The Slow Limp to Freedom

"There are some patients that I have to crack the whip on, and some that I have to pull back on the reins. I think it goes without saying that you are the latter." 
Brian is my new physical therapist. He is excellent at what he does, and easy to get along with. I've been to see him 3 times in the past week. We chose to take the aggressive approach to therapy.

At 11 weeks post surgery, after 2 weeks of being up to 50 lbs weight bearing, I ditched my crutches a week early. I still wore my boot out of the house, but at home, I got to work using my ankle as it was intended to be used. It hurt some, but not in a bad way, so I took it as a go-ahead. At 12 weeks post surgery, Doc Chardack pulled up my x-rays and showed me the faint line around the outside of my talus that meant the bone was alive and growing. I did a seated happy dance. Then, he wished me luck and set me loose. No boot, no crutches. I asked him for a PT prescription. "I have goals. I have mountains to climb." He shook his head with a stifled smirk and wrote up the scrip. I walked to the car with a huge grin splitting my face. I turned in my knee scooter, tossed my boot in the back of the pirate van, and cranked the radio up. As I cruised down I-15, my eyes would skip over to the parallel Wasatch Range. My mountains. I spoke to them like old friends. "Soon. I'm coming." And then I cried. 'Cuz I do that lately... way too much.

The coming Friday, Katie and I took the kids geocaching up Skyline Drive in Bountiful. I needed to be up. I'd missed too much of Fall already. We spent a few hours driving, with frequent stops for mini hikes. It felt good to test what my ankle was capable of. I was careful, but not too careful. I tired quickly, but my soul felt fed. The fall colors were radiant. My kids were thrilled. Katie was the best company, as usual. I was so happy.

My mountain buddies.

I paid for it that evening and the following day. It was painful, but oh, so worth it.

On Monday, I met Brian. In a room filled with generic workout equipment interspersed with specialized therapy equipment and lined with massage tables.  We liked each other immediately. With measurements and prodding, and muscle tests he evaluated my needs and my progress. While he worked, we discussed hobbies and background, interests and goals. He declared me Wonder Woman and gushed about how incredible my healing and my capabilities were for the severity of my injury. Then he said it. Those words I had been aching to hear, but not daring to hope realistically for. "I am confident that we'll get you running trails again." They rang golden in the air and I smiled so big that my face hurt. I cried ugly, happy tears the whole way home. Of course I did.

Physical Therapy has been less painful than I had been led to believe. Brian says, "Hurting people is old school." I love going to therapy. Real movement followed by massage? Yes please. Me time. I want to push it harder. I want to work out, hike, go for walks, do interval training. But I find that the everyday mom stuff, as much as I've pared it down to basics, comes first and takes too much energy. At this point, it's one or the other. If I work out, or go out much, I can't make dinner. After a week of painful in between days, Brian strongly recommended that I take it easy in between PT sessions. The problem is, I thought I was.

I get frustrated. And when I do, I name the simple things I'm grateful for. The autumn colors, the sunshine, the mobility I do have. My leg is starting to have shape again. It's getting its curves back. My ankle looks like an ankle. A scarred ankle, but an ankle. That makes me happy.

It still hurts everyday. By evening it is swollen and sore, and shades of the old bruising come back. I ice and elevate and try to rest when I can, but life is demanding. Field trips, holidays parties, scout derbies, home school, house work. A busy day means a night with my foot on ice. And sometimes most of the next day with it propped up. How can my house be a wreck when I'm on my feet all day long?
I am frustrated. But I am grateful. I will run again. How long have I waited to be able to say that with confidence?

I just want to run. My heart throws tiny tantrums as I browse the images of my friends adventures. I wanna go! But my time will come. I keep on telling my mountains, "I am coming. I am coming! I'm just coming very slowly. "

Crewing the Bear: A pegleg crew is only fitting for a pirate

In October of 2012, I found last minute babysitters and headed out into the desert to crew my brother-in-law Matt on a 50 mile race. I was new to this trail and ultra scene. I wasn't sure what I was getting into. We slept in a freezing cold tent under endless stars. We got up stupidly early in the morning. Then we followed a bunch of crazy runners in our car full of junk food, stopping to blast music and have dance parties on the dirt road as we cheered people on. In the midst of all of this drawn out hoopla, I fell in love. With everything. The desert, the sport, the mindset, and an entire community full of people who would become like family over the coming years. I've crewed, paced, run and volunteered at many races and fun runs since then. Race weekends are some of my favorite weekends. But I had never crewed a 100 miler from start to finish until this past weekend.
When my husband signed up for the Bear 100, I knew we were in for an adventure. And when my own goals unexpectedly changed from completing my first ultra to being able to walk again, the adventure got much more complicated. I was devastated to miss crewing my brother Steve on his first hundred at Ouray just two weeks after my accident. I would not be kept from being there for Aaron.
I had arranged for my rad baby brother and his rad wife to come stay with the kids while we headed up to Logan for the weekend in our little Mercury Milan. We would attend the pre-race meeting, drop off the drop bags, go to dinner and then stay overnight at my gracious aunt and uncle's home in Providence, just ten minutes from the start line. Somewhere along the way Thursday evening, we would meet up with Aaron's brother Matt in his big bad FJ Cruiser- our crew car. Matt would crew with me for 75 miles and then pace Aaron during the last 25 to the finish. We had a great plan. But you know what they say about best laid plans...
Between me and Aaron, I don't know who was more nervous... well... it was probably me. Running a race, while extremely difficult physically and mentally, is infinitely more simple than crewing it... on one leg. Plus Aaron and Matt just aren't the worrying type.  We checked in on Matt via Find My Friends periodically throughout the evening to see if he was on his way up from Salt Lake yet, and noticed that he was not headed home from work, but was at Primary Children's Hospital. My heart took a pogo stick into my throat. I had just talked to Alicia earlier in the day about their baby and how he had been running a fever. Through text and phone calls, we checked in and discovered that he was not doing well, and the cause was a mystery. I kept having to push the panic back. I was worried about my nephew and his stressed out mama. Compounding that, the possibility had entered my mind that Matt might not make it to the party. Not that I would blame him if something were really wrong, but it would leave me scrambling to crew on my own in a not-dirt-road-and-trail-worthy car. I began to study the aid station maps that I had been relying on Matt and his GPS to get us to.  Aaron laid out his pirate clothes for the next morning and settled in to bed. Eventually I realized I needed to turn the lights off and let Aaron sleep, so I packed up my maps and reluctantly settled in. We slept fitfully.

The Pirate with pre-race nerves

We found ourselves buzzed on nerves in pre-dawn preparations. Dressing, packing up the car. Matt was still not on his way. There was a pressure mounting in my chest. By the time we made it to the starting line we knew that the babe was okay and that Matt would come, but we didn't know when. We parked and I crutched after Aaron to the check-in.

We chatted with friends and met other crew members in the low light. And then it was time. Aaron and Nate headed off into the start crowd. I stood with a group of crew members and new friends. Kelli whom I'd met volunteering for Bryce- she was crewing her husband Scott, and Nate's crew- his wife Steph, and Ben whom I sort of knew from the Wranglers page (he ran with my brother and husband sometimes).  So yeah, best buddies.

The start was called and the runners took off up the road toward the canyon mouth. The pressure in my chest threatened to push out of my face. Then came the question, "So what's your plan?"  I can only imagine the look on my face. I was a crippled deer in the headlights. Everyone else had spoken of going back to their hotels to sleep a little before heading up to Leatham Hollow. I just shook my head lightly and shrugged. There was no plan. I was going to go back to my car and wait around for hours by myself, and then attempt the drive to Leatham Hollow and cross my fingers that my car stayed functional. I would pull it together and be brave and just get it done. To me it seemed like the only thing to do. Only it suddenly sounded really stupid to me when Ben said it out loud.
"No. Come back to my hotel, have some free breakfast, we'll transfer Aaron's stuff to the truck, and you'll go up with us."
My relief almost came out of my eyes and spilled down my face.  I wanted to hug them all for adopting me on the spot! I only narrowly escaped becoming a blubbering drama llama before I turned to crutch back to the car.
Steph dropped Ben off at his hotel and went back to hers across the street. I climbed out of my car and went to meet Ben in the lobby. We sat and talked, then noticing that carrying things is a difficulty for me on crutches, he proceeded to serve me breakfast. His positivity was contagious as we chatted over scrambled eggs, fruit and hash browns, and before we knew it, Steph was back with Nate's dad to pick us up. Ben ran up to his room to get his things, and I crutched out to the car to decide what I needed to take to the first AS. As I hopped on one leg and rummaged around in the car, pulling things out willy nilly, a man dressed in a business suit stopped to ask if I needed his help. This injury has let me see the kindness in strangers and I am constantly amazed. I thanked him for his offer and assured him I had help coming. We loaded my things into the truck and headed to Leatham Hollow, talking and joking like old friends. The ultra community is just packed with awesome people.
At Leatham Hollow, I began to realize how useless I would actually be as crew. Everyone was so solicitous and kind, carrying my chairs and bags for me, but it was all I could do just to get from the car to the trail on my own. I couldn't even carry a water bottle to refill. How was this going to work?
For now, I had my new friends. We settled in our camp chairs to wait as the sun came over the mountain, cheering runners through and taking pictures. Anna Frost flew by. 

