UltraPhia

POO Babes across the Pond. from THE MAJOR

2011-07-11T07:37:00.000-07:00

Alrighty-- I have about 10 blogs swirling in my crazed mind-- yet not done. So here's one from Major Erin-- from "across the Pond."

Okay- so it has been about a month since my last effort was put forth to the blog… I am happy to say that my running has been about as steady as it can be here… despite the ceremonies for fallen Soldiers, purple heart awards presentations, and well a whole other litany of random events that have interrupted the nightly run… But things here are starting to settle into a rhythm which makes it easier and easier to break away during the day to get a good 6 miles in or so.
So I left you guys back in late May, I think my longest run had been a 5K or 4 miles… and really with no one else but me… but a Captain, Caitlin Hall, who came in from the FOB, and she wanted to run… so we did and we went by the most famous of land features here on Kandahar Airfield, the Poo Pond. It was about 100+ degrees out that day- Caitlin was kicking my ass after we had both done intervals the day prior… My legs were a little heavy, and well we went about 3.5 and that I think was the longest run up to that point… As you can see we are really afforded the opportunity to run in about the most uncomfortable running clothes ever… the Army Physical Fitness Uniform… the shorts are super scratchy and the t-shirts are usually huge and don’t forget the mandatory reflective belt to further add to your annoyance while running in broad daylight. Luckily the Army decided awhile back to actually let us wear all white ankle socks of the running type, before it was all mid-calf old man socks.

Oddly enough the Poo Pond doesn’t smell when you are right next to it… it really smells several feet away or even way across the airfield depending on how the wind blows. I have smelled it while running over a mile away and almost heaved- it is that bad… Now that it has gotten really hot I am pretty sure I will not be running by there anytime soon. Apparently the Poo Pond dates back to the Russians in Afghanistan. It is alleged that the Poo-Pond has been emptied before. There are also many an urban-legend about people swimming, diving into, and doing various other things in the Poo Pond. I have not confirmed the truth of any of them… nor would I want to find myself swimming with the fishes in said poo filled pond.

I There is a small off shoot of the Poo-Pond; I like to call it the Poo-Canal. The Poo Canal runs in between the airfield and the road, sort of moat like, and you get to run next to it for a good half-mile on the six-mile route here; that route also takes you by the Tim Horton’s Coffee shop, although sometimes I really am tempted to stop in on a run, sort of like an aid station, I have refrained. Maybe if I tackle the Airfield Loop twice (18 Miles) I will stop!

So as you can see it was fairly clear out that day, and not too dusty- normally it is super dusty- which is why we sport the “eye pro” I also chew gum which is weird, but it seems to keep your mouth from getting all sandy… As it is getting hotter and hotter every day, the dust seems to be getting worse.
The pictures below are from my other out and back lolli-pond, which is the tail end of the 6 mile loop too. I call it the NATO Pond 4- out to the pond and back- you can vary the mileage by the number of loops around the pond…

Erin's Blog. "Me my Mizuno's and Afghanistan"

2011-05-22T17:58:00.001-07:00

Me, My Mizunos and Afghanistan…
This is from our good Friend Major Erin Miller.

The creation…
I deployed to Afghanistan in February 2011, leaving my running friends, mainly the Mud Babes and my Dog Rippin’, behind in the States and landed safely in Kandahar on the 24th, hoping that I might get some running in before the brunt of my unit hit ground- I was sadly mistaken. As days turned into weeks and then into a couple of months, I finally got my act together… and that was it- I went out running… and it sucked… mainly because of my running shoes… I had packed in such a rush that the wet soggy Ascends and Cabrakans sat drying by the door while my nice and clean other ones got thrown in the bag. Of course probably with the intention of ordering or shipping my trusty Mizunos… well that didn’t happen initially…
So the motivation came when I started to feel REALLY, REALLY out of shape, out of energy and generally angry about most things… so I ran… it was only two miles but it felt like twenty… it was hot and dusty and well running on the gravel was killing my feet… I got back emailed my mom and had her send the Garmin… and then another run- this time in the morning- thinking maybe it was the heat… but nope… my feet and legs were killing me… and that three and a half made the difference- and I ordered the Wave Ascend 5s… two pair!
I patiently awaited the arrival of my new shoes. I continued to suffer through several days of running - constantly asking the main clerk if they had arrived…. And finally the day came… and I was SUPER EXCITED! And I was not disappointed a bit…
The next day was a bit rough for us here in Afghanistan- we lost a Soldier. Part of my job here is to participate in a “Ramp Ceremony” which is the send off of our fallen brother or sister in arms as the remains are loaded into the back of a military Aircraft bound for the states. A somber ceremony that really brings you back to reality… this was unfortunately not the first one of our year here… it was that day when I was out for a run- a short one- three miles or so- and the thought came to me… maybe a blog could be the best way to communicate my story with my friends and those who maybe want to read about a ultra-marathon-ing trail running dog loving Major in the Army while deployed to Afghanistan... There are not a lot of outlets for a woman like me deployed in a predominately male organization… so my thoughts on a run are how I bring myself back to center… sp this might get interesting…
I hope my blog does not bore you- but brings you along on my journey… a journey to survive twelve months or so away from family and friends, and to reach a goal for training- not sure what I am going to train for- but maybe we will start with a 50K… I might be able to find one of those on leave to run with the mud babes…

When love isn't enough

2011-05-09T20:50:00.000-07:00

This photo says so much about the way I feel right now. Surrounded by rocks-- headed toward water with an instrument that would surely be ruined if it got wet. I know I used to think that I could defy all odds and use the instrument as a paddle over the water, and not damage it. Just focus on the goal. The rest will simply fall in place. I have learned the hard way, that is not so.

Mid March Ben and I parted ways. Some know, others don't. While it was my decision, the pain is deep as I invested much love, energy, time and hope in the relationship over the past three years.

I wish I could explain or answer questions, but I can not. Except that I will always love Ben.

My new hope is that you all can learn to love me as an individual.

Sophia

Damnation. Purgatory. Tums. Rocky Racoon 100 miler 2011

2011-02-08T06:47:00.000-08:00

This story begins at mile 28 as the first 28 miles of running at Rocky Racoon 100 felt like a bad day at the office.
I was at the Damnation aid station, mile 28 feeling gross. This is a special aid station, as it is so remote, no crews are allowed. You hit it twice per loop, and if you drop there, you have to hang the rest of the race to get a ride back. Purgatory.
"Have you eaten anything?" The question, over and over again from a persistent aid station worker.
"I've been drinking."
"What about calories?"
"I drank coke." At this point it clicks that I've been asked about eating enough, that perhaps I'm not looking too good.
"Do you have any potatos?"
"We have potato soup."
The day before Rocky, I got the most debilitating migrane of my life. I vomitted a chunky pink mixture out twice, once outside of Walmart, and later at the park. The second bout was like the scene from Alien.

The thought of chunky potatos was highly unappetizing, but I looked in the cup, and it was pureed, and salty and oh so delicious. I grabbed a handful of TUMS, too and snacked on them.
A 6.5 mile loop later, I was back at Purgatory, and saw the same aid station worker.
"Well you look much better than the last time I saw you!" That was Mike. And each loop, I made sure to connect with him and give him a muddy hug-my signature- as well as the purple Mizuno skirt I was stylishly wearing.

Finish that loop. Finish the next. Eat way more than my share of potato soup. Pig out at mile 56.6 on everything. Quesedillas, apple pie, avacado, dates, three cups of coke, more dates, two quesedillas to go. I had to walk just to digest.

Mile 60: Our glorious Trail Nerd Mudbabe crew station, complete with banners, music, and Hayley my Mudbabe pacer. Many DNF'd at this point. I threw on some tights, grabbed a jacket and light and headed back out. I saw Ben, my fiancee a couple miles in and was so deliriously happy. We exchanged a very big hug and I carried on.

I was so HOT. That just didn't seem right. I shed a layer of tights at the first aid station, but just couldn't feel ok. (probably all that food fighting to digest. Poor body, very confused) I was too cold without the jacket, too hot with it. One layer of Mizuno Breath Thermo and an Elixir jacket. Any time I ran, I roasted. I started walking more.

Damnation /Purgatory: I consider changing my base layer, but fortunately stuck with the plan. That was a good decision. A bad one was to switch the battery in my flashlight. It must've been a dud battery, because the flashlight died. I had a lame headlamp and was forced to walk the rooted section. Now I was cold. So cold.

Mile 73: I was stumbling, and falling asleep while running. I slowed down and joined some gals I'd chatted with before DP (Damnation Purgatory). Earlier they had been playing a game, and asked if I wanted to join.

"I am ready to play the game now. I need your help, I am falling asleep."
Nikki and Katie. Cool chicks from Colorado. Nikki was an experienced pacer. Katie was running a smart first hundred. I instantly liked them both. As an added bonus, Nikki had just read the Trail Runner magazine that had the article about the Trail Nerds in it, and knew who I was.

"Sophia... I love that name! make sure you download the song." And oh yeah, I can't remember the band Nikki told me sang the Sophia song.

Headed into the main station to pick up Hayley, the two left me with a piece of sage advice.
"The last loop takes care of itself."
Ok, makes sense. I just need some sort of mantra.

Mile 80: Enter Hayley. I re bundled up. Dry Breath Thermo. Double BT. Triple for Hayley who wasn't warmed up. Elixir jackets. Breath Thermo tights. Adorable skirts.
The air was moist and it was 30 degrees. It was so dark and my light was awful. Matty Mullins hooks me up with a better headlamp and power flashlight.

I just start to cry when I think of Hayley and how much she invested in this race for me. Extra long hours at work the week before so she could have 3 days off, then picking up the extra crew duties for Ben when 2 of our posse, couldn't make it down due to the snow. The extraordinary part, is she'd never crewed or paced before. She held the responsibility, like a champion weightlifter going for the world record.

We are hiking now, as I'd just walked too much to get back to running. I loved having this time with Hayley. We talked and talked about everything.
"I bet this is really beautiful during the day. I wish I'd gotten to see it." Hayley had been so busy crewing she didn't get a chance to see the trail in daylight.
"Oh, I went back and walked Puccini at 8am and 4pm." Our chiueagle who made the journey, but camped out in the hotel room.
"That is so incredible of you. Did he give you a head hug?"
"yes.."

Mile 82: "Where is Ben? Why haven't I seen him?" It was about the 4th time I asked.
"Sophia, argh.. I just have to tell you. Ben dropped. Everyone told me not to tell you. His cold was just terrible and he was just trembling. He's in the hotel room sleeping. Well just coughing really. He just wants you to finish. He's so proud of you."
I was so relieved to know he was safe, and glad she didn't tell me at the main aid station.
Mile 92: Last stop at DP. My body was going sideways, my head was spinning in circles. I had had another bout of sleepiness, and standing by the heater, my equilibrium was off.

I sat down in a chair and put my head down between my knees. As I raised my head slightly, I could see Hayley's profile. Her lips were pursed in a determined position and her eyes were laser focussed. In front of me were zombies. 5 silent quitters, none of which were bleading, all of which were headed to the day after hell of a DNF at mile 92.

I was up. Downed the tepid coffe, slurrped the chicken broth and headed out of Purgatory and into-- THE LIGHT. THE SUN HAD COME UP. Hayley was going to get to experience the beautiful trail in the light.

"Let's go Sophia. It's less than a MudBabe Monday!"
Hayley runs with my Monday all women's trail running group, MudBabe Mondays, the women's division of the Trail Nerds. Training for Rocky, I would do two loops at Shawnee Mission park, which equals 9 miles.

No more sleepiness. Just a steady humble hobble.
"Tell me about the finish line, Sophia."
"Turn left, finish, buckle puke. Puke on Joe (Pursatis)"
"NOOOO."
"Puke on Danny?"
"Yeeeessss."
Not sure how our Wednesday Trail Nerd run group leader Danny became the butt of this joke/mantra, but it entertained us several times during out last eight miles. Sorry Danny.

"Sophia, just think of the warm bed and snuggle with Ben."
Bad Ben. My fiancee. 12 hundred mile finishes, including 3 sub 24 hour Rocky Racoon. I just couldn't wait to see him at the finish line.

Ben had our crew all set up with videos and still cameras so he could give me a hug.
"Ben, in my Mizuno bag is a belt with a Free State buckle. Go get it and put this buckle on it."

"Ben, obviously your crewing job isn't over yet." Joe Pursatis was laughing as his wife got my chip off.
27:39 and change.

Cool Stuff:
1. A quick interaction with record breaker and winner Ian Sharman as he lapped me. (of course I, like everyone else had no idea who he was.)
"Are you lapping me?"
" What loop are you on?"
"3."
"Well carry on."
"I love your accent." I quipped in an imitation British accent.
2. Seeing the legendary ultra guys, Anton Krupicka and Scott Jurek several times.
3. Seeing Mike from the North Texas Trail Runners at Damnation/Purgatory each loop and having him call me by name.

