.

 “Bone was the last place in Idaho to get phone service,” the volunteer waiting to help us board the buses from Idaho Falls to Bone said. “It didn’t have phone service until 1982.”

The buses arrived and Manoj and I boarded the first one. The thirty-five minute drive passed quickly. We stepped down from the bus into the dry, frosty morning air. It was even colder up at the starting line amongst the ranches and fields. When I pictured wide-open space in the American west, Bone, Idaho matched my imagination. The dark stretched almost as far as I could see. Beyond, I could just make out the humps of the mountains and hills that surrounded the area, nothing but smudges on the horizon, a slightly darker shade of black than the pre-dawn sky. A coyote howled, shattering the silence, followed by the deep bellow of cattle. The ranches around us were waking up.

I did not have Idaho on my list of must-visit states before Manoj and I began our quest to run a marathon in each one. It just wasn’t a place I’d ever given much thought to before we arrived in Idaho Falls for the race. Our experience running there changed my entire perspective on the state. When I think about Idaho now, I remember the feeling of standing out in the open before dawn, surrounded by howling coyotes and the smell of hay and grass. When I think about Nevada, instead of the hollowness of the casinos and the airport, I picture the beauty of the sky in the thin morning light and how it looked like an expert watercolor painter had layered hues in a perfect desert pallet across the sky.

 “Watch out for those big rocks,” I said to Manoj as we ran through the five-mile mark of the Anchorage Mayor’s Marathon.       

“I know. They want me to break an ankle,” he joked.

The course began at Bartlett High School. We ran along the road for a few miles before entering the Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson. The gravel road began when we entered the base. Most of the road was made of tiny, tightly packed pebbles, but there were a few large chunks of rocks strewn about, popping up like prairie dogs from their burrows. 

The weather was nice – fifty-four degrees and partly cloudy. We felt strong through the first half even though we’d spent the week hiking around Alaska.

“I wonder if we’ll see any bears,” Manoj said after we left the base property and entered a more wooded area. Just then, the course dipped us onto a narrow single track dirt trail. All the runners fell into a single file line as we descended the short hill on the trail surrounded by thick vegetation. 

“Glad it’s dry,” I said. “I’d hate to have it slippery and muddy.”

The trail section only lasted a mile or two. We then joined a wide paved trail through a park. It was heavenly to run carefree on the smooth path after having to be cautious about foot placement on the rocks and trail. The weather started to warm up a little, but it was still pleasant for running.

“This is a beautiful course,” Manoj said gesturing at the woods around us.

Around mile twenty-two, we heard a loud splash in the water off the side of the trail.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I don’t know but it sounded big,” Manoj replied. “Moose, maybe?”

By this point in the race, the pack was pretty spread out. We could see a runner or two in front of us. I turned and there was one person running behind us about thirty feet back. We picked up our pace a little to close the distance between ourselves and the runners in front of us. The rest of the race continued without incident or loud splashes.

However, while we were in the finishing area, we heard that there had been a bear spotted on the course. It was seen around mile sixteen, though, so it’s unlikely that specific bear was the cause of the big splash we heard. Because we were both too scared to investigate further, we’ll never know if we heard a bear, moose, or something else in the water that day. It remains one of my greatest memories about how nature can surprise and intrigue us with her mysteries. We’re always left wanting more.

Before we arrived on the island, I knew Honolulu was going to be lush and green. However, I was unprepared for just how lush and green it would be.       

“Hot in here,” I said, pausing to remove the warm fleece jacket I wore on the plane. The warm, humid airport in Honolulu was a shock to our bodies which were accustomed to December’s winter chill back home. Bright green leaves and vibrant flowers decorated the corridors as we trudged sleepily to the rental car facility.

Even as we drove through the sleepy streets to our hotel, the vivid greenness of Honolulu was apparent in the bushes and trees we passed. When we woke up the next morning, we peered from our balcony at the stretches of palm trees and bright flowers lining the street in both directions. In the distance, Diamond Head rose like dark shadow in the mist emerging from the ocean. It was breathtaking.

The Honolulu Marathon was our fiftieth and final state marathon to cross off our list, so I remember more details about that course than I do of many others. My memories of Hawaii are of sweeping swaths of greenery, colorful flowers, and the sparkling ocean. The mountainous terrain combined with the moist air from the ocean created dazzling rainbows, one of which appeared just as we reached the eighth mile of the race. After we crossed the finish line, we rested in the shade of one of the iconic banyan trees.

Most of my memories of the natural beauty we encountered running marathons across the United States are positive. I was excited for our Colorado race in the Poudre Canyon outside of Fort Collins. I had never visited the state before, other than a quick pass through the Denver Airport. On this trip, we arrived on a sunny, breezy October day and drove north from Denver to Fort Collins. The mountain landscape didn’t disappoint with towering slate-colored peaks set against the bright blue sky. It was a little late for larch season, but small pockets of yellow still dotted some trees.

We woke well before dawn on race day and boarded a bus that would take us to the starting line. Dark smudges flew by outside the bus windows, but it was too dark to see anything clearly. I could only tell we were winding our way to the top of the Poudre Canyon by the sway of the bus as it slowed and turned.           

Finally, the bus rumbled to a stop, and we stepped out into cold, dry air. The starting area was dark, but the first slivers of light were starting to appear. They outlined the tops of the pines and the sharp slopes of the canyon around us. It wase breathtakingly beautiful and I regretted not bringing my phone with me for photos. 

We jogged in place and jumped up and down to stay warm while we waited for the start. The light from the slowly rising sun spread and revealed the surrounding area to be quite different than it appeared under cover of dark. The shapes looming over us morphed into the charred remains of burnt trees lining the canyon. Dark scorch marks scarred the rock. New growth struggled to break free of the rubble that coated the ground. The Cameron Peak fire had ripped across North Central Colorado a year before, leaving behind over 200,000 acres burnt in its wake.

“I forgot about the fires here,” Manoj said, sweeping his hand around in front of him.

“Me too,” I replied as I turned to take in the damaged canyon around me.

We lined up for the start of the race. The dark shadows splashed across the canyon walls as a sobering reminder that our beautiful natural spaces were all under threat from the ravages of climate change. Long after the gun went off and we started to run, the image of the scarred canyon haunted me.         

My love of nature and running are forever intertwined. And, because so much of what I experience of place comes while I’m on the run, my love of specific locations is tied to what I saw and how I felt when I ran there. Running down the burn scarred canyon in Colorado was a sobering reminder that our beautiful natural spaces are not here forever. If we fail to protect them, we will lose the most precious gifts our planet has. These spaces don’t belong to us, but we can and should do our best to preserve them so that future generations can also enjoy the feeling of running on a forest trail through rich, green vegetation.

Other Stuff

What I’m Reading: Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy. I read this book last month, but it fits with the theme of this week’s issue. The family who inhabits an isolated island near Antarctica battle against time and rising sea level brought on by climate change. The descriptions of the animals that live on the island and the setting itself were powerful and brought home the devastation climate change is bringing.

Fun Thing We Cooked This Week: I like making fun pizzas for dinner sometimes. This one was super easy and had perfect summer flavors.

Pesto Peach Pizza – Pistachio pesto (pistachios, garlic, olive oil, pepper, basil pureed until smooth), Spinach, Peaches (sliced thin), Goat cheese, Balsamic Drizzle for finishing.

Obligatory Cat Picture: Sometimes you just have to yell.

Until Next Week…

Thank you for subscribing and reading.

Please feel free to share this link with your friends, family, coworkers, and anyone else who might enjoy it!  Subscribe to Pep Talk