"She is my ultra running girl crush," I admitted aloud. Ben was quick to retort, "Are you making fun of me?!" I laughed out loud and assured him I was being quite serious!
A few friends came through and Canice, who I knew was running with no crew or pacers, borrowed a chair for a minute as he went through his drop bag. From that aid station on, we adopted him. He wouldn't run this race without support.
We cheered friends through and watched vigilantly for our charges.
"What color is Aaron wearing?"
"Um... Pirate? He may very well be shirtless at this point though."
And there he was, running well. Shirtless and happy as can be, slightly ahead of schedule.

My almost-nekkid pirate coming in to Leatham Hollow.

Crewing is a funny game. It's mostly being at the right place at the right time, just hanging out and cheering, then the frantic flurry of your runner coming in. Pictures, water refills, food, physical care (sunscreen, blister prevention/care, chafing prevention/care, adjustments, stretching or rubdowns), sock and/or shoe change, clothing changes for weather, etc. It's almost like a pit crew at NASCAR. Then you talk them up, say your encouragements and send them on their way. Pack it up, drive to the next spot, and do it all over again.
He was doing well and having a blast. So we packed it up and headed out, back to Logan to find Matt. Except.... "Wait, that's Matt's car!" On our way out of the parking lot, there it was. He had just missed Aaron, but I was SO glad to see him! I called out to him and he came around the side of the truck and in my relief, it was all I could do not to jump off the truck and wrap my arms around him! I refrained. Those things usually end up kind of awkward. He followed us down to Logan to transfer stuff over and get the rest of our stuff from my car.
From that point, things smoothed out for me. Matt is solid. He is smart, experienced, level-headed and reliable... and great company to boot.  Eventually I figured out what I could actually do to help (not as much as I'd have liked), and we got a pattern going. I was getting quite the work out trying to haul what things I could on my back, and hooked on my crutches, back and forth from the car.
I was SO glad to have Matt driving in his big tough FJ as we scraped the aspens while squeezing past cars on the narrow dirt road on the way up to Cowley. It was around noon. My ankle began to feel pressure. I looked up at the semi cloudy sky and declared, "The rain is coming... I'd say within about 6 hours."
"6 hours huh?"
"About that... I don't know, I'm new at this."
The views were incredible. The colors were surreal! We joked with Ben and Steph about the Bob Ross happy trees and how it felt like we were in a painting. We tended to Canice, who was doing well. Aaron came in to Cowley Pass running alongside Kelly Agnew and looking good. Really, piratey good actually. 

Mm, mmm, piratey good!

He had a small hotspot on the back of his heel which we helped him tape up as we fed him grapes. I was happy he had finally eaten something solid. He was only running with a single handheld water bottle and some Gu packets and salt tabs in his Quantum. And it was getting hot! I was worried about his hydration, to be honest. And I groaned a bit about it to Matt, but didn't bring it up directly to Aaron because I figured he knew what he was doing.

We hurried on to Right Hand Fork. We needn't have. It was a mere 4 miles for us, but 7 or so for the runners. Parking was kind of insane at this aid station, but we parked where we could and hiked it in, returning several times to the car to shuttle in needed items. I was starting to feel the burn- in muscles, lungs, and underarm chafing! It seemed like we waited a really long time here. Again attending to and chatting with Canice as we waited for Nate and Aaron to come through. Finally we saw Nate. He came in hot and flushed and told me right off that Aaron was not far behind, and we needed to tend to his hydration when he came in, as he had been dry heaving and was coming in overheated.  I thanked him, and promptly began to worry. I'm efficient like that.
When Aaron showed up, he was smiling, but definitely needed cooling down. We got him drinking and sent him over to have creek water poured on his head by the awesome volunteers. Then we parked him in a chair and went to work getting all his needs taken care of. Well, Matt went to work. I crutched around trying to be useful, but mostly just talking a lot and trying to help Aaron cool off and get enough to eat. Quite a while later, I kissed him and we sent him off running again, carrying much more water, and looking much better.

Leaving Right Hand Fork

We loaded the car back up and made our way to Temple Fork, where upon navigation the chaotic parking, we saw Derek, Aaron's planned pacer for mile 50 to 75. He was early. We were too and we knew we had a while til we'd see Aaron. Go we reclined the seats in the FJ the best we could and kicked back for a nap. Matt slept some, and I came close, but my foot was getting swollen in the day's heat and activity, so I unstrapped my boot and let my leg breathe for a while. We sat, just killing time, cheering at friends through the car window, and then we saw Derek take off up the dirt road. He'd decided to go find Aaron a good 7 or 8 miles early. It was a relief to know someone would be with him for the rest of the race. I knew seeing Derek would make him really happy! I crutched out to the pit bathroom.... which had no toilet paper. I swung by to say hey to some HUMRs on my way back to the car to find wipes, and Ryan offered me toilet paper (He's thoughtful like that.) I accepted, gratefully. Aaron and Derek came in looking pretty good. But Aaron said his calves and the backs of his knees were starting to hurt. He asked for the Deep Blue Rub, but I couldn't find it. So I pulled out a sample pack of Dr. Hoys, and rubbed his calves down while he noshed on boiled potatoes.

Giving him the rub down. I'm useful sometimes.