Things I did right:
1. Lubed with A&D ointment. No blisters. No chaffing.
2. Packed warm clothes in drop bag and at main aid. Next time, put an extra jacket at DP.
3. At mile 20 changed from Wave Riders into the lower profile Wave Elixir's-- out of the box fresh. I could feel the trail better, and never fell. Just a couple stumbles.
3A. Note I didn't wear trail shoes. A concious choice to have more breathability, so I would have less possibilty of blistering.
4. Ran a 50 miler in October, which gave me confidence and an understanding of where I would blister.
6. Baby wipes in a zip lock bag.
7. Had a great pacer/crew. I'm letting her wear the belt buckle once every ten days.
8. LANCOME waterproof mascara. "Your feet run, your mascara shouldn't." Man that stuff makes a hundred mile finish photo look great.
9. Injinji socks- to avoid big toe blister.
10. BT socks over too short Injinji socks
Things I did wrong:
1. Not enough back to back long runs.
2. Not enough hill repeats.
3. Not enough walking practice.
4. Lame, Lame , lame headlamp and flashlight. More better light next time.
5. Didn't pack some sort of caffiene suppliment.
6. Didn't pack TUMS.
7. Injiniji socks that only came up to the collar of my shoe. Need taller ones next time.

That's all for now.
Muddy Hugs,
sophia

50 Miles running... did it really happen?

2010-11-07T18:59:00.000-08:00

I journeyed to the Blues Springs 50/50 to help a friend, and have some fun running with Bad Ben.

My friend Anne was signed up for 50 miles, but she'd run really well (too well) the KC marathon, only one week after a 50k (she also ran well) and her knee was hurting. I feared her relentless, do a longer race, spirit would render her permanently injured.

So, we ( including Puccini, our 12 pound Chiueagle) got up early to "pace to pull." I would run with her and moniter her knee and pull her when necessary. Problem is, for all my selfless contributions to the racing community, it seems when I have a goal like the Rocky Racoon 100 miler, my own training, trumps all else.

After a smart, slow start, I left my friend Anne to the pacing auspices of Major Erin Miller of the US Army. Far better trained in duty and loyalty-- well...

"How fast is she running?"
"I don't know-- 11 minutes a mile? 12."
" Well , I'm not going to go slow."

Turns out the Major was better at laying down the law with a faster pace for Anne, and I was better at.. taking off.

I ran out to Danny Miller, paced him a while, and with his encouragement took off.

Still, having not planned on running 50 miles, due to the crushed gravel course instead of the single track I prefer, I was fine with running about 35.

"Sophia, you look great, what do you need?"
Bad Ben.

"Should I keep running? Is this good Rocky Training?"
"It's great for Rocky."
Ben seemed like a kid watching the underdog win the world series. He was cheering for ME I realized this race would get me into the lotto for Western States. The thought amused me.
I was high!
9 minute mile. walk fast
8:30 walk fast.
Aid Station. More cheers.

Hi ERIN and ANNE. Wow still running-- they RAN 40. I was proud of the Mud BABES.
Out and back again, again. More Ben.
Aid station. Ben again.
40 miles.
9 minute pace. Running , running, realizing, I've got lots in the tank. HIGH.
WIND, oh so much wind in the face.

I'm not really tired, just a bit bored. Get to the bridge and it's simple.
Over the bridge.
BEN,ERIN and ANNE.PUUUUUCCCINNNI

Ben ran with me until the end-- and I almost cried. So happy to have a such incredible people in my life, cheering for me.

Later, at my bank in Topeka, I mentioned the 50 miler to my friend Mark who works there.

"How do you do it?"

"It's the Nordstrom's Effect.. You hit the aid stations, and they tell you, you look great and you head back out. Later you may think (just like those shiny purple parachute pants in the 80's you bought,)why did I buy that? But unlike the 80's in a 50 miler, you are grateful.

I don't know if this can ever happen again.. but I did not bonk, or even come close. In fact, I think back on the day, and 50 miles seems short-- an etherial experience as I am running an 8:30 pace and look down at a watch that says 41 miles, knowing there is plenty of gas in the tank.

And what about Mudbabe Monday.
"What time Sophia?"
The Major. "6pm, let's just do a short 4.5. "
We felt good. The Major had ended up running a formidable amount herself-- 50k the day before.

We actually could have run longer on Monday but I was after all busy eating. Ben arrived home Monday to a counter full of a hodge podge of dishes. Every leftover, can and box in the house. He laughed and cleaned it up. Glad to be pulling for a winning team.

So, did it happen? Could 50 miles go by in 9:11 with so little pain? So little waivering? It is as if without the pain or need for major encouragement due to physical or mental trauma, I can't feel the magnitude of the race. However the race must have existed, as this time I did run as Sophia Wharton.

Running my Best

2010-11-07T18:15:00.000-08:00

The alarm rang at 5:15 am on a Tuesday. Not your conventional alarm. There was no jangling noise, not even a nasty crack of light through a hotel window, harshly dragging me from dreams to reality. Instead, a gentle eye opening to a cool dark room and bright outlook of a day.
I guess I'll go running. I felt refreshed. If any of you have followed this blog ( I think at this day there are 24 of you) you know, I've been prone to excuses, ov0ersleeping and spotty training. But this day was different.
In Corallville, Iowa, headed to help Team Mizuno sell at the Chicago marathon, I got up and headed out for a run. Early on, I saw a critter cross the path-- it was a racoon. I decided to name it Rocky. Rocky Racoon, just like the 100 miler in February, my fiancee Bad Ben signed us up for.
Would I ever be ready?
I logged 8, made a plan for the week, and headed to Chicago.

The final piece of this week's plan was to run the Chicago marathon. It would be under my worst conditions. Two solid days of standing and selling apparel, dead legs, and no taper on a hot day. On marathon day I had 36 miles under the Wave Elixirs. Did I mention how much I hate running in heat?
10-10-10 marathon morning, I called the receptionist at the hotel. "I 'm sorry I missed the forecast, what is it for today?" She replied it would be "perfect," highs in the 80's and sunny.

Going into the race, I knew I needed to execute discipline. A fast marathon or a bonk fest could ruin my Rocky training for two weeks. I needed this race for my MIND. I needed to run my best, not my fastest.

My boss, Tim invited me along with some friends he'd mentored in training and we headed to the start line (via the VIP tent-- many thanks Tim for that!)

I watched the guys speed off, and settled in. Goodbye runners, I may see you later... 10 minute miles. 3 piddle breaks. Temperature climbing. 1/2 marathon in 2:10 (note to readers-- You won't find results under "wharton," a woman who couldn't run named Gabriellla Thomas gave me her number through a friend, but I didn't use the chip-- you'll see my photos under Thomas and 27376--her number). 2:10 x's 2.. I did not feel like running for 4:20 or more in the heat. I was annoyed with the piddle breaks.

Time to drop the hammer. So I cruised through the land of the living dead, to a 4:07 finish. Seeing the folks with 3:30 pace team, on their backs. Maybe we finished the same time, but I ENJOYED my whole race. Even more so, that at the end, with bored crowds (bored with wathcing Zombie land) standing smoldering in the sun, I was able to WHOOP it UP!!

"Hey, cheer for ME," I called out, and a wave of cheers erupted from the crowds lining the streets of Chicago!
"GO Me GO"

I was running my best, finishing running strong with a 9 minute negative split. In no way, my fastest, but accomplishing the goal. Defy ego early, and enjoy success in the end.

I was ready to run the next day, and did.

Free State Trail Run

2010-07-18T13:12:00.000-07:00

Drive into the parking lot at the Free State Trail runs and on first glance it looks like a Memorial Day picnic. But make no mistake, this event is run by professionals. Since you never know about the weather, the Trail Nerds make sure they take care of any other variables. Seasoned and informed volunteers, clearly marked course, good food and the kind of attention from the race directors that can only come from one thing. A goal of excellence. The Free State Trail 40 mile, 100k and marathon at Clinton State Park in Lawrence was no ad-hoc event.

Again, we had weather challenges. A full day of rain 2 days before the race, and threatening skys and a storm during the race. The course conditions were very muddy. It brought out the best in some and the Whiner in others.

The crazy mud seemed to put last year’s 40 mile winner David Wakefield at ease. He went out just to have fun and cruised in for the winning 40 mile time this year with a 20 minute negative split. An excellent race.

Then came the whiners….

Trail Nerds jokingly say “whiners will be buried in shallow unmarked graves.” Since I didn’t bring my shovel, the whiners had to settle for a verbal shove.
“ I have a friend who’s little boy is only 5, his name is Braden, and he’s dying. Would you please go out and run 20 more miles for him.”

The week before Free State Ben and I race directed a charity race for a 5 year old named Braden Hofen. He’s fighting neuroblastoma, a battle his father compares to an endurance race, and may not be with us much longer. We were exhausted again, and I for one was not putting up with any whiners. Braden Hofen laughs and smiles through adversity, you people can get out and run another 20 muddy miles.

There were several I shovelled out for another loop (with the help of Braden) , but my favorite whiner was Tim Smith, from Iowa. Here’s a snippet of Tim’s humorous (if redundant) post to the ultra list of the mud covered course and race: “mud, hill, rocks, roots, roots, rocks, mud, hill. SMELL OF BURGERS AND BRATS MMMMMMMMMMMM, COERCED BY PONY-TAIL GIRL INTO DOING ANOTHER LAP.”
The lap I sent Tim out onto, ultimately earned him a 100k buckle. In his blog he writes that Braden helped him through the last excruciating lap. An excellent effort from Mr. Smith, near the end of a day filled with excellence. How do we know? We got no suggestions, and few complaints.

Eternal Running Buddy

2010-05-23T19:13:00.000-07:00

"Hey Ben doesn't Mizuno make something better than that?"

I am a rep for Mizuno in the running division and have made sure Ben is fully equipped. But he hadn't quite planned on the cool temps for the Berryman marathon and was cold. He dug deep into his past to come up with the above look, I dug deep for a quip to the owner of one of my running accounts.

"It's the new Cabrakan tunic for men, Willie!"

Yup, that's my fiancee sporting a Hefty bag with a twist. I think it's pretty sexy. Add the snazzy gortex fedora-- I can hardly stand it! Don't you just LOVE how the bottle holder cinches the bag at the waist to complete the look? Errol Flynn does come to mind.

All the stops were out for the Berryman marathon. It was our year anniversary of tapering and we just weren't going to miss the race.

"Sophia, we can't do Berryman, we have the Psycho 5k this weekend."

"Are you KIDDING me? Casey has his RV reserved, and just sent us both pictures of his muddy training legs. Give me an hour, I'll have it set up." Done. 1 hour, 55 minutes. Ha. The race would take longer.

The Race:

Crack, bang, boom.

"Ben, would you call off a race for all this thunder and lightning?"

It was 3 am, and I was quite awake-- on an air mattress that had deflated. But warm and dry in the RV.

"I wouldn't start it, but it will taper off-- "

Was I the chief mudbabe looking for an excuse not to run?... sigh... maybe. A year long taper doesn't happen without giving in to a few excuses.

This was the day that excuses DIED. Rain conquered with a spirit drenched in happiness.

26.2 miles. 2 pairs of Mizunos and one altered hefty bag.

2 people in love.

In love with running on trails, and in love with each other.

We set out and quickly got in step with each other, played with the mud, entertained soggy aid station personel and enjoyed life, shared energy and embraced having an eternal running buddy.

And that's what it's about. Everyone is more energized when they unlock the secret. The secret is finding that special someone who shares your passion, and is willing to trot alongside you through thick and thin.

Tough patch? No problem, Ben... let me baste it with a little mud.

Think you can't handle the garbage life throws you?

Here's a hefty bag, Sophia.

"Mud you Sophy Trophy."

"Mud you too Bentor."

Our pet names and mud language.

I pulled Ben up a hill-- he'd repay me in some energy return on the last painful miles.

I indulged in running too fast at mile 21, and it just wrecked my quads. I couldn't run downhill.. but the uphills were just fine.

That's right-- I was begging for more uphills the final 5 miles (and they came in 600 foot climbs).
And that's the way life goes sometimes, you don't realize that the uphill battle is the fun one.

You think you want a race day without rain, and then it keeps your feet cool. It washes the mud off your shoes, and keeps horseflys and horse riders off the race course.

Pray for the tough times my friends. For in those lie all of life's joys and happiness.

Muddy Hugs,

Sophia

Holidays Mizuno Style...

2009-12-01T11:09:00.001-08:00

"Have you ever taken the innagural dump in a porta potty, Ben?"
We were at Run Lawrence's Turkey Trot.
I just sat there, sort of shaking my head with a grossed out look on my face.
"Blue splash of death?"
"Is that what they call it?"

