RIP Steely Dan, my best furry friend

(June 23, 2005- January 25, 2012)



Steely was diagnosed with an aggressive type of lymphoma on November 1, 2011. He was 6 years old. I was devastated.

We tried all the different chemotherapy meds but, in the end, none worked. I took him off all cytotoxic chemo drugs and kept him on the prednisone, and made the best of the limited time we had left together.

Steely declined at first by the week, and then by the day. Still, he lived well and was happy and playful for all but the last 2 days of his life. Even now, it's hard to believe that 3 days ago, we went for a 2 mile (slow) walk and played tennis ball.

But then his body systems started failing and he stopped eating. It was a quick decline after that.

In the end, Steely died yesterday at home with Tim and me at his side. He died without pain or suffering. He was free at last.

I feel as if I started the mourning process the day he was diagnosed, knowing then that even the best successful treatment was a one-year remission. Unfortunately, we weren't that lucky.

I am engulfed in sorrow, but there is a glimmer of relief that I remember him in his physical glory running on the trails with his tail up and his ears flopping, always looking back at me especially from the tops of the hills, waiting, watching, as if saying "What's taking you so long? It's just a hill!"

Aside from Tim of course, Steely was for me the best companion in all areas of my life, running being one of them. And boy did that boy love to run! He would regularly and easily run 20 miles with me, crash for an hour or two afterward, and then spring to his feet, scoop up his tennis ball, drop it in my lap, and beg for a game of fetch.

He was a goofy boy, he loved life, and if he wasn't lying on his back waiting for a tummy rub, then he was looking at you with a smile and a wagging tail, which would usually result in a treat.

He was a poser, loved the camera. I have never before known a dog so much a ham for the camera.

I could go on and on about how empty my life will be without him and how I fear my rescued greyhound (who learned everything he knows about the dog world from Steely) will get very depressed without his brother around. I could go on and on about how Steely became my best furry friend and how his life enrich ours greatly, but I have already said enough, and wish to post a link to my eulogy for Steely.

He will always be in my heart and I will remember him for his zeal for life and running, and even more so, for his steadfast selfless companionship.

Rest in peace, Steely.

I'm back!

It's seems like I've been away from my blog for longer than 2 months. A lot has happened.

Here are some updates:

I have recovered well from my Badwater to Whitney self-contained solo. There is a fun article in this month's Out There Monthly magazine by Jon Jonckers on it:

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Click HERE if you would like to read it.





Through August and September, I trained hard for the Northcoast 24 Hour National Championship Run. I ran it last year and eeked out 117 miles, and felt with better training and pacing I could do better.

Well, I was very pleased to log 125.98 miles in 24 hours, nabbing the 3rd place award for women. This is a nice PR for me. Machelle Poole crewed for me and made all the difference! What a fantastic lady she is! Next up... 130. I think I can do it if the stars align. :)

I did not recover well from that race. Maybe I had done too much in the preceding months. Maybe it was because we jumped right on an airplane right after the race to head home and I returned to work without a day of rest. Probably a combination of several things, but my legs remained swollen and sore for about 2 weeks.

I was nervous about that because Tim and I had already registered for the Big Dog Backyard Ultra in Tennessee on October 22, a unique race contrived by the sadistic race director of the Barkley Marathons. It was a "last man standing" format, and I knew I needed to be running on all cylinders for this one if I stood a chance at doing well. It was just a 4.167 mile loop through trails, kinda gnarly trails, and on the hour every hour runners had to be at the start line to start the next loop. So, it really didn't matter how fast you ran the loop (except that speed - or lack of - did impact your ability to refuel or change into warmer clothes, etc.). What mattered was who could do this the longest. There was no distance or time cut-off. Many good runners came to run an N number of loops. Tim and I went to run N+1.

But I was worried because my body required lots of rest in the month prior to this race. Instead of training, I was trying to sleep, get some massages and eat well, all to help charge all my cylinders.

That's when a good friend and massage therapist suggested I try Xango, which is just a fruit drink but very high in antioxidants. She suggested I drink it every day. Now, I'd like to say that I eat healthfully every day, and for the most part I do, but no, not always. So, I took her up on this. Additionally, as I was describing to her what I felt to be an "endocrine fatigue," she suggested I try Eleviv to see if it would help. Since both products are completely natural and free of any additives, I gave it a whirl.