He had his gloves, jacket and head lamp in his pack. His goal was to hit Tony Grove before dark, but with the clouds rolling in, it could get dark faster than we supposed. Derek handed me his key and asked if I'd take his van on to the next few aid stations. I knew these ones would have paved access, so I agreed and we sent them off up the hill. Then the rains started. It was 5:35pm. Dang, I'm good. We had tucked a cheap poncho in every single drop bag, and we were collecting the extras as we went along.
As I carefully made my left-footed way up toward Tony Grove, the views made me laugh out loud and even cry a little. The golden yellow, the bursts of fiery red and orange, with the deep evergreens poking through, and the storm clouds brewing on the mountain line were overwhelmingly beautiful. There are no words. By the time we hit Tony Grove, stopping on the way up to take in the breathtaking scenery, the showers had let up. "Maybe that's all we'll get." We heard from various crew members. Nope. The ache in my ankle said it had only just begun. The hardware doesn't lie.
Happily, we had a break for a bit. We cheered friends in and out of the aid station overlooking the stunning mountain lake. We bandaged blisters, fed runners, prepped them for the night, and gave encouragement. Aaron finally came as the light was fading behind the storm clouds. He was hurting, but as always, in good spirits. He had some blisters, which we cared for. We got some food in him,  and made sure he had everything for night. It made sense to us to have him change shoes to help with the blister situation. Had I been thinking properly of the rain situation, I'd have never let him change them. The Altra Olympus have very little traction in wet and mud. We didn't know just how rough a mistake that would be. But we sent him off into the night, confident in our ignorance of the coming situation. I knew the game had just begun, that our roughest hours lay ahead as we'd fight to survive the night and as Aaron headed into unknown territory. He was about to go further than he'd ever gone before.  I was nervous, but had no doubt in my mind that he could and would finish. I just feared the suffering that might come on the way. I can suffer. Oh, I can suffer. I'm really good at it by now. But with all that has happened in the past few months, my soul is tired. I knew that watching Aaron suffer and not being able to do much about it would be a special kind of torture. I just didn't know how much we'd have to take.
We decided it would be prudent to drop Derek's van at Beaver Lodge where he would need it before hitting Franklin. This ended up being a good move. Matt followed me there in the drizzle to pick me up so we could backtrack.
Making our way to the Franklin Trailhead aid station, we could see in the dark of night that parking could be an issue. There were two small makeshift lots and a dirt road lined with cars. I didn't want to crutch further than I had to, and we had a good amount to carry in supplies and camp chairs. Luckily, as we maneuvered our way through one of the tiny lots, a car signaled that they were pulling out and we were able to park. I paused to put on warmer clothes and a shoe while Matt pulled out supplies, and then I strapped a camp chair to my back and checked out the trail to the aid station. It would be an adventure on crutches, but the only way to do it was to do it! So off we went. Matt had my back in case I tumbled backwards and through rocks, trees and loads of sagebrush that grabbed teasingly at my crutches, we wended our way to the dirt road and the lit tents in the distance. Matt joked as we went that I'd just invented a new sport in Trail Crutching. We finally reached the aid station and set up chairs. I sank into one to catch my breath all the while keeping my eyes open for friends to cheer and encourage. Not too much later, Aaron came in smiling and looking strong. He was on top of his calories and trucking along. We fed him and re-packed things and sent him on. Matt offered to go get the FJ and drive it up closer to get me and I gratefully accepted. I crutched to the end of the road where a kind young teenager lifted the ribbon that blocked the roadway for me, asked about my injury and wished me luck. I stood there alone for a minute in the dark before my eyes were drawn upward to the vast star-studded sky. It was immense and awe inspiring. I leaned back on my crutches and handed myself over to the wonder and pure gratitude that washed over me like a tide. It is a small moment that emblazoned itself super-sized in my memory, on my soul. Headlights shone my way and Matt pulled along side me. I climbed in awkwardly and we set our sights back to the next stop on our pilgrimage. Beaver Lodge.
 It would be hours until we saw Aaron again, so we settled in the FJ to catch whatever sleep we could. Somewhere in that first hour or so I became conscious to torrential rain. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I tried to sleep more and worry less, but I couldn't help but be concerned for my husband somewhere out there in drenching dark. A few hours sleep and a few conversations later, we made our way to the lodge itself. There wasn't much room, so we settled under the covered porch, used the restrooms and encouraged the friends who came through, cheering on the ones who made it out. It was like a triage tent. Many runners took a cot and never left. We watched as they drew up the DNF board- the list of the runners who had dropped so far. The stack of numbers grew longer by the minute and I couldn't help but wonder how many of our friends were on that list. Canice came in and I chatted with him while he tried to get some calories down. Matt went to change and ready himself to relieve Derek of his pacing duties. Canice had been taking Tums to help his stomach and keep cramps at bay. He had just spoken of how he thought it was working, when in the midst of swallowing a salt pill, all his calories came back up onto the porch. I couldn't help but notice that his vomit was full of black chunks. In low light and on little sleep, my first thought was blood clots and I momentarily panicked until it dawned on me- his calories had been black bean soup! Oh phew! Canice leapt off the porch to finish his purging in the bushes just as Matt stepped back onto the porch. He chuckled out,"Puke and rally!"
The rallying call of the ultra runner.
Happily Canice felt fine, replaced his calories and we cheered him on his way.
When Aaron and Derek finally showed, I had to push back emotion as Aaron struggled, hunched and hurting to even step up onto the lodge porch. The true suffering had begun. His calves, knees and ankles had been tweaked and tired out with slipping and sliding in the thickening mud. He checked in, used the bathroom, and sat down. I scurried to get better shoes, clean compression socks, wipes, and to find the Deep Blue Rub. It was nowhere to be found. Then it dawned on me: I had left a bag in the trunk of my car back in Logan. Aaron moved slowly and stiffly onto a nearby mat and I went to work with wipes, scraping the mud off his legs and massaging his ankles and calves.

Scraping off the muddy mud. Clumps on leg hairs= ouch.

I adjusted his hips, knees and ankles the best I knew how, then I put on his compression socks. (Have you ever put compression socks on a tired ultra runner? It's like trying to put control top pantyhose on a tranquilized walrus.) After I had done all I could for him physically and he lay there shaking in exhaustion, I draped my whole body across his and kissed him on the neck, willing my strength and whatever rest I'd gotten to become his. I don't think it worked. *shrug*
We said our thanks and goodbyes to Derek and I handed him his keys. Matt looked very ready to go. I had seen many others come through in our time of waiting and decided if Aaron was to survive the mud, he'd need trekking poles. Matt was prepared and had some in his car.
Aaron asked if maybe he could sleep on a cot for 20 minutes. Matt responded with tough love and experienced logic. "I don't think it'll do any more for you than moving will. We might as well start walking." We all nodded. Aaron accepted this and laced up his shoes as I packed our stuff up. Missy Berkel and her friend were kind enough to offer to help me get all the stuff back to the car, and I sent my men off into the early morning darkness.  Missy was a godsend in that moment. Her help kept me on task and reminded me I was not crewing alone. I had a community at my back and I could do this.  When I was alone in the drivers seat, I took a moment to give myself a pep talk, then adjusted my seat, checked my directions and set off.
The deep dark and the dumping rain were not good companions. I thought I found the turn to Beaver Creek Campground, and started down the puddled and muddy narrow dirt road. Aside from the sparse ghosts of silent campers in the woods at the edge on my headlights, I was alone. I saw no other cars, no lights, no people in the deep forest. I began to wonder. I stopped to check my directions, I had no cell service. I began to second guess myself. Suddenly I was just a broken girl, lost in the woods in a brutal rainstorm. I felt so very small. I turned the FJ around and went back the way I had come. My desire to support Aaron battled with both my fear and logical caution. I went back to the lodge, stopping to ask if anyone else knew the way to go to the next aid. No one that I spoke to could tell me. Regretfully admitting defeat, I decided to skip that aid and meet them at Ranger Dip: mile 92. I cried reluctant frustrated tears the whole way there. Luckily other crew cars were taking the dirt road up and I was able to follow them. Miles are long in dark and unfamiliar territory.

When I arrived, I snagged a very fortunate close parking spot. I knew I would have plenty of time to wait here, even if Aaron was able to rally and pick up the pace.  I laid my seat back and let my tears echo the rain as I drifted into sweet oblivion.
When I woke, the dawn was struggling to push it's muffled light through the storm clouds. They in turn continued to indifferently discharge their deluge. When would this end?? I shot upright and checked the time. I can't have missed them! As the rain let up slightly, I crutched through the river of mucosal mud to the aid station tent. They hadn't come through yet. Nate's crew was there. We caught up on our runners situations and commiserated over the conditions.  I moved back and forth from tent to car and back out of boredom and cold. I chatted with Hillary and Condor over Kendall's condition. Eventually both of their runners (along with my brother Steve who was pacing Kendall) came and left. Their crews moved on to the finish. I waited and I worried. Aaron's finish goal time came and passed. I felt like I might burst out of my own skin every time a runner appeared in the distance and it wasn't him. I kept telling myself he was with Matt, and they could do anything together. Matt would get him through it. Then I worried about Matt too.  Tired, injured, cold, mud spattered, and helpless to help at all. It was a special kind of torture. A sweet woman from Canada took me under her giant sport umbrella and kept me company. Her name was Mary. She was wonderful. Eventually her runner came too. She stayed as long as she could to share her umbrella with me, and then I moved to the aid station tent and promised to see her at the finish. I was shivering in the cold and wet, holding out in case Aaron and Matt were just out of sight, but I finally moved back to the car to get warm. I moved the FJ to another spot so that I could see the incoming road better. I had been in the car only a few minutes when I looked up and saw him stumbling through the sage brush. My heart leapt and I threw the car door open as an involuntary scream of, "YES!!" tore from my throat. No one else had been in my head to know what I'd gone through in that waiting time. It was super melodramatic, so when I faced them, I felt a little silly.

Making their way through the muddy mess.