Turns out Ben has a solution for it... ( I wish I'd know sooner)
Using baby wipes or TP, let it float to the bottom of the potty, forming a barrier over the blue stuff.
"Ok- Soph, the middle one's ready for ya."
After testing Ben's handi-work one more time, I was ready to race.
It's been year's since I actually put any effort into a 5k, but I thought I might have a chance at 3rd in my age group if I didn't poop out.
I admired the blue environmentally friendly Asics bags with a touch of green envy. Raised an eyebrow about what to do with the XL Asics top, pinned on my New Balance number and headed for the starting line.

One of my accounts, Francis Sporting Goods was one of the race sponsors. As I looked around I saw a good sampling of Mizunos-- but couldn't help noticing I was the only rep actually running in the race.

Their loss-- it was a glorious day.

Bad Ben helped out at the finish line-- his main job cheering on Sophia!! Ra RA -- more cowbell please.

We did a few more miles on the smooth dirt trails of the Sandrat where we saw a turkey! Birrrundering. IT's everywhere. Then headed to Shelley's to--- EAT THE RUN!!

Stuffing, stuffing, stuffing.
Such wonderful memories. Her sweet children gave us hugs and played with Puccini. The turkey and marvelously set table looked like a Martha Stewart special-- and oh my gosh-- the $3.99 pie was delicious. Some Mexican train dominos and we were a Norman Rockwell Holiday party.

Obviously the next day entailed more running. It was the second annual Recession-Proof run out at Clinton. Last year I became a big fan of Friday runs, which I called "The hookie run." David Salavitch was kind enough to wait til Ben and I arrived at 10-- and we were off. We hit all our old haunts and reminisced about the past and looked forward to all the running in the future. A quick hello to Levi Bowles-who's first run with the Nerds was this day last year.
"Hi Levi!"
"I'm hobbling home-- IT band hurting."
I gave him a quick poke on the IT-- OUCH-- and emailed him later the name of a good doctor. And recommended the hotsie totsie Mizuno manpris for some extra support. Ben was rocking those -- and (gasp) the Asics women's XL race-T. Yup, my Badness had overdressed for the unseasonable weather and the Asics shirt was the only option knocking around in the car.

Saturday!!! Ben runs wyco with Andy Bowman one of our awesome volunteers-- I rest up for Dude Where's the Trail.

Lou Joline-- you have such a sense of humor. Note to area runners-- please don't ever complain about his courses-- and certainly not the only easy part of a 50k-- even if it's pavement (double gasp). That 5 foot 1 ball of fire made the craziest course ever. So much bushwacking.. so many tiny little burrs in my Mizuno Breath thermo stetch . My favorite garment, nearly reduced to shreds. As Ben and I sat picking off the darn things afterwards- I thought my fingers would certainly cramp. Meanwhile we had to endure abuse from Lou for missing the rope section.
He seriously stamped his foot--
"Ben-- Ben you missed the rope? I put it in JUST for YOU."
Yale (his alma mater) clearly taught him how to lob a guilt trip.

So a total of 67 miles this week. Getting back there...

As I sat picking off the burrs, going over the past week and all I am thankful for-- that little blue splash didn't seem a big deal. Not at all.

I have a job with Mizuno Running, the best company ever. I have amazing friends-- and the ability to run run run-- and make life fun.

During the holidays as everyone looks through their bank accounts and worries about what's going in and out of that-- take a moment to see what's in your Fun bank-- or your run bank. Take care of those-- and the rest will fall into place nicely.

Muddy Hugs,
Sophia

Rockin' K... unpublished 'til now

2009-11-19T12:18:00.000-08:00

Wait... backtrack.

"Hey Sophia, it's Debbie.. see if Ben will lend you to me over the weekend for Rockin' K."

"Yikes. We have all this Brew to Brew stuff to do. " (blog on that to follow--yeah I am REALLY behind) I hated to have him suffer alone with the paved race packet pick-up. Not Ben's favorite. Still, I know how important Brew to Brew is. A fundraiser for Cystic Fibrosis (horrid disease) but also one of the Kansas City Track Club's most important events. The group and Lou Joline believed in Ben's vision creating the Trail Nerds. They have been great and supportive team members for our group. I didn't want to let them down.

"Tell Ben I'll work all day Sunday at the aid station at Brew to Brew, if he lets you go."

It was an easy sell.

Oh my dear Ben. I love you. love you , love you so much for never resenting me when I get to go run with our friends on beautiful trails. Even when you have to be responsible and take care of the hand (KCTC) that feeds us. Oh I was excited... so excited!

I hadn't raced since November 27th.

"Sophia, where have you been? Why aren't you racing?" An email from Rick Mayo in February. I seriously ran into him before this race.

" Hey I'm back, I'm back!!" His beautiful wife Kristi was there with their equally beautiful daughter. Great to see them...... hmmm.. where were the other boys from Kearny? (find out more here at Gabe's Blog)

Wait... backtrack.

Carpool/Nerd-Mud Babe motorcade to the race.

Everyday's a party in Sophie's World.

I met up with Debbie, we loaded up the truck with muddy shoes, snacks etc? Actually an impressive stash for a weekender. Two doesn't constitute much of a carpool. Read on.

I had 6 nerds to coordinate. Two cars right? Ended up with three. Two people per car right? Nope. 4 in one car and one each in two others. Jim wanted to multi-task and work on the way (admirable actually) and Greg had a different "bailout after the race schedule," since he was doing 50 miles.

On the way out we lent Shane Jones to Greg for company, and in retrospect should have put James T. in with Jim since he spent the majority of the trip glued to his cell phone. Meanwhile, Debbie and I did our best to distract James by rockin' out to her latests favorite country song. We'd made a quick stop at Target in Lawrence to grab James and Shane. I got a battery put in one of Ben's old watches. And got teased by Shane for my super cool Timex. Shuddup Shane (tease back) it only cost $10. Did I mention I'm unemployed?!!

So the motorcade looked like this:

In Car 1: Jim Megerson and phone

In Car 2: Debbie, me, James, phone and country tunes

In Car 3: Shane and Greg having a bro-mance

Meatballs, meatballs, meatballs!

The pre-race dinner and meeting Stacy Sheridan was awesome! I'm not sure God could put more positive energy in one woman. Muddy hug! Oh I love that lady.

A fun positive to being so RIDICULOUSLY far behind on my blog is perspective. Here's one. Take a look at Laurie Euler's plate of meatballs. Paired with her race report peppered with self deprecating humor that she couldn't poo. That's a lot of blockage. Her dear boyfriend Nick (the garbage disposal--eats like Michael Phelps) had stopped in and partook at our firm invitation of our breakfast spread. Watermelon, displayed in the ice container (presentation is so important) and peanut butter bagels.

"Hey does Laurie want anything?"

"Not a fan of mornings."

She was already in the Nick's car. Next time take us up on the peanut butter Laurie! It works wonders. No promises... but maybe it would help with the Poo!

Shane and James pop into our room, on time-- thanks guys. We start shoving food in their faces. Coffee coffee! I'd hopped across the street and gotten some marginal brown brew from the convenience store.

"I'm not too good in the morning." Shane.

boom chicka boom chicka la la twang.

"I love this song! This is my favorite song right now!"CMT was on the television. Yup, while other runners were catching up on the latest weather forecast for the day, Debbie and I were tuned into the Country Music Channel. "I will run to you-oo -oo. I will run to you."We sang and danced in unison.

"Sorry, I don't think it's that great a song."

Shuddup Shane. (teasing)

On the way to the race we discussed our post race strategy.

"Shane why don't you run with my key fob since you'll finish WAY ahead of all of us."

We all concurred this was the best plan.

boom chicka boom chicka la la twaaaang.

"What? wait? not this song again?"

I turned around to Shane.

"We bought the CD at Target so we can hear it whenever we want. C'mon it says "run" in the chorus!"

"ugh."

Even James seemed a little irritated.

"I will run to you!" We sang at the top of our lungs.Played it twice.

Radio after that. Hard dude rock. This time everyone was singing.

THE RACE:

Fear. For this race, I knew I had to follow all the rules. Respect the distance, respect your body, listen to the signs. I can't even say I was on the Megerson constant taper. (25-30 miles per week max, year round). I was quite simply out of shape. January and February had been total running busts. I hadn't raced since November. Would my body remember what to do?

"Ben, what should I expect for a time on this one? I am so undertrained."

5:30 to 6:30. Ben knew the course and has run it in several different fitness levels. I looked down at my "new," watch and wondered what it would read at the end of the race.

Anxiety. I shared it with Debbie.

"I can't make any mistakes. I am going to have to be militant about salt, food, water, wardrobe.. everything." I packed a drop bag for the first time ever. Mostly I wanted a labelled place to leave my Mizuno stretch crew in the middle of the race so I could start out warm and comfy at the beginning. I threw in my inhaler. (Performance enhancing drugs according to Mr. Megerson!)

"We are making a mistake right now."

Debbie and I were chatting away like school girls on a slumber party.The mistake? Not getting to bed in time. But somehow it worked out. We were relaxed and at least slept well for the few hours we got.

Before the race, Stacy Sheridan came a lookin for me.

"Sophia..Sophia there you are!" great big hug. "ooops I forgot I had to sign in. I'm here."

Then I was running. Running in the breathtaking splendor of Kanopolis State park. I felt free at last. I came up upon Coleen and Deb Johnson after taking a break to water a bush. Btw, an interesting experience with 40 mph winds and little to block it.

I chimed in a hello and tried to make conversation, but there was also very little to block the angry hostility and seething silence of Coleen. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed for the loss of this friendship. It was a friendship based on discovery of ultra running, laughter, watermelon and oranges. I loved having her as a friend. I miss her. In the past few months, sometimes we'd end up on the same group run and chat and chat. Tap dancing over the rocks and the taboo subject. Not anymore. Hardly a hello. Glares. Daggers. Hurtful taunting. Accusations. Gossip. Denial. It is truly painful.

The tears would fill a small tub if they ever made it there. Instead their salty stream burns and stings the wounds, many of which are 9 months deep. I hate to even have this passive mention here, but each time I think we could be approaching repair, something happens. The knife turns, the wound is exposed, the tears sink deep within.

On this day, the salt is from sweat, not tears. Instead of crying, I will run. And if I'm to run in silence, I'd prefer it be pure. I charge ahead and run alone.

13.1 Coke, Mountain Dew. Ah, blessed aid station. Oranges. Shane???

"Shane what are you doing here?"

"Look at that? I feel like quitting."

I'd caught up with Shane who was grumpy because Kyle and Tony were 5 and a half brutal miles ahead of him.

"c'mon run with me!"

I was so excited. Seeing Shane truly energized me, because it meant I was running pretty well. I should have grabbed the key though. I actually finished a few minutes ahead of him.

This is where the race got interesting. Serious climbs. Ran into Willie from Great Plains Running. Muddy hug. Trotted along. Took pictures. Made a little video interview with Willie. Got back to the aid station. Dropped of the shirt. Took my performance enhancing drugs, and carried on.

pa-thunk--- pa-thunk. Yup. That's the sound your running makes when you're being blown sideways. A first. And with a step up because of the deeply rutted horse trail. But it didn't bother me. Many have described the wind at soul sucking. Instead it was like Narnia, with Aslan breathing trail running life back into this emotionaly weary Mud Babe.

I took it all in. Deeply. Honestly. Forever. I was back in my beautiful world. Completely.

Around 21 I caught up with a fellow named John from Minnesota. We couldn't talk much because the wind was so loud. I didn't get a chance to talk to him after either so I want to thank him here. I was tired of running alone. Thanks for waiting for me at the top of a hill at mile 22. I was ready just to drop back. It was nice to know someone wanted to run with me. Even just for a few miles.

Finish line: 5:31.

Shane finished.

Coleen, Debbie and Deb J. finished.

I had watermelon left over from breakfast. Maybe, just maybe Coleen would like some? Nope. I try to walk up to the group and offer. But get the side of the head. Laughter to all the other women but exclusion to me. It is obvious the friendship meant more to me, than it ever did to her.

However, it is ok. While it's more fun to share delicious watermelon with a friend, it still tastes good all by itself.

Muddy Hugs,

Sophia

A New Leaf

2009-10-19T07:09:00.000-07:00

Ben was wheeling out his homebrew set-up from our small porch.