Interesting thing, I felt better. Much better. And very quickly much better. My energy returned, even my motivation to run returned. And when I ran, I felt back to my normal strong self. So, I continued both the Xango and the Eleviv and thought the real test would be not so much during the race itself, but in my recovery.

As it turns out, the race was awesome! We had such a fantastic time making one loop per hour. We had no idea how long we were going to be out there - 12 hours, 24 hours, 36 hours? I think most everybody - including us - was expecting 24 hours.

But as the race progressed, runners were dropping one, two, sometimes three at a time. It was a lot tougher than anyone could predict. By nightfall, there were 9 left, and with each additional loop, one would drop.

Until the final 6. And then until the final 4. At that point 16 loops (hours) into the race, it was Tim, Dave, Joe, and me. I was happy to still be playing with the boys. The guys ran together for the most part, and I ran alone far back in the field. They completed their loops in about 50-55 minutes, leaving a little time to regroup and refuel. I had been looping a lot slower, coming back to the start area in 58 minutes and sometimes just as the bell would ring to start the next loop. I loved it! I really did. I felt great from an "endocrine" perspective. I felt strong and healthy. What I was losing, however, was my grace in jumping over downed trees and managing the loose rocks. (Have I ever mentioned that I have a bad unstable ankle that doesn't like unstable surfaces?) :)

So, the 4 of us set out on loop 16 and only 2 made it back in time - Tim and Dave. Joe missed it by seconds, and I missed it by minutes. That meant one of these two was going to run N miles and the other N+1. But nobody knew how many loops it would take. They both started on the bell, but after the short out and back section, they come back through the start staging area, and it was there that Dave decided to drop and not continue the loop. The race director's report said that Dave said, "Clearly Tim is the tougher runner."

So, it was just Tim on the rest of loop 18, and all he needed to do was finish it under the time. He had been running strong and smart the entire race, so I didn't doubt for a second he could do it. Sure enough, he saunters back in 53 minutes...the Last Man Standing. The Big Dog!

While there is only one winner, one last man standing, I at least was the last woman standing. :) So, Tim and I took our winning buckles and sat around the fire with Laz and are old and new friends, some of us smoking cigars and others passing around Laz's moonshine. Near morning, we left, but came back later to sit around and trash talk some more. It was a wonderful event, not just the run, but the entire event.



Here are the race results.

I continued my healthy supplements and I made the quickest, easiest and fullest recovery I have ever made after a tough ultra. I am sold, I love the stuff. It's pure health with no toxins or anything.

So, I approached Xango with my story and they offered to sponsor me! I couldn't be more thrilled. I believe in the product. We have set up a website for information if anyone is interested. I do not sell the products, and I have no financial interest in them whatsoever. Like my Drymax socks, I just believe they excellent quality products, and in my life, they support my crazy ultrarunning hobby.

If you want to check out the products, then you can go HERE.

So, great recovery from that race. Flew back home to Spokane and picked up my dogs from boarding, and Steely Dan was looking lethargic, kind of sick. I thought I'd watch him a bit, but when he didn't get better, I made an appointment at my vet. That vet appointment day, I went to work, and stopped back home after work to pick him up to go, and OMG! the lymph nodes in his neck were nearly the size of tennis balls, and he was very ill, now with a fever, and was vomiting. It didn't take the vet long to tell me, "I have bad news..." She said he most likely had lymphoma and that he would need chemotherapy if I elected to do that. She took an aspirate from the node and sent him home on Prednisone.

The next morning I headed to WSU where I spent the next 11-1/2 hours with him while he received test after test. THe verdict? Yes, lymphoma, stage IV. Chemo provide 90-95% remission for at least one year. Dogs tolerate the chemo well, not nearly the side effects of humans, and his quality of life would be good. So, I started him on chemo that day.

Wow.

He's only 6 years old. He's my baby. I didn't expect this; it came on so suddenly and he was at death's door.

But now, one week later, he is doing GREAT! No exaggeration. He's his normal self in spirit and energy and goofiness. I can't tell you how much this has affected me emotionally. And yes, I now let him sleep in my bed with me! :)

His treatments will be weekly and will last for 6 months. A long time and lots of money, but it's a decision Tim and I made and we made it easily. We love our dogs.

So, given that, things are now good. There is a plan in place with which I am comfortable. Life is precious.