Aaron looked awful. He kept moving toward the aid tent and I scrambled to get my crutches, turn off the car and chase them up the mud slick. I didn't have bags, I didn't even have dry socks for him. Aaron called to the check in and met me in the middle of the road, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. I kissed him solidly. He put his head to my chest as we leaned in to hold each other up and let out one quiet heart wrenching sob. The world stopped. One pure moment. For all that I couldn't do for him, he needed me. He took a cleansing breath and stood up tall, and the world blurred back into motion. Matt found him a chair and some broth and I asked what he needed. "Nothing. I just need to finish this." He was mad. Aaron doesn't get angry often, but he was burning up, and that fire meant fuel for the finish.
"214 OUT!" He called to the volunteers and he set off to finish it once and for all. I cheered him away and thanked the aid volunteers that I had spent more than 6 hours with. I crutched my muddy way to the car feeling ten times lighter at the prospect of the finish. Driving the FJ down to the highway in daylight, the satellite radio picked up "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" and suddenly I was big again. Not small, not broken and useless, but in command- splashing like a boss through mud puddles and rocky roads and yes, having fun!  The golden leaves of the forest were sunshine on this cloudy day. I hit the highway only to pull off it moments later to watch a great mull moose wander through a meadow, cross the road right in front of me, and saunter into the forest above. Another moment, just for me.
Over the pass, through Garden City, and into Fish Haven. The tiny parking lot was full, the road lined with cars in both directions. I parked where I could, strapped a chair to my back and steeled myself for the long crutch ahead just as a kind stranger offered to help carry bags. I accepted gratefully. The finish area was wet, with runners and crew crowded under tents, most leaving soon after finishing, chased away by the weather and their pure exhaustion. Once again kind strangers welcomed me under their shelter. Mary and her sport umbrella, the HUMRs and their canopy. Eventually I joined Canice, Joe and others under a race canopy and settled in to cheer the wearied and triumphant finishers. I could imagine a sunny fall day with all the runners and crew spread out on the lush lawn, sticking around to cheer every one in. The rain seemed careless and cruel. Nate and his crew finished side by side with smiles of relief. Runners told of slipping through mud like they had never seen. We joked about dipping their finish buckles in mud and mounting them to the wall. And I waited.
Then there they were! At the end of the drive and coming in fast. (Well, relatively fast.) Matt had a grin like a cheshire cat as he peeled of to let Aaron finish on his own. Aaron skipped toward the finish, calves cramping and a grimace on his face, but a look of triumph in his eyes. And he was done.

My heroes. These two brothers can do anything together.

I crutched out to meet them and take pictures. Everything from there on out was a blur of talk and camaraderie and care for the dirty and tired. The rain didn't let up for days. But at least we could all go home, snuggle in and sleep through it. A well-earned deep, sleep.

They say if you finish a 100 mile race, you will never be the same again.  They say you'll gain self respect, respect for those around you, honor for the indomitable human spirit, and a knowledge of what you are truly capable of. I didn't run it. I am beyond proud of Aaron for having finished an incredibly difficult race. I have no desire to do it myself, and no guarantee I'd even be able to half that with this puzzled together ankle of mine. But I for one, will never be the same.

Part 3- Aftermath: The horrid and wonderful journey of endless tears and not a single step

It has been therapeutic to write down the story of the dramatic and the traumatic. It is the stuff of good stories, and I've always loved playing storyteller. Alas, it was a few short days of my life. When the agony and horror makes you think this is it- the biggest day! My life might just be over! But it's not. And when the peril has subsided and all of your loved ones have celebrated that you still live, then the noise dies down. The confetti settles. The pats on the back subside as the visitors wander off. You sit in the quiet with yourself and you face what comes next: The Everything After.

The Everything After is so very raw and needy. It draws out, hungry for an unending supply of patience, pain, and true love. (No, not Twoo Wuv,  Princess Bride style. Though that is a great movie to watch when you are stuck under an icepack on the couch.) True love. The quiet simplicity. Kindness. Thoughtfulness. Service. Sacrifice.

At first, true love was abundant. My husband catered to my every need. I had near-constant attendants at hand. Friends bringing gifts and meals. Offers to clean my bathrooms and do my dishes. It was wonderful and I felt so very blessed. Dire thoughts only broke through in rare moments, or in conversations about the uncertainty of my future.... or when I missed the mountains. Between gratitude and sorrow, my face was rarely dry.
A week after my unfortunate adventure, Aaron woke me at 4:45 am. At that point I was still waking every few hours to take different meds, nibbling uncomfortably on food in the middle of the night. My sleep quality was unfulfilling, and any unconscious moment was precious. I awoke to his face leaning over me, looking expectant. (It's not the first time it has happened in the middle of the night, but that seemed an odd early morning request considering the circumstances.)
"Can I do something for you?" I muttered with raised eyebrows and sticky eyelids.

"Can you get up and get dressed?" He inquired.
"Am I going somewhere?" I parried.
"Yes."
"May I pee first?"
"That's probably a good idea."

I crutched perilously to the bathroom, my sense of balance not quite awake in the dark. Then Aaron helped me dress and carried my crutches downstairs as I scooted down on my bum. He helped me to the couch and told me to wait there.
"Is someone coming?"
"Maybe."
I had my suspicions, but I was half asleep and happy to just let things play out. Aaron disappeared upstairs again and reappeared with a bag stuffed with a sweatshirt that also rattled with pain meds. And as the glare of headlight cast across the living room wall, he helped me to the door and out to the driveway. Renee and Jennilyn greeted me on the front walk with slightly awkward crutch hugs and flung the van door open to reveal my morning chariot. All the middle seats had been removed and the back seat was piled with various soft things. I laughed, exclaimed, and climbed right in.
Jennilyn looked sleepy. "I don't get up early on a Saturday for just anyone, Kristyan."
I grinned at her silhouette up front. "I'm honored."
A short time later they were asking me directions to the canyon, and we bumped up the long, winding, treacherous canyon road to a perfect lookout spot. Farmington Canyon is one of my nearby escapes. My trail home, if you will. I've traversed most of it on foot more times than I can count now. As I exited the car on my crutches, the mountain air washed over me and I gasped. It was if I'd been suffocating and I hadn't known it until that moment. My eyes scanned from the impending sunrise at the top of the canyon, to the lush evergreen mountainsides and out to far off Antelope Island. I could almost feel the trees welcoming me back, and the canyon breeze was the sweetest nectar. The dust in the air, the coolness of pre-dawn, the slow fade of color back into the world. It was overwhelming. Unbidden tears cascaded off of my eyelashes and a sob escaped my throat. Friends who knew held me close as I let it all go, and then drew myself back together again, whispering thanks that could never do justice to my all-consuming gratitude. They set up camp chairs, one piled high with pillows to keep my foot elevated. Renee flipped her fancy van seats backward as Jennilyn set up the camp stove.

I sipped hot tea and sunrise, lost in the gentle splendor of it all. The smell of sizzling peppered bacon mingled deliciously with dusty evergreen, and for a moment I could forget the pain and stress. Renee handed me a cup of orange juice and Jennilyn passed me a steaming plate of eggs and bacon. She apologized for it's untidiness, but to me in that moment,  it was the most perfect thing in the entire world.


I thanked them, unable to express my gratitude and elation. I felt naked relief. Oh, my heart. We chatted and joked and laughed. It felt so good to laugh! They set up cameras and took pictures of the three of us as the sky turned pastel and gold on it's morning journey to daylight.

It will remain one of the most thoughtful and amazing acts that anyone has ever done for me. They were my angels. And they would spend more time and energy on me in the coming weeks than I ever expected. Renee helped me clean and cook. She brought awesome meals catered to our food sensitivities, and kids to keep mine entertained. She brought magazines and sparkly nail polish, conversation and much-needed laughter. She even brought Jennilyn for girl time and yoga play in the park.
I don't know what I did to deserve either of them. Renee and Jennilyn, I love you girls so much!!

Times like these make the rest of them bearable. I wish I could highlight every moment with every caring friend. Katie was ever attentive and hilarious, bringing movies, magazines and girly things like toenail polish in shades of grey to match my bruising. I can always count on a text or comment from her to make me burst out laughing at inappropriate moments.
Kenzie brought a card addressed to my ankle- telling it to get it's act together. It totally made my day! It was accompanied by more glitter polish. (Apparently I needed some shiny bling for my nails, because everyone seems to know the secret- glitter makes you heal faster. )
Cindy- my selfless Cindy from the planet Wonderful, came to change my bandages when I didn't know how. She has checked in regularly, been my listening ear, and even cleaned out my chicken coop and picked up feed and bedding for me! (Aaron doesn't do animal poop.)
My sweet crazy Sara has spent countless hours, cleaning out and organizing my laundry room, cleaning my kitchen and bathrooms, and best of all, having the most real, honest and understanding conversations.
Steve and Nan brought dinner, company and adjustments. And continue to check in and encourage with calls and texts.
Adam and Nikki cleaned house and entertained my littles.
MaKayle brought my fave ice cream and took up a collection amongst my Yoga Buddies.
Lane hand-delivered spring-loaded racing crutches and pain relieving spray. I know!! Racing crutches!