" You don't have to tear that down. You can still brew if you want."
"I don't want to brew for other people if I'm not drinking."
It made me sad but I had no energy to disagree.
I'm really proud of Ben's brewing ability.
His beers are complex and delicious.
But since we moved in together, it seemed beer was forefront.
Instead of a weekend at my beautiful home in Topeka. Brewing.
Instead of running. Beer drinking.
Thing is, beer isn't such a temptation for me. I could sit and avoid the beer fridge. I prefer wine. So Ben started bringing home bottles of wine.
I tried gentle conversations about finding some balance.
More running?
Symphony?
But we just couldn't find the balance. Month after month,I would drink wine. Ben would drink beer. I would hate myself. We weren't running.

All I want to do is run. But the drinking was zapping my motivation. Our motivation. Our time. Our love.

The races were painful. Ben somehow runs pretty well on this program. For me, it was awful. I couldn't enjoy the races, knowing I had been undisciplined in my training which lacked structure.

Finally a simple plea.
"I am easily influenced. If there is a bottle of wine in front of me. I'll drink it. Is that the influence you want to have on me?"

Nope.

So, for now we're off the sauce.
Of his own volition, Ben donated the leftover beer. In it's place are two kegs of sparkling "Benegrino," (carbonated water) in the fridge. (a freezer he converted into a fridge --he's so clever!)

50 + miles this week, and already feeling much healthier.
I'll admit I was afraid no one would understand. People liked to come over and sample the three beers we used to have on tap.

But our friends are true. They know that running is our number one, and that it should be protected at all costs.

Thank you Dallas and Asher for being understanding.
Mike Osborn. Kurt Schuler. Rick and Kristi Mayo. Shelley Flones. Jenn Bernstein.

It means a lot that we can make a big change and have support from our friends.

My father is an Episcopalian priest. So I'm going to use one of his Lenten suggestions. It is this; If you give up something, take on something else .

I'm putting recycling bins in the porch so we can sort and organize our trash.
I'll admit it. We've been terrible recylcers. Yes I just made up a word.

Will we ever brew again. Probably. But for now we need to find structure and discipline in our running and build our relationship that way.

And a perfect balance, that as we detox our bodies and minds, we are detoxing the planet, too.

Muddy Hugs,
Sophia

We were There! Leadville Trail 100

2009-09-07T20:05:00.000-07:00

The Race Across the sky, brought many Kansas and Missouri runners across the prairie. My boyfriend, Bad Ben founded the Kansas City Trail Nerds 9 years ago, so it was fitting that we aid in this epic event. There wasn't a runner in the bunch (and by runners I also include crew and pacers) that hadn't been involved in the Trail Nerds in one way or another. Past board members, race participants, race winners, record holders, volunteers and friends. Friends whom we mentored, lunched with, ran with and hosted birthday runs, shared in their first ultras, got into races after the deadline was long gone, and did whatever we could even outside of running to help. Good people we care about. We were not going to miss cheering them at this race. Our mission was to crew and pace Greg Burger. Greg is one of the oldest and certainly most loyal members of the Trail Nerds.In March we had created a " Trail Nerd dream team," to get Greg through the race. Ben, Danny Miller, and me. Our other task was to help as best we could, Fast Andy. One of our newest and equally loyal members of the Trail Nerds. Andy Henshaw. A spectacular runner and recent Mizuno convert. Shameless plug for the Wave Ronin, our neutral racing flat. We had a very serious meeting with Greg before the race. We had a less serious meeting with Andy. It was our Trail Nerd volunteer extraordinaire Derek's birthday. Andy liked the hats:

Still, we took this mission very seriously. We nerdled a bit at Twin Lakes with Kyle Amos and Darin Schneidewind. Status updates: Coleen running with Nick in good spirits.. grabbing Caleb's butt. Darin pacing Rick. Caleb pacing Josh. Kyle pacing Tony. I was starting to get worried about Andy. He was light years ahead of our fastest Nerds but I wasn't sure what HE would get for pacers. I'd called all my Mizuno buddies and begged around. Even Anton Krupicka tried to line someone up, but nothing solid worked out. Or so we thought... Driving into Winfield, through the dust kicking up from the cars on the dirt road we saw two Trail Nerd Shirts and flashes of TWO pairs of orange popsicle Ronins. "Hey, Derek is pacing Andy!" Derek and his girlfriend Shelley caravaned with us up to the race and had been crew extraordinaire for Andy along with his family. My pacing portion was to take Greg Burger over and down Hope Pass. Leadville is an out and back so he'd seen Andy and Derek. "Was Derek with him at the top of the pass?" "yes!" Way to go Derek. Trying to be uber pacer and taking advantage of the fact that muling is allowed, I strapped Greg's 12 pound water pack over my own little camelback like a South American drug trafficker. First we see Coleen. Ben, myself and our dog Puccini had seen her husband Erik earlier at Winfield (mile 50)and their great dane Otis. When I saw Coleen, it was my turn to give a status report. "Coleen, Puccini humped Otis!" She laughed instantly.

She looked so strong, and I hoped she was having a good day. Next Nerd: Nick Lang, came barrelling down, as only he can do. Ever strong on the downhills! Josh Pool: Looking fly in his Free State shirt. (Our Trail Nerd trail marathon, 40 miler and 100k) Gary Henry: Taking pictures as always. He caught my glazed look and bulging eyes. I was half way up the pass and felling woozy. "Don't loose your runner." Pacer nightmare. Can't keep up with Greg. "Take smaller steps," I tell myself. Legs like jello. I can't stop. This is crazy. Greg needs you. Willie Lambert from Great Plains Running in Topeka (one of my favorite accounts) firmly told me that the night before the race. With my heart bulging out of my chest like the Grinch as he listens to the good folk of Whoville, I do the only thing I can. "Greg, I may not make it, you're going to have to carry your own pack." He chugged along ahead and I wondered if he would loose me. Rick Mayo: One of the famous "Kearny Boys." He'd come in uder 24 hours at Western States, but was severely underweight today. I gave him a couple pieces of melon and some fig newtons from a sack of food I'd packed for Greg and wished him well. I knew he was done. He could have made the cuttoff, but his weight was too far gone. I caught up to Greg and We saw Willie and Dr. Steve Plumb. I got to see the view at the top of Hope Pass. I waited for Greg to take a dump at the Hopeless aid station. I have to insert a funny story Shelley told me here; Early in the race Anton Krupicka needed to relieve himself. Everyone followed until one of the guys shouted, "hey the course is over here-- he's taking a dump." Pooperazzi. Headed into Twin Lakes Greg was in excellent spirits.

"I'm going to do this thing. I am going to run 100 miles today." I roused more support from the hundreds of onlookers. "His name is Greg. Shout Go Greg Go!!" And they did. Over and over for a half mile, til I passed him off to the capable hands, feet and energy of Bad Ben. I raced to the finish line, hoping to catch Fast Andy. I donned my Team Henshaw shirt, getting there in plenty of time. A voice over the PA system. "Team Henshaw, would you come over here." The mayor of Leadville was the emcee and originally from Osawatamie Kansas. He needed more information on the Legend of Fast Andy. 1 2 and 3 came in. The voice! "Team Henshaw get ready your runner is coming!" We assembled with signs, whistles and excitement. Andy and his faithful friend Dallas were headed in. Dallas who specializes in the 800, paced him for 13 miles! (Dallas also recently won the Trail Nerds Northshore race.. directed by none other than GREG BURGER) "Andy Henshaw finishes 4th place in the Leadville Trail 100 and is a Kansas City Trail Nerd." I wept. So did Shelley as we carried him to the medical tent. "Sophia, the first pair of Ronin's. They are trashed." I am overwhelmed with emotion again. "Sophia, how is Greg? Is he going to make it under 25?" Greg and Andy had bonded as ultra runners as Trail Nerds do the week before the race, and on training runs in Lawrence. Andy's original plan *gasp* was to turn around after finishing and help pace Greg. " I don't think I'm going to be able to make it back out." Andy was lying under a down blanket with a Tejas Trail Nerd hat on, shivering. Moments later he would vomit. "He's strong Andy. I don't know if he'll make it under 25, but he'll make it." Young Andy reminds us. That's what nice Nerds do. They pace, they care and they think of others first, even in their own moment of glory.

Thank you Ben for taking me to Leadville this year.

It's kind of an addictive atmosphere. Just before heading out to Twin Lakes on Saturday, we stopped at the front desk of Greg's hotel. "We'd like to reserve a two bedroom suite for next year." 2010 we're running. If we can find pacers.

I WON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2009-07-19T19:14:00.000-07:00

Before I got my job with Mizuno, I entered an essay contest to win a pair of Innov8 shoes. I was telling my brother about it, as I mulled through the prose.
"Don't you always wear Mizunos and doesn't Kelley help you out with the shoes?"
"Yes, but the winners get published in Trail Runner magazine."
The light goes on.
"Ah, it's about your writing."
After I sent in my entry I called my brother back.
"I'm going to win. There's no way I won't win."
Yes. 11 years in journalism. My first award winning piece!
Ironic.
Just as I change careers.

And I'm excited to try the shoes. Conflict of interest with my current job selling running shoes for Mizuno? No. Instead, research. I can't wait to see how they stack up against our incredible new shoe, the Cabrakan, (means Aztek god of mountain and earthquake) that hits the market this September.

Trail Runner, published the final portion of the essay.

Here it is in it's entirety.

ONE YEAR OF RUNNING THE MUD
By, Sophia Wharton
Aka: Original Mud Babe

It was a dark and stormy morning. The choices were: stay in bed with someone you love, or get up and run in the mud. We made the right choice, it was, after all close to my one year anniversary of running in the mud. A mighty group of 6 slipped and slided for 13 miles on the rocky rooty, and very muddy trails of Clinton Lake in Lawrence, KS. The forecast was for a high of 55. The forecast was wrong. It was chilly. Bad Ben, of Kansas City Trail Nerd fame, realized it was too cold for his Ice Breaker shirt alone, and pulled a trash bag out of the back of his Honda Element and put it on.
“Look it’s Bag Ben.” Another pun for me, Sophia. Yup, I love puns, especially when they go with running in the mud. After my first ooey gooey muddy run last spring, one of the other Trail Nerd women and I decided to team up for a 44 mile relay from Kansas City to Lawrence called Brew to Brew. There was a contest for clever team names.
“Hey Coleen!” I was on the phone with her. “I just registered us as ‘Bad Ben’s Mud Babes.’ Is that ok with you?”
“Hell yes! I love mud!”
Bad Ben decided the name was too cute for a one -time thing, and now the Trail Nerd women are all Mud Babes. A movement within a movement was born. Really, what woman wants to be a nerd? And mud is so squishy and fun, plus it really cools your feet down on those hot July days. Like during Psycho Psummer 50k. I was hot, and running again with Coleen who we dubbed “Cynical Mud Babe. “
We were schlocking through a combo of deep mud and horse poo, grateful for tightly laced shoes. We came upon another woman digging a lost shoe out of the mud. She laughed as she saw us.
“Well, I guess now I can buy the Mud Babe T-shirt!”
“You’ve earned it. And we’re the two Mud Babes in the picture!”
As we slipped and slided along I was so hot, I wanted to just sit down in the mud, but resisted that. Instead, I tried something new psychologically uplifting.
“Coleen come back!”
I was standing in mud up to my ankles. When she got beside me, I leaned down, grabbed a finger of mud and painted a muddy heart on her arm. She did the same for me, and the Mud Tats were born.

Smiley faces for guys. Arms in summer, cheeks (on faces) in the winter. It’s tribal bonding at it’s best. After all, nothing quite says “We love you, and accept you,” to a new runner like a muddy heart. And although I only have the science of my experience to back this up, you do run faster with a Mud tat.
One day, I’d fallen back from the pack and was running alone. I needed a pick me up, so I made some mud with my water and painted a smiley face on my arm. I call that, mudsterbation.
“Sophia that smiley face is working.” I’d caught up to James the Trail Nerd lawyer, and was about to leave him in the dust. I suggested his own mud tat instead.
But this was really child’s play compared with my run with Superhero Mudbabe Debbie Webster at Mud and Muck. A 5 k with a full fledged mud pit crawl. We finished and went back for more. More mud, more fun and many, many mud tattoos. Including one on photographer Dick Ross’s bald head. We laughed, we ran, we played. We spanked James, as it was his 38th birthday, that day.
(Trail Runner chose this final piece. Which was the clincher, I knew would land me the prize)
Yes, I love running in the mud so much the words have become interchangeable. It has been a little over a year I’ve been running in the mud. Last March, I sent Bad Ben a text message. My hand was shaking a little, but I pressed “send.”
“Are you falling in mud with me?”
“Yes.” Was the reply.
“Mud U.”
“Mud U, too.”
So, from running in the mud a great love was born.