Being that I stayed home with Steely after that first dose of chemo to monitor him, I had to cancel my trip to the Wilderness Medical Society meeting in Tucson, where Megan and I were presenting on the Badwater Ultramarathon Medical Coverage. I put together my part of the presentation and reviewed it with her and she presented it just last night. Word has it she rocked the presentation!

So, things are settling in now. The days are shorter and there is no longer sunlight to run in after work. My miles will decrease and that's ok; they always do in the winter. But I will still run because I love to run. I can't wait until Steely is well enough to run with me again. Those are some of the moments in life that are most precious to me.

Cancer

It's a very scary word.

I have had several friends face the diagnosis and treatment of cancer this year.

And another friend was just recently diagnosed. Stage 3 Intraductal Carcinoma. Breast cancer.

Connie is my friend and affectionately referred to by me as my "partner in crime" from high school. We were very close.

Life separates people as we "grow up" and families are born and jobs take us across the US, far away from each other.

But despite this, you never lose a dear friend, they are always there. And when there is a celebration or a time of need, a friend will be there. No matter what.

Connie has a sweet daughter, Chloe. Her picture is on her blog page, which was set up by Connie's sister as a means of communication to family and friends about her health and treatments. It's also for family and friends to be able to come to a shared spot to give their support and love.

It also accepts financial donations to help offset this pending medical bill.

Connie has already had surgery and is back to work. Further work-up and maybe even additional surgery are pending, and then treatments start. She is positive and optimistic. Who wouldn't be? She has a beautiful daughter to smile with every day.

You don't know Connie. Heck, you may not even know me! Buy I bet you know someone with cancer. Maybe we can help each other, make the world a more loving place. Pay it forward.

If you would like, the blog site is accepting pay pal donations. I personally know that a bunch of little donations, even $10, can add up to a whole lot of help and security for someone, or a family. So, with Connie's reluctant permission, I am making her site available to all who read here. Whether a donation or a prayer, if you wish to help, please do.

GO HERE to help.

And thank you for taking the time to read this. Even just reading and caring make a difference.

I believe that.

And just like that it was over

I completed the unaided, self-contained crossing of Death Valley to the summit of Mt. Whitney. I will try to find time to write up a report.http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif

For now, I will say it was brutally tough and worth every step.

Thank you so much to my dearest Tim Englund, William Holmes, Jeff Sauter, Danny Westergaard, Bill Latter, Ben and Denise Jones, and all those who supported me.

Special thank you to the kids at Crosswalk.

Here is a link to Dr. Ben Jones photos, which also include photos from Danny Westergaard:

Dr. Ben Jones's picture documentary.

More than a name

Several people have asked me if I have given my cart a name. Yes, I have. The name was decided long ago. It came to me on a run. And when it came to me, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, that will be the name. I knew instantly that it was perfect.

It's an unlikely name.

I had been thinking of "usual" names like "Badwater Bliss" and other plays on my last name. But those ideas never jived. They didn't have meaning, and I wanted meaning.

Then, several months ago while running my usual peaceful country roads, sort of in a zoned-out state, I was thinking of my uncle, the uncle who cancer claimed too early in his life. It was just this past September when I was at his side in the hospital, holding his hand, rubbing his swollen feet and talking with the doctors about easing his pain from the cancer that had metastacized to his spine. He was lucid at first, but as days went by and his lucidity started to slip, we knew there was a chance he wasn't even going to make it out of the hospital.

Then as mysteriously often the case, he had a "good" day, a day I knew I needed to make the most of, and so I took some time by myself to talk with him.

* * * * * *

Let me back up and share briefly a little about my uncle.

He was my mom's brother, only brother, except for the one who died at a young age. He was my "cool" uncle, the one I admired and wanted to like me. As a child, I saw him about once a year when our family made the annual family vacation drive from the Midwest to New Jersey, where my mom's family gathered for a sort of reunion, usually over Thanksgiving.

I thought he was cool. He went to Vietnam, served his country, had long hair, had a thin physique. He was in a motorcycle accident that shattered his femur and had a metal rod in place of bone there but still ran regularly for fitness. He was a vegetarian. That's what I remember.

The story went that he held a couple of jobs after returning from Vietnam and then he decided he wasn't made to work for others.

He loved horses. So, he started raising horses, training them for racing, and winning big races, and he made a good living out of it. He was happy and successful; a self-made person. He built his horse ranch in Ocala, Florida, and then eventually built a bigger and more beautiful one in North Carolina. He named it River Run.