8 days after surgery, I met my surgeon for the second time.
Dr. Chardack walked in to the room and exclaimed, "The toughest woman on earth?! I was pretty shocked when you left the hospital right after surgery! With an injury like yours, I thought you'd stay a day or two at least!" I hadn't even known it was an option.
He pulled up my x-rays on screen and my jaw dropped. I'm sure some sound like, "Huuummmnnedegewhaaaa?" came out of my mouth before I shouted, "I thought you said a coupla pins?"
"I told you it was a mess in there."
How many screws are in there??"
"Enough."
"No, really. I have been underbragging! How many??"
He turned to the screen and poked at it with his finger, "One, two, three, four... five, six..., seven.  This is a metal plate, and this section over here was mush, there's like a whole buncha little bone grafts in there. "
It looked like he'd just cut it open and spanked the Home Depot over the top of it.

He was still not very forthcoming with information.
"I'm a trail runner and a yoga teacher, doc. Give it to me straight. How long do I have til I'm back?"
I didn't like the answers.
8-12 weeks non weight bearing. 50% chance of osteonecrosis. Pretty much guaranteed early arthritis. Anything on uneven surfaces may be iffy. He made it sound like trail running was out. I refused to accept that. Don't you dare tell me I can't.
"If I was another doc, I'd put you in a hard cast. But if someone did that to me, I'd throttle them on the spot. So you get a boot, but do NOT put weight on it. Keep it on most of the time and don't move around without it. You can bathe without it, but that's about it. Do NOT mess this up. It's your one chance. I can't fix it again."
A nurse snipped and removed the two long rows of stitches... clumsily and very painfully. I had to use my childbirth breathing and meditation methods to get through it. I picked out more fragments of them later that day. She stretched my achilles until my foot was in the right position for the boot. I had to stop to breathe and surrender. I didn't cry. Not there.
I quit taking narcotics on the way home from the appointment. I hadn't taken enough with me for the appointment plus the hourlong wait to see the doc. When it wore off, I decided the pain was more manageable than the heartburn, anger, nausea, horrible constipation (seriously), and other myriad of side effects. When I stopped taking the meds, there was no more hiding. It got real, really fast.

I am a shameless optimist. I strive to highlight the good and live in gratitude everyday. I don't like to talk about the hard stuff. The stuff that is there between the visits and laughter. The stuff that lurks in the recesses of my mind only to face me boldly the moment we're alone. The struggle. But I do it so that others don't have to struggle alone. So that I don't have to struggle alone. I have struggled with depression and anxiety on and off for years. I battle it by tying up my trail shoes, and losing myself to nature. But I can't do that anymore. Not for months and maybe more. I can't run. Escape is not an option. It all came crashing down. Denial, depression, anger, despair.  All of the 'what ifs' and the 'how comes'. Sleeping in that boot was nigh to impossible. With sleep deprivation and PMS on the pile, I was buried. So many tears. So much snot. Poor Aaron.

Then one day, misery became so boring. I was tired of it. I woke up miserable, in pain, wondering what the point was. The pressure in my head mounted and tears started their familiar trickle down my cheek and onto my pillow. My eyes came to rest on my yoga mat. Aside from the mountains, my mat was home. I missed my mat. The morning sun was streaming, golden through my bedroom window. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and lowered my aching body carefully and awkwardly to the floor. I crawled over to my mat and unrolled it in a patch of light, sending dust fairies dancing in the warmth. I crawled onto it and began to breathe. For the first time in weeks, I closed my eyes and went inward. Feeling every movement, exploring what was there. Tears continued to fall, but now out of gratitude. As I flowed through simple movements I began to realize what I could still do. I sent love and acceptance and healing to the broken bits- of body and soul. I acknowledged the trauma and sent love and honor for having met the challenge. I traveled inward even more and found.... me. I was there all along. In finding myself for even a moment, I had found an inner light. My connection to the Divine. My hope. My reality check. I still get to choose. I always get to choose.


It has not been all golden light and zen since then. There is so much more to process and accept. So much more the stand up to and fight. But most of all, there is waiting. With time comes the demons. The doubts, the worries. The dull and persistent pain wears away at me like sand paper. My efforts have untold consequences. One day I am my own hero, taking the kids out for a "crutch", cleaning the house on my hands and knees, tackling a project, going shopping. That night I find blood on my shirt from crutch chafing, my knee callous is cracked and bleeding from crawling too much, my hands are too weak and painful to grasp my toothbrush, and my back and hips ache mercilessly. Every good day has its price.
But I continue to roll out of bed and crawl onto my mat. I find myself and say 'Hello' and 'Namaste'.
I remember that I am not my body, though it is a part of my journey. I find God and check in.

I would be remiss if I neglected to thank one other person. My husband, my Aaron, my everything. I would have blown away bit by bit in this storm without him. To wipe my tears, to attend to my needs, to hold me together when I'm flying apart. To remind me who and what I am. He is incredible.
Thank you, my love.

I have come a long way in two months. I have a long journey yet ahead of me. I am tired. I will keep on. I have so much to aspire to. There is so much more awesome to become.

Part 2: Surgery

I was scheduled for Monday morning surgery at the IHC in Murray. The time between my ER visit and surgery is a blur of stress and drugs. Three of my kids had pneumonia. I was on a steady rotation of oxycodone and ibuprofen. I knew I needed the surgery, but still had no clue at how long this would take me out. I could only guess.... 4 weeks, 6 maybe? I held out the naive hope of denial that the October 50k that I had been training so hard for was still within reach. I think the drugs had something to do with my optimism as well.
Monday morning came, with the empty stomach and raw nerves that come with surgery. Aaron helped me to the car and the entire drive there I was a nervous wreck. I was facing one of my few big fears: Anesthesia. The only other time I had gone under was when I was 14 and had my wisdom teeth removed. I only have brief flashes of severe shaking and delusion. I effectively lost two days of conscious memory. My body had not reacted well. I had no desire to ever repeat it, and yet, here I was.  We entered the almost empty waiting room 2 minutes late, filled out paper work, and waited. Waiting is the worst. Aaron took a pre-op a picture of me with a nervous, fake smile on my face. I just sat waiting with this black electronic pager in my hand- like they have at the Olive Garden. As if I was waiting for soup, salad, and breadsticks. The pager came with instructions. "When you are paged, follow the blue line through the double doors." I hate hospitals. I was waiting for them to stamp a number on my forehead before they  knocked me out. I hadn't even met my surgeon.
The pager buzzed with flashing lights, and I suddenly craved greens in vinaigrette. Aaron paced along side me as I crutched along the blue line into a tiny room where my vitals were taken and I answered a few more questions. I followed the nurse to another room with a hospital bed, where I was given instructions and left with Aaron help me. Strip down to your undies, put on the gown (why do they call them gowns? Seriously. They are the furthest thing ever from glamorous!), put on the funny hat, put your belongings in this bag....
I was briefed... very briefly. This should only take two hours. It should be pretty simple.
I was asked if I had any concerns.
Yes... yes I did.
They wheeled me into a little room, where after more waiting, an IV was placed in my hand. Then I finally met my trauma surgeon, Dr. Chardack, as he bustled in to talk over my concerns, seeming flustered by my silly need to chat. I had so many questions about the procedure, but I got the feeling that he didn't have time for that.
"It's fine. We'll need a couple of pins and maybe a plate, if that. Oh, and by the way, do we have permission to use cadaver bone chips to graft if needed? That way we don't have to take bone from your hip."
Um, yes.... yes you do.
He began to bustle away again, but then turned back to me and said, "Oh yeah. I need to mark your leg for surgery. I envisioned the bandages being removed and him drawing out dotted lines where he would cut and marking spots to avoid. Maybe making a note or two. Instead he uncapped a marker, pulled back the very top of my bandage, and wrote "YES" below my knee. "Gotta make sure we do the right one!" He quipped, and hurried out of the room.
A short while later the nurse informed me that we couldn't start yet. There was a Life Flight helicopter on its way in and they needed to keep the OR clean and ready just in case it was needed to save the patient's life. It was hard to be annoyed by that. I sent up a sincere prayer for the poor soul in that chopper.
After learning that the OR was not needed, my anesthesiologist came to talk over my concerns and soothe my nerves. He was kind and understanding. He reassured me, and promised to monitor me very carefully as well as add Zofran for nausea to my IV before he brought me out of anesthesia.
Just a little more waiting for me, and then as we wheeled to the OR, Aaron was left to keep vigil while I slept. More waiting. Poor guy.