Flying MudBabes

2009-06-20T14:23:00.001-07:00

I've written a lot about ultra marathons and running farther. But often the best things in life come in smaller packages. Sometimes life is so good, it just seems like you're flying. That was the case at the Psummer Intro 5k (well 2.8 miler). That's my awesome mudbabe buddy Shelley Flones. She was flying pretty high too. Before the race, we both got a generous sprinkling of fairy dust from Peter Pan (Bad Ben) and as you can see it was working wonders. Maybe it was excitement that so many people showed up. 106, compared with 60 last year. Yes the Trail Nerd message of inclusivity and love of nature and maturity is quite inspiring.

While we joke that we want world domination, mostly we just want

people to have a great quality of life, through running on trails. Maybe I was flying because it was my first spin in the new Wave Cabrakan. I just got a sweeeeeeeeet job working as a territory
manager for Mizuno USA in the running division.

I talked my way into wear testing the Cabrakan that comes out in September. Right now the shoes are just headed out to the top running magazines, so it was quite an honor. They feel great. A FLEXIBLE rock plate in the front. Great traction, and an incredible soft feel-- and I was, as you can see FLYING. No lying. Flying. I will post more on the incredible possibilities these shoes hold for runners soon.

So was it sole, or soul that made me run 3 minutes faster than last year, despite less training. Maybe it was a little acknowledged phenomenon. Borrowed energy. Hmm..or maybe it was that Shelley (a bit of a Tinkerbell) had some fairy dust of her own.

On this day she was quite the leader. Check out the Run Posse!!

She's the Flying Mudbabe. She won the Rock Creek 10k and ran an impressive 24:15 on this day. I was close behind, but ahem... felt the call of nature and tinkled on the trail. Wow, then I really felt light as a feather.

I'm allowed a certain budget for promotion of running through my job as a territory manager for Mizuno. Since the Trail Nerds and Mud Babes are unquestionably the most dynamic running group in KC, I've decided to sponsor them. I gave out t-shirts to folks running in the Wave Ascend (another great trail shoe) and our awesome Maverick short (has a zipper pocket) to two of the female finishers.

There were other pockets of energy in this race.

Fast Andy. Andy Henshaw. Broke the Brew to Brew record running 44 miles on a windy nasty day at about a 7 minute pace. Uber volunteer, willing to get off the couch the night before a race and redo a mile of trail that's been demarked by an overzealous 4 year old on a walk with her underzealous when it comes to discipline parents. I might mention he was getting up at 5 the next morning to come and volunteer for 18 hours at the Free State marathon.

This day we had the Andy effect: "Follow fast Andy!" "Andy's going to win!" "Go Andy, Go!" He was proudly wearing his Trail Nerd shirt, lovingly soiled with dirt from many races and happy falls in the woods.

But leaders aren't always in the front.

Sometimes they are in the middle. oops cut in half.

Sometimes they are in the back. Bad Ben was leading his son Matt. I call him "The Young Mr. Holmes." Matt calls himself "Son of a Ben," proud to be the son of a great man and leader. It is after all father's day weekend.

Right after Free State, Ben and I were having a conversation. Matt had just spent time before, during and after the race schlepping, hauling and without ever, EVER whining helping with the race.

"Sophia, Matt wants to run a race with me."

"No problem, do Intro to Psummer. I'll race direct." I had just gotten a first hand (and one that I sought out and enjoyed) view of what it takes to put on a successful, organized, can survive any disaster--even a tornado--race.

But..... then I got hired by Mizuno. I wasn't going to have time.
"I'm not going to get to run with Matt."

Enter Shane and Brandy Jones. Sometimes leaders are at the finish line. Or at home, tirelessly entering the results for 106 runners.

Ben brought up the rear with Matt.

Sometimes leaders are at the very back of the pack.

I was talking to a lady after the race.
"Oh that's YOUR Ben? Oh please tell him thank you, thank you so much for encouraging me and my friend. This was my first ever trail run, and I so appreciated it. Give him a hug for me."

Muddy sweaty hug.

So what are the Trail Nerds about? Leaders. Everywhere. In front, in the middle, at home, and sometimes most importantly bringing up the rear.

Happy, happy Muddy Hugs to everyone.

Sophia

Stefanie

2009-06-18T06:12:00.000-07:00

Way back... almost a year ago I posted a blog about all of my amazing girlfriends, and how supportive they were of me in an incredibly devastating time in my life.

It's been amazing to watch how they've evolved through the past 10 or so months. One is Stefanie.

I helped mentor her for her first 8k. Kept her from going out too fast, and kept her company. When you run long distances, maybe an 8k doesn't seem so far--but it's all about perspective. For her, a sprinter, it was the longest she'd ever run.

In April, she ran the Oklahoma City half marathon in 2 hours and change.

Yesterrday, I got a text from her.
"Man I just ran 9.6 miles in 80 minutes! If it weren't for u i would have never been able to do that or want to run at all. Hope all is well mud u!"

It's so nice to be appreciated, especially when it's from someone you know you can trust to be there for you, too.

I'll get pictures up later.

Running running and running

2009-05-16T20:33:00.001-07:00

I love running.
I was so happy to be back running on a trail at Rockin' K.
It was a joy and honor to help Ben with Free State and see and hear the appreciation of the runners and their families.
I'm really excited about the trail building we're doing at Wyco, and the mojo Ben has created by teaming up with the Earth Riders. (great vision).
I am so thankful for the true friendships I've encountered in life.
I am grateful the future is looking very, very bright and full of love, running and prosperity.
I have a new job, where I can run everyday and help people explore their running and live better quality lives.

So many of my prayers have been answered. It feels good to be blessed.
Muddy Hugs,
Sophia

rockin original

2009-05-11T10:23:00.001-07:00

I can't believe how far behind I am on my blog. Somehow, I've been more busy as an unemployed member of society. I've found myself on numerous committees, quite a few short lists to help out friends, and very happily on many "A" lists of friends new and old.

Pretty proud to be on Julie Toft and Debbie Webster's "A" list. Julie was signed up for Rockin' K, but got stuck on an out of town, airport terminal, crap infested work assignment the weekend of the race. She offered me up her cowtag ( I love that this race gives us cowtags to traipse through the literal, cowpaths!) for what it cost to switch ($45). Saweeet!!! Did I mention I'm unemployed?!! Then she didn't even let me pay her that. Mud U, Julie.

Wait... backtrack.

"Hey Sophia, it's Debbie.. see if Ben will lend you to me over the weekend for Rockin' K."

"Tell Ben I'll work all day Sunday at the aid station at Brew to Brew, if he lets you go."

It was an easy sell.

I hadn't raced since November 27th.

"Sophia, where have you been? Why aren't you racing?" An email from Rick Mayo in February. I seriously ran into him before this race.

Wait... backtrack.

Carpool/Nerd-Mud Babe motorcade to the race.

Everyday's party in Sophie's World.

I met up with Debbie, we loaded up the truck with muddy shoes, snacks etc? Actually an impressive stash for a weekender. Two doesn't constitute much of a carpool. Read on.

So the motorcade looked like this:

In Car 1: Jim Megerson and phone

In Car 2: Debbie, me, James, phone and country tunes

In Car 3: Shane and Greg having a bro-mance

Meatballs, meatballs, meatballs!

The pre-race dinner and meeting Stacy Sheridan was awesome! I'm not sure God could put more positive energy in one woman. Muddy hug! Oh I love that lady.

"Hey does Laurie want anything?"

"Not a fan of mornings."

She was already in the Nick's car. Next time take us up on the peanut butter Laurie! It works wonders. No promises... but maybe it would help with the Poo!

"I'm not too good in the morning." Shane.

boom chicka boom chicka la la twang.

"Sorry, I don't think it's that great a song."

Shuddup Shane. (teasing)

On the way to the race we discussed our post race strategy.

"Shane why don't you run with my key fob since you'll finish WAY ahead of all of us."

We all concurred this was the best plan.

boom chicka boom chicka la la twaaaang.

"What? wait? not this song again?"

I turned around to Shane.

"We bought the CD at Target so we can hear it whenever we want. C'mon it says "run" in the chorus!"

"ugh."

Even James seemed a little irritated.

"I will run to you!" We sang at the top of our lungs.Played it twice.

Radio after that. Hard dude rock. This time everyone was singing.

THE RACE:

"Ben, what should I expect for a time on this one? I am so undertrained."

5:30 to 6:30. Ben knew the course and has run it in several different fitness levels. I looked down at my "new," watch and wondered what it would read at the end of the race.

Anxiety. I shared it with Debbie.

"We are making a mistake right now."

Debbie and I were chatting away like school girls on a slumber party. But somehow it worked out. We were relaxed and at least slept well for the few hours we got.

Before the race, Stacy Sheridan came a lookin for me.

"Sophia..Sophia there you are!" great big hug. "ooops I forgot I had to sign in. I'm here."

On this day, the salt is from sweat, not tears. Instead of crying, I will run. And if I'm to run in silence, I'd prefer it be pure. I charge ahead and run alone.

13.1 Coke, Mountain Dew. Ah, blessed aid station. Oranges. Shane???

"Shane what are you doing here."

"Look at that? I feel like quitting."

I'd caught up with Shane who was grumpy because Kyle and Tony were 5 and a half brutal miles ahead of him.

"c'mon run with me!"

I was so excited. Seeing Shane truly energized me, because it meant I was running pretty well. I should have grabbed the key though. I actually finished a few minutes ahead of him.

I took it all in. Deeply. Honestly. Forever. I was back in my beautiful world. Completely.

Finish line: 5:31. More hugs from Stacy Sheridan who I promise a mud tattoo at Free State.

Shane finished.

Coleen, Debbie and Deb J. finished.

It's ok. While it's more fun to share delicious watermelon with a friend, it still tastes good running alone.

Muddy Hugs,

Sophia

Personal Day!

2009-04-08T12:21:00.001-07:00

I was dragging. It was as if no amount of sleep could ever be enough. Monday two weeks ago, it was a slow start to my day. Very slow. I had an appointment at noon in Topeka, and I just couldn't seem to get going.

Then the phone rang.
"Sophia, I'm on my way over to Nieman."
My friend Cindy. Ben calls her "Strap-on Cindy." She's beautiful, energetic, and somewhat confused. Today she was overwhelmed as well.
"Cindy, I'm already late, I'm on my way out the door."
"Sophia, please just go in to the office and get my records. Scott (the apartment manager) hates me. I'm trying to prove residency for Missouri plates."
Cindy used to live at Nieman, and left on bad terms because her dog Tucker, peed all over the carpet. After a quick heart to heart about accountability, she admitted the dog had in fact made quite the stinky mess, and that they did have a right to be upset. I really like our apartment management, so that was important. She apologized, when she got there to Dayna. Scott wasn't working.

Unfortunately, the records were no where.
"I have had two meltdowns today."
Cindy pulled out 4 pages of instructions from different courthouses, she'd had to visit to get the proper documentation for the plates. A four course meal if you will?
"Hey do they require a rectal exam, too?"
Cindy didn't think it was funny.
"That would probably feel better, and less time consuming. Seriously Sophia, I've taken a personal day because this is impossible." And here comes meltdown number three. I went to college with a friend who used to say "sometimes tears are your only defense." The release didn't seem to be making Cindy feel better.
"I'm just going to call KCPL."
"You can get it online," Dayna, the property manager offers a voice of reason.
I cancel my appointment in Topeka.

I want to emphasize again how tough Cindy is on a regular basis. She tears around all day like a white tornado with relentless energy. She volunteers. She helps her sisters who both have kids. She's watched Puccini, a lot. Today it was clear she needed an emotional boost from me. Borrowed energy. Kind of funny, considering my near narcoleptic state, but I rallied.

"Cindy, let's just go over to the apartment and use my computer."
Over at the apartment, her phone rings.
"Oh my gosh, it's KCPL.. they are CALLING ME."
She gets the necessary info and has it faxed to the Nieman office. Again, it was important she mended that creaky bridge.
"I want a beer! " Cindy's been over before and knows there are 3 beers on tap. She just loves Ben and his homebrew.
"There's some in the regular fridge, Cindy, but we drank the rest. There are two in secondary in the spare room." (yeah so much for office space, we have a nano-brewery in our spare room. Smells better than company, and makes a lot less noise.)
"where's Ben? The hottest man alive. A good match for you, Sophia."
"In Texas, he'll carbonate the Brown when he gets back. Go grab a bottle of Single Wide."
She settled in with some hummous and sirachi instead, while I did an errrand. After all it was a personal day.
"Will you go with me downtown to finish this? I'll take you to lunch and for beers."
I agreed to the errands and food.
"I promised Debbie I'd run Kill Creek later, so I can't drink."
We went to the post office and mailed Trail Nerd T-shirts.
We went to Pet Smart for food and to get our pups nails trimmed.
But things were not running smoothly there. Worried that leaving the dogs there could mean death or permanent maiming, we nixed that, and got them to the dog park later.