I never saw the ranch...until this September when his wife took me there and we parked outside the gate (it had since been sold as they had just retired their business) and we talked about it. She told me about the horses, the stables, the staff, the racing, the hard, hard work that both of them did to make River Run what it was. It was a gorgeous ranch with a river that ran near the house that hummed to them in the evenings after a long day of work.

* * * * * *

After those early years of the annual family drive to New Jersey, there started to be times went we didn't go. And I lost touch with that side of the family. Not completely but there were long periods of time of no contact. Probably a lot had to do with the fact that that my own immediate family was splitting up. It was a hard time.

It was such a hard time that I left high school - before high school was over - and I went to Chicago. I was 17. Fortunately, however, my school allowed me to complete the class requirements for graduation through correspondence, and I did receive my high school diploma. My overall grades, however, were horrendous.

In Chicago, I had a minimum wage job, a whopping medical bill that I was responsible for paying, and no health insurance. I rented a house with two other people in Chicago for $200 a month. Enough said there! I did the best I could to stretch my income to cover basic needs. I did ok. College, which was something I had always planned on doing, was simply not an option. Still, I often perused the class listings at the university and picked out all the classes I would take if only I could.

So, still hopeful, with each measly paycheck I cashed, I saved. I would sit on the floor with labeled envelopes spread out in front of me, and I would put $100 in an envelope for "rent," $20 for "utilities," $35 for the "bus pass," etc., and $20 for "college."

Finally, I saved up enough money for a class at the university.

I applied and met with the registrar woman. I felt transparent and nervous as she looked over my transcripts. "Can you explain these F's?" she asked looking over her glasses at me. "I wasn't serious about my education then," I said, "but I am now."

"Sorry," she said, "I can't allow you admission."

But...

"You should go to a community college and prove that you are serious now...and then come reapply."

I was devastated. And gave up on the idea. And just continued to work.

* * * * * *

About a year later, I realized that it didn't matter what I wanted to do, it only mattered what I did do. Sometimes a promise "to do better" isn't good enough. The registrar woman was right. So, I went to community college.

I registered for my first class and I was, um, shall I say, proud to be there. I aced it no problem. The next semester I registered for another and aced that one too. School was easy for me. I loved it.

Three years it took me - one to two classes per semester at community college - to get through one college year of credits.

I wanted desperately to go to the university but reality was, despite Pell Grants and some aid, I could not afford it. I couldn't afford the hidden expenses of books and fees, aside from tuition itself.

So, as proud as I was, and as much as I fought desperately the need to ask for help, I realized that I had to at least ask before I gave up on a chance at an education. I honestly loathed asking for help, especially financial help. The refusal from a family member several years prior was still a knife in my gut, and I swore I would never ask for help again. My pride was fierce. But that wasn't doing me any good. My mother would have paid my tuition in an instant if she could, but she was now in school herself readying herself for the work world.

So, I asked my uncle.

And he said yes, he would help me.

* * * * * *

He helped me with some of my tuition and I paid the rest. I was still working full time after all, and by then had been living in a nice apartment in stable conditions. I had a car. Things were tight, but I was doing fine.

I reapplied to the university and was admitted with no need of promising anything. My community college grades were proof enough.

Truly, if it wasn't for my uncle creating that opportunity for me those first years at the university, I never could have done it. It was he who opened the door for me, the door I thought was jammed shut forever.

Nine years later, I graduated from Loyola University Summa Cum Laude, and thenhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif went on to medical school. The rest is not important.

My uncle is what is important. He trusted me, he believed in me, he gave me the chance. He created an opportunity that changed my life.

This past September, on that day in the hospital, I took his hand and I cried and I said, "Thank you, Uncle Paul, for helping me."

* * * * * *

So, when I was out on that run a few months ago and I was thinking of my Death Valley crossing, the teens at Crosswalk who will benefit from the GED and tuition fund-raising, the cart, and my uncle, the name came to me and I was overwhelmed with emotion.

I will be crossing the desert, an oft-thought godforsaken place (though that is so not so!) where there is no water, no less rivers. I will be pulling, creeping, crawling my way forward, sometimes less than a mile an hour up the passes (contrary to all that it means to "run"), and I will be totally unaided, completely self-supported, solo, self-reliant (and yet that is, in real life, never. ever. true.)....