I came to in fuzzy bits of color. When I finally became aware of my surroundings, I was in yet another room. Aaron was beside me and the nurses were busy moving me to the new bed and settling me in. My gown came open and Aaron heroically snatched at it to protect my modesty. I had my first solid thought and voiced it loudly, "Where is my underwear?!"
Aaron held up a tied-off clear plastic bag containing my panties. "They just handed it to me," he said with a shrug.
I felt like barfing. I told the nurse so and she upped my Zofran. Sometime later the doc came in.
"Hey so that took longer than anticipated. It was kind of a mess in there."
I was too out of it to ask direct questions, but I remember him saying something about call for an appointment in a week, take meds, ice it, elevate as much as possible, keep it clean, keep it dry, and don't even think about putting weight on it for 8-12 weeks.
I don't remember much else except for the horrible feeling of my heart sinking into my queasy stomach.
When he left, I turned to Aaron. "How long was I out?"
"Around four hours."
Holy what??
The nurse, Brenda said I could go home as soon as I felt like it. Use the bathroom and get dressed. I crutched down the hall to the bathroom after Aaron helped me re-tie my glamorous gown so my naked bum wouldn't traumatize the other patients. As I moved, I noticed that I felt all squishy and lubey... down there. Yes, there.
I closed the bathroom door with wide eyes. What on earth had happened in that two extra hours of unconsciousness. The moment I began to pee, an answer I never thought I'd be grateful to know dawned on me. A catheter. They had had to place a catheter. Suddenly IHC was a little less creepy and suspicious.
When I returned, I asked the nurse."Did they have to cath me, Brenda?"
"Oh yeah, they did! Because of how long the surgery took. Did they not tell you that? Were you kind of freaked out?!"
Yes... yes I was.
Aaron helped me dress very carefully, and he and Brenda got me into a wheelchair and out to the car.
My stomach was a ravenous mess. We picked up In-n-Out protein-style for the whole fam and took it home to our poor, sick children.
Home. Food. Meds. Sleep. Gifts?
Katie had left me a girly spa care package.
Mark had posted to all of the Trail and Ultra Running community about my surgery and I had scads of well-wishing messages and encouragement from friends and strangers alike. Neighbors and friends showed up with dinners, cards, and gifts. My heart was overflowing, and my eyes acted in kind.
Friends came to clean my house. Cindy came at a minutes notice to change my bandages. Katie came to keep me company. I think for an entire week, I was a duplicitous sobbing mess of drug-induced euphoria over the kindness and love that I was inundated with, and the pain, despair, anger and denial that came in the time between the meds wearing off and kicking in again.
The healing had begun in theory. But I had no idea what lay in store for me in the next few months. Physically, emotionally, mentally.
It's one of those things you can't understand until you go through it. If someone had tried to tell me. I would never have believed them.

To be continued...
Next up: Aftermath: The horrid and wonderful journey of endless tears and not a single step

Injury (Part 1)

I suppose it's time to write this down. I've missed a lot.
First, the catch-up:

On July 14th, it was the 3rd annual Butler Bolt- an unofficial race/ fun run put on by Mark Robbins. Aaron and I rode to the trail head up Big Cottonwood Canyon with Katie and Chris and their friend. It's a steep and beautiful course and I was quickly left behind on the uphill. I cruised down the downhill like I was made for it and had an amazing time. It was so good to be up in the scenery of the mountains.



On July 16th, it was Katie's birthday. Most girls might want a shopping and spa day with their girlfriends, but she wanted a birthday run... with me. I was honored. We ran up The Dude in the heat of day, we chased horny toads, got lost (as is our usual m.o.), ran out of water, I got a cactus stuck in my leg (which Katie removed for me after she had laughed properly), and we generally had an amazing time.

On July 18th, I snuck out for a solo 5k on the BST in the wee morning hours. I'll admit I didn't have the best attitude about it, but it was just enough to lift my spirits. The sun coming up through Steed Creek canyon as I ran through meager stream was a moment that in hindsight, I'm glad I noticed. It was a moment that would have to sustain me for the coming months.



The day was full of plans. Aaron was going to go summit Lone Peak with friends Chris and Steve. He'd be gone until early morning, at which time he would shower and leave with his brother Matt to volunteer at the Larry's Hole aid station of the legendary SpeedGoat 50k. I didn't plan on seeing him until later the next afternoon. I had received word on Monday that the Heber Valley Half was cancelled, so my weekend was all freed up. Our friend Jennilyn (whom I can't keep up with, so we've never really run together), had invited me to go bouldering and camping in Little Cottonwood Canyon with our kids. Yes, this Jennilyn. Her husband was supposed to go on a climbing trip, and we both thought we'd rather play than be lonely. I was stoked and very nervous to finally get to go climbing with Jennilyn. I had never really bouldered. Jennilyn has been climbing for years and the opportunity to learn basics from her was exciting. This beside the fact that I love the girl, and we rarely get to just hang out. I planned on heading down to meet Jennilyn at Tanner's Flat campground as soon as I had everything packed and ready. I had a cooler bag full of food and a van packed with camping equipment and kids. Jennilyn got off work later than anticipated and took longer to pack than expected (just like I had), so by the time I got to the canyon, she was still working on it and I was on my own to go grab us a campsite. But I couldn't. Because there weren't any. We were too late. Both legal campsites in the canyon were full. I called Jennilyn and headed back down the canyon. She said to meet her at the Park n Ride and we'd figure out a course of action. We discussed our options- from setting up tents illegally, to camping in her back yard. Until we threw up our hands and said, "Let's just go climbing. We'll figure it out later." We drove just a few miles back up the canyon, parked roadside, changed into our climbing things and packed the crash pads, equipment and food down a trail to The Riverside Boulders. We got set up and let the kids get their climbs in. I went to strap into Aaron's climbing shoes, but Jennilyn recommended I use Ben's because they were a size smaller.  They were uncomfortably tight, but that's how climbing shoes are supposed to be. Then Jennilyn began to teach me basics. This is when I learned that I suck at bouldering. How was I going to get any better at it unless I kept trying though? The longer we were at it, the more hot and swollen my feet got despite taking the shoes off between sets. The canyon air got cooler and we began to be eaten alive by the rampant mosquito population. I was uncomfortable and frustrated with my slow progress. The kids were ready for a change of scenery. So we packed everything back on our bodies and headed further from the river- across the road and up a bit of a trail to what are known as the 5 Mile Boulders. We set up and played around. We set the kids to gathering firewood for a back yard s'mores fire while we picked our "problems" and took turns spotting each other. Jennilyn sent some sweet ones that I couldn't dream of completing, and did a great job of encouraging me through "warm up" routes. These are the routes that most climbers use as warm ups. They were my problems.... that's how awesome I wasn't. But I never gave up. Even though I'd felt off all day. Even though I knew something was looming and just not right. I kept trying. And I succeeded sometimes. Jennilyn and I were having a really good time, but I was also really glad when we were running out of light. The shoes were so tight. My feet were killing me. I, the barefooter, with my strong arches and proud toe splay, was supremely uncomfortable. But I strapped them back on and I went for one last send.