My phone rang.
"Sophia, it's Debbie. Do you want to run Rockin K on Saturday? It's full but Julie dropped and you can have her spot."
Rockin K is a very difficult marathon. I am grossly undertrained. I don't hesitate.
"Hell yes! It's our marathon annifuckinversary!!!"
About a year ago, we bonded running Boston together.
"Cindy, I'm not running tonight."
"PERSONAL DAY!" in unison. We high five, and crank up the tunes.
We went to Mc Coys and met up with Keith the brewer. His wife just had a little girl, Josie, and at 4 weeks premie (although a healthy 5 pounds 9 oz.) and was still in the hospital.
I chatted on the phone with one of Cindy's friends. The young lady said she was "dating," Cindy. I played it cool.
We sampled 6 of Keith's beers (mmm I love the IPA), 2 mixed drinks and nachos.
The dogs hung out in the car.
Dog park.
Our next culinary/lubricating stop, Japan. Sushi with Cindy's "boyfriend." They held hands, and exchanged an awkward hug.
Plaza next. We met up with some of her other friends. We chatted outside on the patio. The weather was perfect for our personal day.
We were hungry again.
Baby burger. I wanted baby burgers.
"I'm sorry miss, we don't have them."
"Well could you cut my burger in triangles? It's so much more cheerful."
It arrived in triangles. Presentation is so important!
We hit I-Hop on the way home. Extra bacon for the dogs. They were still in the car!

Cindy has been a real rock of support for me, in a way I very much needed over the past 9 months. In August, I wrote a blog called "Shattered," about my crushed and scattered heart. She picked up the fun piece and took care of it. Today, I got it back, and I paid her back in spades. It was Funday Monday. Yeah, so much for crappy Mondays.

Debbie's been holding a couple pieces, too. Hope being the biggie. Determination, not bad either. Remember her call? She wanted a friend for a tough marathon. Good time to pay her back. (Race report to follow.)

I don't have children, my brother lives in New York, and my parents don't visit too much. So my friends are my family.

Like Cindy, I had to take a personal day last October. I had gotten a hostile, hateful facebook message. I went home and my phone started ringing. My friends were reaching out, because they'd heard I was having "mascara issues," at work. S.O.S. "Save Our Sophia."

However, I made one call to my friend and former photographer, Colton. We have a special connection, not just because of work, but because we both worked in State College, Pa. We have a lot of friends in common. I'm the only person he trusts with his beloved dog, Montana. At this point, for me, he was the only person who could give the emotional support I needed. He was there for me and understood.

Back to the present... well sort of. Two weeks ago Ben and I were brewing his Uber Saison. It's always a jolly experience. I cooked brats in beer (So delicious) and some of our friends came over.

The phone rang. Colton. Hmmm.. he works on Saturday.
"Hey Colton are you off? Come over, Ben's brewing!"
"Um, Sophia I'm in the hospital."
My heart stopped. Colton has an extremely rare form of hemophilia. Only 300 in the world and most are in India.
"Do you need blood?"
Ok. A little dramatic, he was in the hospital, but on a serious note, I was ready, if that's what he needed.
"No, but I have to be here for at least 2 days. Could you take care of Montana?"
I went to the hospital, got the key and brought the dog back to our apartment.
I've watched her a lot, but it was clear she knew something was wrong this time. She sat by the door a lot.
The phone rang the next night.
"Oh Sophia, it's Danielle, you have no idea what I went through to get your number."
Colton's girlfriend explained his phone had died in the hospital (don't tell hippa) and that she'd had to scour his old bill to find my number. I've had 5 numbers this year, and she had an old one.
"Can you pick me up at the airport? This is just so hard. We don't have any family in Kansas."
"Yes you do Danielle. I'm your family. Don't ever hesitate to call."

Paybacks.

Cindy.
Debbie.
Colton.
Danielle.

Paybacks, oh yes, paybacks are Heaven.

Muddy Hugs,
Sophia

Thank you, my dear freind..

2009-03-06T07:59:00.000-08:00

I was sitting in the therapists office one day, broken down and crying. Tettering.
"I've lost my best buddy. She'll never come back."
"Is she your best buddy, Sophia?"
I was so distraught, I couldn't think strait. My wise and calm therapist, Frank was, as always, pointing out the obvious.
The next time I came in, I had a different take on things.
"She isn't my best friend. And I'm ok with the ones I have, who have stood by me as best they can on a really wild ride."
In the end, one has pounded me with love, often tough love. Given profound advice. Built up my dreams, and never stopped believing in fairies and fairy tale endings. For a spell, she took a break, but never stopped praying. During that break she took care of her own fairy tale, so it would have a nice ending.
Debbie Webster, I love you so much. You were chiselled in an incredibly awkward position, and stood firm. On the love plane. On the loyalty plane. On the honesty plane. Others were supportive of me, but they weren't in the thick of it, the way you were.
On this emotional, endurance race you have been my mobile aid station. In fact, you're the one who made me sign up. Sign up for love. Sign up for living life. And when you thought maybe I was getting more of a beating than I could take, you still let me stay in. Even though it caused you pain.
Then there came a point in February. I said I couldn't go on anymore. You jumped in with both feet. It was art imitating life. I think about how you took care of me when I ran Fee State last year. No matter what I needed, you were there. Strong, relentless, unconditional. I think about how when Coleen's energy drink wasn't there for her at Rocky, you ran back and dug it out of the shelter and caught up to her, so she would have what she needed on her first 100 miler. You know how to take care of people.
I don't care if you're not a writer. I don't care if you don't have fancy college degrees or a fancy house on Ward Parkway. You have made more good of your life experiences than anyone I know. I have a very simple look these days at religion. I stick with God is Love. And you've got more love in your heart than most who devote their lives to God. Thanks for being in my life in my inner circle. Thanks for stumbling along with me. Thanks for reaching out to me when you fall, and picking me up when I did. Thanks for loving the people I love, even when you didn't understand what was going on. Thanks for getting back in. Thanks for giving me sanctuary at your house. Most of all... thanks the other day for telling me you need me as a friend. It is an honor.

making of a mudbabe

2009-02-08T11:01:00.001-08:00

THE MAKING OF A MUD BABE

"when are you going to run with the nerds again?"

It was an email from "Bad Ben," who runs the KC Trail Nerds .
What? Run on trails again? He obviously didn’t remember our last conversation where I told him I’d broken down crying, lost on the Wyco trail during the Alternate Chili run-- I eventually jumped back on the pavement. At best it was 6 miles on the trail. Sobbing, weeping, cursing Mizuno Kelley for making me get up early for this torture.
After the run, I plopped down by Ben with my bowl of Chili.
"i think trails are cool--At heart, I feel like a trail runner, but I just don’t run them well-- I keep hoping I’ll get better, but this was terrible. I can’t get a rhythm."

"maybe trails just aren’t for you." Mizuno Kelley. "it’s ok."

I went for a second bowl of chili and added extra cheese.

When the invitation to run came again I chose the most convenient trail for me-- without even looking at the schedule, secretly hoping it would conflict with something else.

"Saturday at Clinton lake." I wrote. I’d never even been on a picnic there.

Turns out they were doing weekly runs there to prepare for Free State. I’m stuck.

I had several conversations with my co-anchor about this pending run. (watch me on my podcast here : http://www.ktka.com/news/2008/mar/03/49_news_now_afternoon_update_news_and_weather/)
"Ugh- I can’t believe I agreed to this- I’m not as fast as these dudes on pavement and I’m even worse on the trails. The only reason I can think that they invited me, was because they’re hurting for material to talk about on a long ass run." So I started studying up on interesting news stories, hoping I could keep up. Although I was "training" for Boston, I was barely getting in 25 miles a week, and my longest run was the Topeka to Auburn half a month prior. If I was going to get the long runs in, I needed to overcome my problem with trails. Still, I went into the first group run, in real fear of being left in the dust and lost in the woods.

3 runs, 2 pairs of muddy shoes and about 50 trail miles later, I’m hooked.

Right now I’m what’s called the binge trail runner. Doing the long weekend runs on the trails, I am prone to embarrassing myself in restaurants. Nothing like frozen mud melting off your shoes in the middle of an omelette and 5 cups of coffee. Kind of resembles what my dog Puccini leaves after getting too many snacks for Thanksgiving. Oh well...

So what’s the hook? The people or the path? Both.
Trail runners are nicer... Seriously-- I think it has something to do with needing to be self sufficient, but never having everything you need (whether emotionally or physically) No matter how well you prepare-- you may need a gu, or a baby wipe, camera (for that unexpected moment when you run into another pack of runners) extra water, a hand or just an encouraging word. Your fellow trail nerds will always be there to lend it. On pavement, there’s a never ending supply of non-runners and convenience stores for help and I think it makes those runners a little more introverted. Just a theory-- open to other interpretations.

So far I find you learn something about yourself, something about running, and with this group, some great one liners to get you through the week. Conversations that can go like this.

Sophia: "my text messaging predictive text doesn’t seem to like certain words . I’m tired of trying to fix it-- so my friends just accept that ducking means something other than what we’re doing right now to get under this tree."
Ben:" I’m convinced the moral majority controls cell phones."

There are others--but we’ll leave them on the trail. Smile. Colleen-- you are hilarious, and you know I never forget anything.

As for the running... It’s getting better-- I’m jumping over roots and slopping through the mud. Still have fear of water and needed a hand over some that troubled me. When I’m hard core-- I’ll just splash through-- but so far, still binging. And the running is getting faster-- what needs work however is the walking. When the group starts walking up hills or though the serious slop-- I become like a satellite planet struggling to stay in orbit. So during miles 14-16, I got some pointers on walking (once I ran and caught up). Turnover, turnover, turnover. Balance, flex hips and keep it moving, seriously think about pushing off with the toes. Walk on a treadmill at a 15 grade. Good advice. I’ll take it. Unlike pavement, being able to walk well and fast on the trails is crucial. Ah yes-- the trail part I struggle with-- the nerd comes naturally.

Ironically when I got the invitation to run with the Nerds, I was in a slump and looking for inspiration. I tried to find new running buddies, join groups or work out at the gym, but it just wasn’t happening. I suppose you can’t look for inspiration-- it needs to find you. So thanks guys and Colleen for finding me. What I found out is that you didn’t need new material (although I was complimented on my left slanted politics) it’s just that you’re nice people, committed to having fun and pushing it to the limit, while welcoming new comers on the journey.

Later I decided to do Brew to Brew. I asked fellow trail nerd Colleen if she’d run half-- when faced with what to call the team, it was obvious. Bad Ben’s Mud Babes.

And that my friends is how I became the Mud Babe. __________________________________________________

Everyone can make a difference

2009-01-16T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to make good use of my unemployment time. Before the holidays I was out for drinks with some artist friends, a politician and his wife. Everyone was excited for 2009, and a new era. The wife works for KACEE which promotes good environmental practices in schools. I told her about a school in Topeka I'd reported on, and found out she didn't know who was behind their impressive recycling program. So today, I nominated the woman behind the scenes who had a mission that has been making the world a much better place for over ten years. Here is what I wrote:

As a journalist I’ve attended many award ceremonies and reported on “important and impressive,” people. Doctors, Lawyers, professors and politicians. But in 11 years of reporting, there’s a woman who with a job most wouldn’t consider a profession, and a salary none would envy, has managed to shoulder an environmental movement that would make anyone proud.
In May of 2008 I was working as an anchor and reporter at KTKA in Topeka. The station had awarded the Washburn Rural High school for their “going green” practices. I was sent to do the story. Once I got there I found out it wasn’t their first award. For over ten years, the school recycles everything. Boxes, plastic, cans and paper. In fact, I think their recycling may outweigh their trash. I was escorted around the school by a teacher who had implemented the program. That was only part of the story. The rest was that the program was started by a cook. Her name is Mary Zaitz and I’d like to nominate her for the Strickler award.
Mary started working as a cook in March of 1986.
“I used to just bring the stuff home to recycle it, because the school wouldn’t let me recycle. Then I found out the city wouldn’t recycle the plastic jugs. It just killed me to throw away all those plastic jugs.”
Mary continued her personal mission to recycle at the school but the principal wouldn’t let them set up a system for fear of attracting vermin or creating other health hazards. The school nutritionist tried to approach the principal with Mary’s vision, but again the idea was struck down. Eventually another school teacher came up with a system the principal accepted. In the past, when the stories air about the school’s magnificent program, we hear about this man and not the woman behind the idea. While this bothers me a lot, it doesn’t bother Mary, she’s too busy checking up on the kids.
“Oh I’ve seen her catch the kids putting their plastic bottles in the trash, and she’ll fish them out.” I was talking to Mary’s boss Donna Bateman and getting some more insight into Mary’s mission. Later I asked Mary why this is so important to her.
“I just can’t stand to think of wasting anything. I think about how what we recycle could be turned into a bench or carpet. One day I was watching TV and saw the barges of trash from New York and it just made me sad. I’m glad we are putting out less trash into the landfill.”
In over ten years, it is tons of recycling.
Mary Zaitz doesn’t need a degree to do her job. She doesn’t wear pinstripes to work or sit in a corner office. She wears a hairnet. But she does need passion and determination to actualize her mission for the environment. You can’t learn that in school and it’s not something you can buy in a bottle. But if it was, I assure you, she’d recycle it.