And when the name came to me suddenly and took my breath away, I knew instantly that it was perfect.

River Run.

That is the name of my cart.

And it is so much more than a name.

The cart

(Photo: Christa Copus, Tim Englund, Glen Copus of Elephant Bikes)

It's been called a wagon, a carriage, even a sled.

I don't think it fits any absolute definition, though "cart" seems to fit best. And if I had to describe the cart, I would say it is most like a rolling cooler.

It's coming along great! I took it for a test run yesterday. I'm getting excited!

It just needs a few finishing touches and insulation on top.




These are the most frequently asked questions:

How much does it weigh?

The cart itself is about 20 pounds, maybe a little more, made from aluminum.

How much will it weigh loaded?

The water itself weighs 180 pounds. With food, supplies, emergency gear, and a backpack and warm clothes for the Mt. Whitney summit, it will probably total about 230-240 pounds. I sure hope not much more than that!

Where will you sleep?

On top of the cart.

Will you push it or pull it?

It's made for either. I will mostly push it. It is pretty easy on a downhill! Flats won't pose a problem. However, even the slightest incline is difficult because of the weight, and the cart wants to pull you backward with each step. I found it impossible to push up the steeper grades. For those inclines, I will harness a belt around my waist and pull it up, inch by inch.

Does your dog sit on top in training?

No, not my dog; he'd rather pull it. But Glen and Christa's dog went for a ride!

Water is Life

Somebody asked about how I will calculate my need for water for a 146-mile
self-contained crossing of Death Valley in July.

The answer is, I have no idea!

Ounces per hour or per mile won't work. My pace and work load will be
totally unlike racing the course with a crew. Instead of 30+ hrs, my time
in the relentless heat will be measured in days, probably 3-4 days. (It
took Marshall 77 hours and 46 mins.) And I will be pushing a heavy cart up
and down various grades. I have no experiences like this to help me
calculate specifically, and I don't think it is even really possible to do.

How much water do you use for dousing when running Badwater? Who knows? I have
never really thought about it while running the race; it was just always there for me. So, while I can guess, it is difficult, if not impossible, to calculate.

But I have done my homework. I spoke with Marshall Ulrich and Jeff Sauter,
the only 2 to have attempted this (Marshall the only one to have completed
it), and I am somewhat basing what I will carry on what worked and didn't
work for them.

Marshall had enough water to drink but not enough to douse with.
Jeff had enough for both.
They used different carts and water-carrying methods.
I require less water overall for rehydrating than either of them.
I might be out there longer.
I want enough to be able to douse somewhat freely.
I am nowhere near as physically strong as either of them for carrying weight.
Each 2.5G container of water weighs 20 pounds.
Water cannot be filtered on the mountain or resupplied at any time.
Water is life in the desert.
Running out of water is almost a sure DNF (unless I'm 1/2 way up the mountain).
Marshall's cart weighed about 225 lbs.
Jeff's weighed more than that.

In general, I am erring on the side of being prepared for anything, playing
it safe. The trade-off for that is the weight. But I am not going to leave
my warm summit clothes back in Badwater in the likely chance I will need
them on the mountain. So, no skimping for me on winter clothes, emergency
gear for the summit, and emergency supplies for the cart. I'm toting it all,
trying to cover all possible scenarios in the lightest possible fashion.
Similarly, I would be very nervous to skimp on the water. The best question
would be, how *little* water do I need for the crossing? But I don't know
the answer to that. Certainly, I'm not going to put myself at risk, and I
don't want to have to DNF because I wanted to do this *faster* with less
weight or something.

So, with all the general numbers and information in mind (really there are
no specific numbers) I'm thinking I should err on the side of a bit too much
water, but not so much that I can't push the cart. That would be around
eight 2.5G jugs. And maybe I will throw in one more just because I suck at
gambling? I haven't decided that yet. Nine 2.5G jugs = 180 pounds. And
that's just water weight! But, I can at least always douse with the extra
to get rid of it and lighten the load prior to the first major pass at mile 42.

Those are my thoughts and my preliminary plans. I will be experimenting
with the cart and water jugs here in the 50 degree weather that Spokane has
been offering for heat training. Not a fair simulation but it's the best I
can do. I'll make the best guesses I can and from there I'm just going to be
praying to the Death Valley gods to allow me safe passage.

No scientific method, no concrete calculations, and a lot of vaguely
educated guess work.