Jennilyn was so encouraging and I made it further up than I had before. She urged me to aim for the top, but I had an unexplained moment of being absolutely done and declared it aloud. She stood there above the crash pad with her arms in the air, the perfect spotter. I came down a little- to about 5 feet above the ground, eyed my landing spot, and hopped to the pad just as I had done plenty of times in the day. Jennilyn caught my hips and I made a perfect two-footed landing except for the explosion in my right ankle. It was blinding, mind-numbing, excruciating pain and I began to yell desperately. She couldn't understand why I was yelling or what had happened. I know for a fact that I let some profanities fly as I sank to the crash pad, sobbing. I couldn't gulp enough air to make it go away. I couldn't relay much information at all. I didn't understand anything but the pain as Jennilyn mothered me in the kind of voice you would use on frightened animal or enraged child, petting my hair and attempting to calm me. When I could form consonants again, we discussed my injury and inability to even attempt weighting it. It was swelling and oddly dislocated. I fought the instinct to hyperventilate my way into shock or unconsciousness. Jennilyn offered me some Aleve, which I eagerly and gratefully accepted as we pulled out cell phones and called out for escape options and information. She kept reassuring me that it might just be a bad sprain, but deep down I think I knew it was worse. The last light of the evening was fading. The mosquitos were feasting even more ravenously, but the irritation was lost amid the pain and my children's tearful attempts to cuddle and comfort me. My husband was many miles and thousands of vertical feet away, on foot. I felt completely incompetent to make decisions. The next emergency person I usually call is my Dad, but he and my Mom are far away in Hawaii. So I reached out to the two next most fatherly, knowledgeable men in my life, and through dropped calls and delayed texts began communicating with my two big brothers, Steve and Mike. Jennilyn had better cell reception in the canyon and took over some of that communication. She had already called her husband Ben, who by some blessed miracle had not followed through with his Idaho climbing trip and was at the top of the same canyon we were in, climbing with a friend. They came to get us and oh, so carefully fireman carried me down the trail to the cars. I remember cracking stupid jokes to try to break the mood and distract myself. I'm sure I acted like an idiot. Ben and Jason were gracious and forgiving (and strong!) angels. The three uninjured adults got the kids and gear to the cars as a plan came into order. We would take everyone to Jennilyn and Ben's house where Ben would put the kids to bed. Jennilyn would drive me to my brother Mike's chiropractic office in West Valley, where Mike would meet us for an examination and x-rays. Every jiggle or bump of the car ride was excruciating. Knowing we would beat Mike there, Jennilyn stopped to get us Slurpees. I think that Sprite Slurpee was the most refreshing thing I have ever consumed. We didn't have to wait long for Mike at his office. I opened the car door and sat helplessly, covered in dirt and chalk, trying to adjust to the fact that I couldn't move on my own, when Mike and his muscles strode over and lifted me princess style, carrying me steadily back to the x-ray room. The pictures were clear. It was definitely a talus fracture.



Mike had no experience with this. I did not want to go to the ER. I HATE the ER. He tractioned my foot as other things were obviously out of place, and Jennilyn held me as I sobbed like a baby. Then he fashioned a tape cast to get me through the night, gifted me a bottle of herbal anti-inflammatories, and sent us off with the recommendation to get in with a doc as soon as I could in the morning.
Mike,
Thank you my brother!! You are the very best. I know it wasn't easy to leave your wife and kids and new baby late at night to take loving care of your dirty, broken baby sister. I love you. Thank you so much!

Jennilyn drove me back to her house. Ben met us at the car and carried me inside. The kids were sprawled all over the futon and couch in the living room. Ben dragged a mattress into the middle of the room and they settled me in for the night with an ice pack. It was 1 am and Jennilyn had been up since 3 am, summiting mountains! She retired to her bedroom, after assuring me she would sleep with her phone just in case I needed her, because the swamp cooler was so loud, she'd never hear me otherwise.
Finally stationary and able to think a bit, I got on my phone and started texting Aaron and my parents. I had let Aaron know that I was hurt, but nothing more than that. So I gave him details as he came down Lone Peak. He was still hours from finishing, and asked if he should come get us on his way home. I told him there was no point. The kids were asleep as I was as comfy as I could get for the night. So he should just continue with the original plan until further notice. Then my in-laws called me from Russia. Yep. From Russia. They had heard I was hurt and wanted to check in. Then I texted my parents in Hawaii. Then my phone died.... just as the original Aleve wore off.  It was past 1:30 am. I tried to sleep as the minutes ticked by, but the pain was too much. I tried to get up and crawl to where pain meds might be, but even shifting the pull of gravity on my ankle made my calf charlie horse and I had to bite my thumb to keep from screaming. No adult could hear me- and I felt awful that Jennilyn had been so tired. I didn't want to wake the kids. They were dead asleep and calling out in their dreams. I had traumatized them. So I sobbed as quietly as possible, rocking and praying for strength and relief. I have given birth 4 times without pain medication (once medically induced with PIT). I'm no stranger to pain. But that pain has purpose and structure. This agony was the worst I have ever experienced. Sometime in the night, my stomach realized it hadn't eaten more than a snack since breakfast the morning before, and the aching need of ravenous hunger broke through the pain. Blessing of blessings, I looked around to find myself lying next to the cooler I had so meticulously packed the day before. I didn't have the will to dig for more than what was on top. And so I pathetically stuffed my face with cold grapes and chocolate dusted almonds as I sobbed.  When the hunger was dulled, I took to gazing out the window as I rocked, guessing at the time, willing the sun to rise and bring my relief. Around 5 am Ben's alarm went off. He had planned to go climbing again. He snoozed it, and my heart ached for 20 minutes until he got up to use the bathroom. I waited for the sounds of him emerging from his room after dressing, and when he made his appearance on his way to the kitchen, I called out to him. My voice was raw and tired from the stifled cries. He didn't hear me. I called again and again, and he carefully went about packing his food for the day. I incredulous that he could not hear me. I was both impressed and dismayed at how courteously and quietly he moved about, so as not to disturb anyone. The swamp cooler roared on as I tried desperately and unsuccessfully to get his attention. Until he walked out the back door, never knowing that I needed his help. I cried out in anguish as the door closed. It was finally enough to wake Talon and Saia. They gathered around to comfort me and I immediately sent them to the car to get my running pack where I knew I had some ibuprofen stashed. I took it gratefully and counted the seconds until it kicked in and I could drift off to sweet oblivion. I slept for about 45 minutes before the kids woke again. Jennilyn emerged from her bedroom inquiring how I felt and was horrified that I had needed her and not been able to communicate it. She went about making breakfast for the kids and we discussed whether we would still go up to the SpeedGoat finish line as we had planned. I finally requested a phone charger cord and plugged my phone in to find messages from Mike. They were disturbing messages. "I've been researching your injury and you need surgery, right now." What?? How could this be? Talk of permanent damage and immobility to the joint got my heart racing. What to do next? Where to go? I didn't even know what and who my insurance covered! I needed my husband, and at this point I had sent him a car ride, tram ride, and hike away to the top of yet another mountain, with a commitment to aid racers and no way to get back to me for many hours. The gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, and the tears that I'd thought I was all out of returned with a vengeance. As I ugly-cried, Jennilyn put her arm around me and started talking sense. We'd call an orthopedic surgery clinic. They would know what insurance they accepted. We started calling only to find that none of them were open on a Saturday. The ugly cry took over again and Alicia, my bestie, by get-things-done girl, called me. I sobbed on the phone to her. She responded with, "Stay there, I'm coming." And hung up.

While I waited for Alicia, Jennilyn moved me into her bedroom where the rowdy kids would not accidentally land on me. This was no small feat, because Jennilyn is not a large body. I feel like a giant in comparison, really. My big brother Steve and his wife Natalie showed up from Heber City with crutches for me. Craig- a good friend and one of the founders of our incredible trail running community, showed up with an all too generous care package from my favorite boys at TAUR. A gift that made my jaw drop. These early acts of care and kindness will live in my heart forever. I have the best of the best in my life and I am so so grateful! They laughed and talked with me for a while- a welcome distraction. Then Alicia came, packed the kids and our stuff up and took me off Jennilyn's hands.

Jennilyn,
I can never thank you enough for being there for me. For having the patience to teach me in the first place. For holding me in my time of need. For keeping it together when I couldn't. For understanding what my broken heart needed to survive and heal in the weeks to come. You are a true friend, and a hero to me for far more than your copious running and mountaineering talents. I will love you forever. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, sweet friend.