Be a lifesaver

2009-01-05T12:01:00.000-08:00

I've been pretty honest about my relationship with my mom, and I feel like a mention I made before needs some embellishment.
"My mom has saved lives."
My mom was born in Chicago, Il in 1944. Later my grandfather, Orville M. Running moved the family to Decorah, Iowa. My mom, Marjorie, grew up there in a very sheltered Lutheran environment.
When she wasn't married at the ripe old age of 21, (ancient I tell you) my grandfather let her know there were other options in life.
"Margie, there's one thing worse than not being married. That's being married to the wrong person."
She moved to New Orleans to pursue a master's degree in French, met my father, and was married a year later.
New Orleans was a different environment for my mom. I grew up in Decorah too. Things had changed by the time I was a teenager.. a lot. There were 2 black people in our school. One was the daughter of the local radiologist, the other was adopted. There may have been some others who floated in and out, but weren't there from elementary to high school.
My mom refers to Decorah as "Lake Woe-Decorah." It's a reference to Garrison Keillor's "Lake Woebegone," a fictitious town where all the "women are strong, the men are good looking and all the children are above average." Decorah is also the home of Luther College, where all the students smile and say hello, are smart and blonde and attractive. The Viking strength is mirrored in the the town of 10 thousand and people who live and work there.
"Mom, we can't finish the dishes, Philip and I just don't know where everything goes."
My brother and I were warring over a sink full of suds and arguments about who was suffering the most. Both of us wanted to give up and go watch the Sci-Fi channel.
"Just think about where it would be if you needed it. You're both above average... you can figure it out."
Great. My mom gets her parenting advice from a local radio show. Yes, in 1982 Garrison Keillor was a local act on Minnesota Public Radio.
I distinctly remember walking into the kitchen another day. (The dishes mercifully, had been completed.) My mom was wiping tears from her eyes.
"Oh Garrison.. he's so funny."
I think it was the one about how the tomatoes take over your life in August.
The melifluous voice over the speakers..
"Remember how you would have killed for a tomato in June, now they are everywhere and you want to kill them." Too much of anything (except love) is a bad thing.
Before moving back to the land of milk and honey, Decorah Iowa we lived in suburb of New Orleans.
My mom had finished up her degree in French and she and my dad started a family. We were too young then to do dishes, but it wouldn't have mattered. We had a maid.
"Everyone had them. I feel awful. It was just so cheap." My dad still feels bad about it. Interesting, because he grew up in the deep south and this was just a part of life as he knew it.
Our maid was efficient. Thorough. Beautiful. Poor. Our maid was black.
She cleaned all the houses of the upper crust, Junior League of Mettairie Lousiana. The year was 1974. My mom was 30 and had a conversation one day with the maid.
"You know you don't have to do this for a living."
"What else can I do?"
This was what the maid saw as her plot in life. She wasn't bitter, just in an environment where cleaning other people's homes was all poor black women could do to support themselves.
My mom made a few phone calls and got her a job in an office as a secretary. A new path. A new life. Respect.
My mom seriously pissed off the junior league of Mettairie Louisiana. But perhaps left them with something to think about while doing their dishes.
I told this story to Emily Horn, aka Mud Doc on our run on Sunday. It was part of a larger conversation about how some pairings of people are more than just the sum of their parts. One plus one equals 7.
"Or one plus zero equals 3."
Emily was making an observation.
"I don't want to call someone a zero."
"Sophia, that's just you plus yourself."
I will write more on this equation later, but for now suffice it to say that that day My mom was a 3. Seeing potential in others and turning it into meaning.
As a medical doctor, Emily saves lives all the time. She also challenges herself physically and emotionally, taking care of her own life. My challenge to everyone is to search within and outward. Look around. Is there a life you should be saving? Are you taking care of your own?
My mom spent 19 years pursuing a doctorate in music. Pretty impressive. It's not a medical degree, but it saved her life. And at age 30 with nothing more than a master's in French, two small children and a heart that couldn't stand seeing a gifts wasted, she saved a life.
I love you mom and I'm so proud of you for this.

Bitterness?... Just Bag it!

2008-12-07T10:36:00.000-08:00

Something in my life has come full circle. In the past, I really felt lost and often abandoned. At the conservatory I went to, I was always let down by pianists. Abandoned. As a child, my mother always managed to sit quietly while other parents bragged about their kids and say nothing. Even though my accomplishments were on a much higher level. Lost.
"Mom why don't you tell them about the competition I just won?"
I was 16 and had set winning this competition as a goal, the prior year.
"We'll let them read about it in the paper. I don't like to toot my own horn."
Ok. I felt crushed. Hidden. Like she wasn't proud of me. Almost disowned.

The paper never printed an article.

It made me bitter. Mostly it made me hurt. I love and admire my mom a lot. She's done many incredible things, and saved lives. But when it comes to her children's success, she kind of drops off. However, she is great when we're down.

So I've sought a cheering squad for most of my life. And I have it. But often, when I've needed friends for concrete tasks, I've felt let down. They are there for me emotionally, but for a helping hand (or two when it comes to pianists) somehow the stars just don't line up. I used to think it was because they didn't love me enough, but that is most definitely not the case.

More bitterness. I would lob zingers.
"Well mom, you've had dad paying the mortgage (actually not quite true.. he retired 13 years ago and she's been paying it) and you have help with everything."

Why don't I have some fucking help? Replacing lightbulbs. Painting the bathroom. Repairing broken appliances. Mowing the grass. Yardwork. Maybe I am traditional, because I'll cook a gourmet meal in a flash, and scour down the kitchen, fold underwear, and decorate with Andy Warhol flair. I just didn't want to do the "guy stuff," like yardwork.

I hate yardwork. My neighbors know it.
"Look at raking leaves as exercise. You're active."
Bite me. It's not a trail.

Over the summer, I did have some help. At the end of the summer, my brother showed up and completed a landscaping project in front of the house, and continued around the house. Everything was neat and tidy. I was tempted to just pay for a plane ticket for him, and have him come deal with the leaves.

I thought the fall leaves were a little lackluster this season. I'd mentioned it to one of my friends, who agreed. And it sort of went along with my mood. All the components were there, and I'd see an occasional vibrant tree, but things just weren't quite lining up.

I live in a beautiful historic neighborhood in Topeka. A man named Tinkam Veal designed it. Who names their kid Tinkam? That's beside the point, though. He used to work for J.C. Nichols and the neighborhood is reminiscent of Mission Hills in Kansas City.

"Wow, I've never been in this part of Topeka before. Impressive."
My friend Tim, a photographer at Action News in KC, was in town. We'd both run the Topeka to Auburn half marathon, and he stopped by afterwards for some warm, homemade soup.

The streets of Westboro are lined with giant, old oak trees. Lackluster or not on the color, the leaves look the same on the ground. Dry, dead, brown, and a real pain in the butt. They trigger my allergies too. Something I didn't mention in my Rock Creek race report, was that my lungs felt like snot.

"Sophia, what are we going to do about those leaves?"
My real estate agent was gently telling me to bag my shit.
"Curb appeal is important, Sophia."
It was unavoidable. I had to come to terms with doing something, I very much don't enjoy. Two weeks ago, I tried to put myself on a schedule. 3 bags a day. It never happened.
Why don't I have any help? Where are my friends?

I had to make a funny bargain with myself to get this done. When the alarm rang to get up and run with the MudBabes in Lawrence, I turned it off and slept a little longer. The deal? Get the yardwork finished.

"You know Sophia, you can hire this done. I've got a yard guy."
My friend John and his friend Tim were over, and offering their version of "help".
"I am unemployed. I have time. I am not going to spend money on getting this done."
"He's cheap."
"NO! I can figure this out."
"Yeah, sounds good. He's kind of a douche bag anyway."
"Ooo yikes. I hate douche bags. I like assholes."

The guys were over to help me start my lawn mower. Earlier, I filled a bag using a rake
The leaf per bag ratio was way low. It was as if I had done nothing. Not a dent, not a pimple. I cried. Seriously. Went inside, poured a cup of Sumatran Velvet coffee, sat under the skylight and wept.

I was going to have to figure out the lawn mower. A neighbor passing by had suggested it, as had Jay, my real estate agent.

“Pick up the sticks, and put your mower on the higher level.”

Fear. All the stereotypes were plaugeing my brain. Women are not mechanical. They can't fix things. Fortunately, my life coach had me take a test a year ago, that showed I had some decent concrete skills. I also remembered a portion of Scott Peck's book "The Road Less Travelled." He wrote about how he always deemed himself “unmechanical,” until he was forced to fix of all things, a lawnmower. Instead of throwing his arms up and saying bah- humbug, he took the time to see what was broken and fixed it. It took him much more time than someone with a natural propensity for mechanics, but he could do it. Let’s face it, unemployed—I have a lot of time, so I took the journey out to the garage.

I tapped into my concrete skills and committed to spending the time to figure this out.
“I am concrete. I have a tool box that’s marveled men.” Seriously.
“I love your toolbox, Sophia. It has everything you need in it.” It's true. Wrenches, phillip's screwdrivers, flatheads, spackle, spackle knives, exacto-knives, hammers. Even a drill and drill bits. You get the picture.

Back to the mower.

Hello mower. I start encouraging myself internally. I breathe evenly. I’m scared. Unbelievable. Scared of a mower. No shit, I’ll take the cougars out at Wyco any day. At least I can run from them on a trail. Something I’m wildly familiar with.

Unfamiliarity is terrifying—even if it’s a mower.
Gotta get the bag off. I observe. Oh by the way, if I had the owners instruction book, this would be much easier. But the mower was assembled by someone with far greater concrete skills, and the little book is nowhere to be found. No big deal. I’m patiently, calmly looking.

I get the bag off. Now I need to raise the mower setting. Hmm. Yes a gift! Words! My world. Familiarity. My little suck and blow Cub Cadet had written on the front:
“Single lever adjustment.” Great, just find the lever. Back to concrete, but I’ve got it.

Here’s where I had the guys come over. Didn’t quite have the physical strength to get the cold mower started, so they fired it up. I did have the mental strength though to get the job done.

During the process, my neighbor Alisha drove into her driveway.
“Hey Alisha, I’ll sweep those leaves off your driveway later. I can’t believe how I put this off.”
“That’s why I got married, so I wouldn’t have to do leaves.”
“I’ll be ok. I’ve got the system down now.”

I now have 35 bags of leaves on my curb. I did this job well. Swept the walkway and even bagged up the leaves in the street gutter.

Bitterness, turned to success. Abandonement to accomplishment. Alone to self respect.

I’m going to sidestep into a conversation I had with Brad Bishop during the Friday Hookie run.
“Sophia, which are the more regularly attended runs?”
“Well it’s tough to say, it kind of goes in waves.”
Brad is just out of college, and entering a world where he doesn’t have a “team,” to rely on for support. Feeling a little lost and abandoned himself he’s finding his place within a new group.

“I always had the cross country team before.”

I started running late in life so never had a group, really until now. Something I’ve learned about running, is that if you’re vigilant yourself it creates an energy that people want to be around. All of a sudden you have people to run with, because they know they can count on you. But first you must be able to rely on yourself for inspiration and help. It worked with the leaves.

The phone rang on Saturday. It was John and Tim, the lawnmower starters.
“Hey Soph, why don’t I just come over tomorrow with my Honda and help you with the leaves.”

Interesting, an offer of help.

“Thanks, but I’m on this now. I’m itching for the sense of accomplishment.”

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Take care of yourself, help yourself and others will follow. And if you're feeling bitter... just bag it.

Muddy Hugs.

To my green friends: please forgive me for the gas and extra bags I used doing this project. I will carpool to my next race to make up for it.

Dude, You don't play the violin with your feet...

2008-12-01T16:24:00.000-08:00

My fingers were so frozen after "Dude where's the Trail," I couldn't even unsnap my camel-back. I just pulled it overhead. Unzipping my jacket proved torturous. Even turning the key to start the car was a challenge.

I was worried I'd caused permanent damage to my fingers. Fingers that play the violin well enough to pair up with my brother who has a doctorate in music from Juilliard.

My fingers have been this numb before. In July of 2007, I was sitting by a waterfall. Suddenly I was slumped over, my fingers numb. I heard rocks tumbling down below and knew I'd been hit.
"I'd rather be dead than paralyzed."