Alicia shuttled the kids to her mom's house in Murray, where their cousin was waiting to play with them in the big yard. Normal kid things that they needed to distract them from the trauma of the previous day. Then she took me to the local Instacare. "Stay here." She said as she got out of the car. I exhaustedly obliged. When she got inside, she pulled out her phone and showed the man at the desk a picture of my x-ray, then stated, "My sister in law broke her talus. Is this where we need to be?" Another blessing: The orthopedic specialist was just about to leave and agreed to take a look at the picture. "She destroyed that bone!" He exclaimed. "She needs surgery, you need take her to the ER."
And without having even left the van, I was off to the IHC Emergency Room.

I'll spare you the detailed account of 6 hours of waiting with Alicia and her baby, being shuffled from room to room, forgotten in the hallway outside the CAT scan room, and eventually casted, scheduled for a Monday surgery, and given a prescription for narcotics. Going to pick up the prescription and having to crutch into the local Walgreens only to find the pharmacy had closed, and after a moment of panic, finding they had left my prescription at the front counter.

As we drove back to "Grandma Darcy's" house, we got a call that Saia was not feeling well. We returned to the house, and were settled into a dark, cool basement bedroom haven. It was late afternoon by then. My kids crawled into bed with me and I realized that all but one of them was fevered, covered in mosquito bites, and unwell. We gave them medicine and essential oils and put them to sleep. We got word that Matt and Aaron were finally on their way home, and would get our van from Jennilyn's and come get us. Aaron had not slept for days. He joined us in the bedroom, kissed me, curled up on the floor and we all slept. 30 minutes later, we packed up the van, and with Matt and Alicia's help, headed home. Home. It felt like we'd been gone for a week. Nothing sounded like more of a relief than my own bed. My own space. My own family.

Alicia,
 Thank you doesn't cut it.  You are my soul sister. You are my rock in times of need. My rescuer, my best friend. I love you more than if you were a part of me.  Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Darcy,
 Thank you so much for providing a haven for my children. No questions asked, no hesitation. You were there for us and I am so grateful. I am honored to call you family. Thank you.

To be continued.....
(Coming up: Surgery)

Barkley Training (No not really!)

Another Wednesday, another trail adventure with Katie. I seriously love this chick. Some friendships build in time. Ours is building on dirt, sweat, and loads of adventure. Today's was a doozy!
We had both run on roads earlier in the week and wanted some up... again... always. The conversation went a little like this:
Me: Where do you want to go?
Katie: I don't care. I feel like I always do East Kaysville.
Me: Have you done Hell Hole?
K: Nope.
Me: Okay. We'll do Hell Hole.

So we met at the retention pond at Davis Creek, and it wasn't until I pushed the start button on my naked wrist that I realized I'd forgotten my watch. Ah! It's like this run didn't happen already! It didn't really matter. I'm not fast and I'm not pushing any records or anything. I just like numbers. I like to know how far and how high I've gone. Katie has assured me that she will email me her .gpx file... if she can figure out how. Until then, my Strava account thinks I'm lazy.
If you've never hiked or run Davis Creek, know that it starts by going up... and then goes up some more, and then a little more up, and up even more. The first time we explored the Hell Hole trail, I thought I was going to fall backward off the face of the mountain and I was gripping the grasses and weeds as we climbed. It makes me laugh to think back on that. I've done it so many times now. I still have to hike most of it, but I assure you, there is no more dependency on shrubbery.
So I started by showing Katie the Indian Baths. This little hidden gem is a fun little shimmy along the rock face along side the downward course of the waterfall, up to the base of the falls to a little basin- a "bath".

I should mention that laughter was the theme of the day. And that's a good thing.

Again- the first time I thought I was cheating death. Not so much anymore. Still, I'm careful to check and see what my trail buddies are comfy with before charging in. I learned well from the one time I took a friend up the cliffs to see some pictographs and didn't know she was afraid of heights. Oops.
Katie has no such issues. She's a nonchalant bad*ss.

Katie being a nonchalant bad*ss.

.....except when it comes to snakes. Then she's an darlingly skittish little pansy. We came across a little guy (no rattle) sleeping in the middle of the trail just about the split off to Hell Hole. I stopped in my tracks. The local trail running community has been put on their guard about rattlers lately and we're all a touch paranoid. The moment I stopped to observe our slithery friend's lack of rattle, Katie gasped and began doing an adorable little 'grossed out' dance behind me. I tossed a few twigs and stomped a few times to try to get him to move along and he didn't even twitch. It took us a bit to find a good sized stick to nudge him with, and still the only response we got was just a slight twitch of his head. That's when I noticed that the coloring in his body was slowly changing as he began to move a little. He wasn't warm enough to move! I gently nudged him toward the side of the trail and eventually he got enough circulation to move along. I brought the snake nudging stick along for good measure and continued up with Katie exclaiming, "You're like Steve Irwin!" Did I mention I love her? Because I do. The grasses had grown tall around the trail and there was an abundance of overgrowth to make our way through. Up, up, and more up. I think I probably made at least a thousand spiders homeless today... with my face. Such are vegetated trails in the summer! We found flat enough ground to run again and shot through the tinderbox that was Christmas Tree Lane. This is where the lid flew off and the real adventures began.
You would think that I'd been up there enough times to find the right turn off, but summer over-growth got me all befuddled and we ended up bushwhacking in circles for quite some time. Oh, don't you fret, we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

A wild Katie in her natural habitat.

In hindsight, I think we just didn't go up high enough to find the right trail turn off, so I had the brilliant idea to go lower and bushwhack our way up the creek bed to the waterfall. Um. That was not brilliant. Katie was totally game. We charged right in and before we knew it, we stood with soaked feet, covered in spiderwebs and surrounded by greenery and so many branches that we ended up climbing trees half the time. It looked kinda like this:
Er.. exactly like this.
I was mostly game to move forward, but I kept apologizing to Katie and she kept laughing at me and saying, "I love this! This is my favorite! Let's keep going!" So we did. We got wet, we climbed trees and embankments and rocks, we put giant spiders out of their webs (which I'm sure are re-built by now). And eventually, we found the actual trail (which was still pretty overgrown) and with a triumphant "whoop!", the waterfall.
Katie immediately declared it worth the trouble and climbed up into it.

I joined her forthwith.

It seemed slightly anticlimactic to take a couple of pictures and leave. I kind wished I'd had a picnic to spread out and enjoy after all that time and work. But we hit the trail again and I came out smacking my forehead at how I had missed it to begin with. We took the loop up and over to Pretty Valley, and chatting happily and finally running again, wound our way down the familiar trail to Cannon Flat and back around to the cars.
I don't have the exacts yet, but I think it took us almost 2 hours to do about 4 miles. It makes me chuckle, because that was so. much. fun.
*Update*
Our girl came through.
3.8 miles
1,690 ft of vert
16:55 average pace

Hello Monday. We meet again.

I've had a realization in the past few weeks.
Monday is pivotal.
Monday morning comes far too early. Often when the alarm sings, it is silenced and ignored. But if I don't make it out running on Monday, I hate myself all week long. I feel behind. On the other hand if I do get out, even for a little bit, I win. My whole week feels more productive and validated, all because of a Monday run.
So I met today with the mental gravity that the Monday dilemma deserves. Did I silence my alarm? Yes. Yes I did. But did I reset it for an hour later? YES I DID. And I got up, and went out, and actually almost ran fast!
4.14 Miles
9:51 average pace!
Woot!

I declared victory on Monday before 8:00 in the morning. Then I showered, dressed, made breakfast, gathered, sorted and started laundry, packed lunches, and sent the kids off to their cousins house. I drove my niece to Provo with no AC in the car, got her checked in at EFY and settled in her dorm room. After that, I drove to West Valley where my amazing, darling, handsome, fit, generous, talented, genius chiropractor brother (I buttered him up to get him to see me on his lunch break) x-rayed my elbow and adjusted my poor, beaten body. It's been a rather unpleasant weekend on the pain scale, so I figured I should get things checked out. Since I depend on my body for my livelihood and sanity, and all that jazz. Turns out I not only have some gnarly bruising- which is also visible on the bone, but bit of slight stress fracture and maybe a little chipping. Drat. I've been advised to stay off of it for at least 3 weeks. We'll see how good I am at teaching yoga classes without demonstrating any vinyasa portions. No downward dog for me... or upward dog, cobra, chaturanga, hand and forearms stands, arm balances, etc.... Double drat. The good news is, Mike was able to put me back together for the most part, and the stress fracture is the worst of it.
If anyone needs a good chiropractor, I know a LOT of them. :)