5 marathons and hundreds of performances on the violin went through my head. I saw my life flash before me. A very good life, full of laughs, friends, art, running and music.

Then my fingers began to move. They weren't numb. It took 15 firefighters and a pulley system to get me off the big hill, or little mountain (300 ft).

An x-ray showed three upper ribs on my left side had been severly broken. Dislodged really. The break was only an inch from my spine.

"I still have some work to do."
My mom had rushed to the ER and was standing there with tears in her eyes. She just nodded.
My childhood friend Heidi's dad was working the ER that day.
"It takes an incredible velocity to break ribs in that spot. An inch over, you would have been breathing through a tube for the rest of your life."

I feel lucky, and blessed every day.

I got laid off from my job, recently. The subject was brought up by Jim M. during the run. Kind of a downer. So I told that story of my near death/paralysis experience.

"I guess you're putting it in perspective." Jim M.

" And you didn't worry that you'd never talk on the TV when you got hit by the rock." Bad Ben.

Nope. And I don't care if I never work in news again. Having a job on television can open you up for a lot of mud slinging . Superficial Bimbo. Self centered. Arrogant. Ego-maniac. I've heard them all. Fortunately, I know what to do with mud. Look inside for the truth. The truth is, I used that job to help a lot of people. And while it's kind of fun to have a few giant billboards around town, I can let it go.

I was feeling really strong running at Dude. At mile 18, I considered jumping ahead with John and Gabe. But I let that go too, and dropped back and ran with Ben, who has been fighting a cold off and on for about a month. My fingers warmed up.

The scenery was stunning. Frosted Neverland. Magic everywhere.

"My feet are still frozen."
"Well Sophia, you don't play the violin with your feet."

Good point, Ben.

Gabe and John were headed towards us, after grabbing a page from a book at the silo.
"It's the snow angel portion of the run!," I shouted.
Ben chimed in.."Drop and give us 5 angels!"

Gabe smiled and laughed. John slapped me with his map when he passed. No one hit the snow for an angel. It was just too darn cold.

I like angels. I know I have one watching over me. The warrior kind. And the protector. Feeling strong that day, I shared my angel energy.

My fingers were numb again, and we were on the nasty unforgiving, hard pavement.

"read any good books lately?"
"Well, I've got the page I ripped out at the silo.. except my fingers are so cold I can't unzip my pocket."

Why is it, that while running in the woods I can come up with a bevy of topics, yet once I get on the pavement, I can't think of shit?

Hangin' with the ex. Pound, pound, pound. Pounds of asphalt. Heavy, flabby asphalt.

"My PF hurts. So does my heel." Ben

"My left hip flexor hurts, but my feet are frozen. The ex is awful today. Awful." Sophia

"This is why Pat Perry didn't finish Leadville." Ben

"Can't blame him. Next time, I'll save a better story for this part."

The conversation turned to Christmas and how external most people make it. Closets or attics (just bigger closets really) overstuffed with ornaments, extra holiday dishes (please?!!) do dads and other things that take up space and need to be dusted.

I've just spent two weeks cleaning out closets. Throwing out clothes that just take up space, that I don't need. It is so liberating to open a dresser drawer easily and see neatly folded clothes. Or an empty closet. Even a basement with very few tubs. There is one small tub with my entire Christmas assortment. But it's going to stay packed.

My fingers are warm again.

This Christmas, I'll give the gift of music. Internal from my soul. I'll play songs of joy, peace and love for my friends on my violin.

Muddy Hugs and blessings.

I love Dick

2008-11-05T19:12:00.000-08:00

During one of the worst times in my life, you captured one of the happiest moments. I was running my second marathon with my friend Kent Sanders. Before my first marathon, the organization sent out an email about where the photographers would be placed. They encouraged the runners to smile and cheer for the photogs. When I saw you at mile 19, I raised my arms in a mighty cheer, and you said.. "That made my day!" That picture is still in the upper left corner on the favorites page at SeeKC run .com. But really Dick, you made my day, and continue to everytime I click on that page.

I'm not sure any other city has someone like you who provides such an incredible service. You have become part of our running family and races just don't seem complete without you. And it's not just the pictures.

It was 10 degrees this year for the Topeka to Auburn half marathon. I was running up a hill that seemed endless. Just before the top, I thought "hmm, I bet Dick Ross is going to be up there. I better put on a happy face." There you were! Snapping pictures, but also giving us all a reason to push harder up the hill. Did I mention it was 10 degrees? But it didn't seem to bother you! Or was that smile frozen on your face?!

You caught a picture of the first Mud tattoos at Psycho Psummer, and the joy and happiness shared by two friends.

And you cheer us on. During the Fall Fell, not only were you snapping pictures at a rate so fast it would make an angry turtle look happy. You even yelled out.
"Catch him.. catch him." The sole "crowd support," for me in a 7 mile race. Afterwards we laughted about it. "That was so funny, I saw you two, and thought you'd get him." "Thanks Dick, but he beat me by 2 secondds." Your genuine excitement for our sport is so touching and appreciated. You share in the moment, you catch it on your camera, and have fun. I love people who know how to have fun! True fun, and loving life... an art form.

At first I didn't want to go to Mud and Muck. Then I thought about the pictures. I knew I didn't want to miss that. There were 37 pictures of Debbie and me from that race. Plus you let us give you your own mud tattoo. While other onlookers were too uptight to get a little dirty, you didn't even care that I got your camera muddy taking the picture!

Dick your are our friend.

In the summer of 2006, I went to a race and realized I didn't have my checkbook, or any money. I was new in town and didn't know anybody-- except you. You lent me money for the race.
15 bucks-- but it's the friendship and memories you help us share that's priceless.

HAPPY 71st BIRTHDAY DICK.

We all Mud you!

Sophia
Classic Mud Babe

Get ready everyone.. This is just the beginning

2008-10-30T14:13:00.001-07:00

Today, I listened to my saved messages on my phone. I needed friendly supportive voices. 2 were very old. The first week in July, in fact. Others pretty recent. All of them made me cry-- even one from my physician.

"Hey Sophia, I'm putting in the prescription for that inhaler for you, because you're probably training for some ridiculous distance."

Yup. The Rock Creek 50k at Lake Perry. And life.

Superhero Mudbabe Debbie Webster spent the night. She had fun with my balloon pump, and we had a great dinner. Salmon, whole wheat pasta, and lightly sautéed red peppers.

She’s adventurous and even sucked down the raw vegan smoothie for breakfast.

I was a little disappointed because I hadn’t gotten my lucky number 49. I work for 49 news and like that number. Instead Jim M, had it. Offered to sell it to me for 50 bucks, but considering the economy, I figured it would be best to save the cash.

I won the women's division. But I feel sad.

For the second week, I was the female frontrunner. That can mean running with the back of the male frontrunners. But not always.

I started out with them. Then I got a rock in my shoe at mile two. I caught up with them by mile 3, but felt cruddy for running fast at the beginning of the race. My head was spinning. All the while I was trying to catch up, I kept worrying I was getting lost. I had to find them. Once I got back with the group of 3, another guy popped up.

"Hey did anyone lose their gloves?"
ugh. I'd purposefully tossed them because I was tired of carrying them.

Then there seemed to be some sort of guy testosterone, push the pace thing going on. I don't know, it could have been my imagination. I have a beautiful imagination, but sometimes it misfires. This was one of those times.

More anxiety. My thoughts were going to all these crazy places, and I needed to regroup.

I took a step back. And went to my happy place. Zen running. A seed in a pot, that gows into a flower, and gives off oxygen.

I ran alone.

Steady, strong, calm and at peace. Me and the woods... no music, just the rustling sounds of leaves, and the water. I love to run by the water. Mile 21 I was bubbling with happiness . I thought, "ten more.. no problem. This is fun."

The path seem warm and enveloping. And out of the corner of my eye-- I saw a sparkle. Could it be fairy dust? I thought so, but in this race I had enough power on my own.

I ate dates... lots of dates, when I needed to eat. I took salt when I needed to take salt. I drank a lot of Mountain Dew at the aid stations, my only human contact. Not once for the rest of the race did I feel like I just wanted it to be over. I seemed to be firmly in first place for the women, and I thought about the new shoes I'd get.

While running, I didn't feel abandoned. I've talked to others who ran or stopped running this same race. Some feel they were left by their friends. All who ended up with a running buddy were elated and inspired by the company. I, was neither of these. However, I did appreciate the encouragement and understanding from Rick Mayo at the half. There is just something different and unbeatable about the help you get from someone who knows the sport. Thank you Rick.

But out in the woods, I was a self sufficient, ultra machine. In the end, I came in just a minute behind Jim M who had ultra-company and support most of the way.

So somehow with only 2 other ultras under my belt, I managed to chop an hour and a half off my psycho psummer time. All alone. I didn't get lost. Not even a little.

Caleb ran such an incredibly fast time of 4:14, that my 5:48 winning time for the females didn't get much notice. During the awards ceremony, I was sitting by Pat Perry and told him how excited I was about the big trophy I was getting. Later I realized it wasn't mine, instead was for the series winner, so I gave it back. There wasn't even a picture of me with it. Maybe that's why I'm sad.

Maybe it's because I ended up running alone the same pace as the little group ahead of me. They were probably only a minute ahead for most of the second half of the race. But you can't tell in the woods.

Afterwards Jim M, kind of smugly said I couldn't have caught up the 4 minutes where they had gotten ahead, and that they were probably 10 ahead of me at one point. Nope. You weren't. I was just 2 or 3 behind at the half. And I was strong the last 5, just didn't plow through them because I thought your group was running a lot faster than you were. And let's face it Jim, you were wearing my lucky number, 49.

But I was at peace.. even stopped at mile 28 to paint a muddy heart on my arm. I call it mudsterbation. Usually my friends and I paint each other-- but this time, as in my life currently, I was taking care of myself emotionally and physically, and superficially.

I had sent an email to Pat Perry, letting him know I’d given back the trophy. By that time, I’d come to peace with it. Explaining, accomplishment is internal—and that that is something no one can take away. He sent me an email back saying I should have fought Them for it.

While I am sad, I don't care what anybody thinks-- I'm in this race-- and whether anyone notices or not... I'm winning. Selfish? Self centered? How about survivor. Courageous. Sure it would be nice to have a pacer. But it's even nicer to know you can do it alone, like the seasoned warriors.

While many are scared to death, judgemental and hostile about my strength and attitude, the people who matter most to me are proud.

A funny thing happened... I stopped in at work on Friday. That Sophie-trophy was on my desk plus a new special message on my phone. Plus Willie called.. he says I can always be number 49 in his races.

58 minutes 49 seconds

2008-10-20T18:23:00.000-07:00

My road is tough. It's full of rocks and roots, hills and water crossings. Sometimes I'm on it alone-- other times I'm not. Still as I forage an unconventional path, I don't feel lonely. I feel energized. The scenery, stunning. The deer are my friends and my dog Puccini bounds up and down the hills, teasing. Catch me. Catch me.

I thought about bringing Puccini to the Fall Fell 7 miler, but decided against it. I'm tapering for Rock Creek, but was still hoping to run a decent pace. I didn't think the dog was the right companion, this time. I was hoping for 9:30 a mile pace. 9's would be super. Sometimes we surprise ourselves.

I caught up with Bad Ben about a mile into the race. A small relief since he was carrying a water bottle and I wasn't. I call it "Bendaid." A travelling aid station.
"We lost the young guy. He's usually one of the frontrunners." We were about at mile 5.
"Are we frontrunners?"
"Yes, Sophia we are."

It was a new trail for me, with some real challenges.
"This section is like the red trail."
The rocks were looser though, and kind of steep like at Wyco. But I was ok.

As I ran, I felt in perfect rhythm with the universe.
"It's like Neverland."
Emotionally naked, the rocks and roots were my jewelry. More profound than any band of metal.
I felt like I was flying as I went down the hills. I tap danced around the rocks in the water. Taking pleasure in the Element.
"Branch. Stump. Log."
Ben was shouting out warnings, and leading the way. We kept running into people who got lost and did an extra loop, so I was grateful . It was like running after Magellan, a human GPS! Was Ben having a bad day-- or was I having another breakthrough?
"Good job Ben!"
The surprise in Kyle's voice let me know, we were both having a very good race.
But it didn't feel that fast. It just felt good.

Honestly, I don't even remember the hills.
I do remember the water. On the first attempt, I nearly fell in. I guess I'm supposed to stand staight and look forward. But I got better.
On take two.. It was sheer, unadulterated JOY!

"Come on-- you're gonna catch him."
Dick Ross was adding some commentary.
"Yes, I am."
But not that day. A flourish of a finish, but Ben had me by 2 seconds. I figure he deserves to finish ahead for carrying the aid station, and for keeping me from getting lost.

Pace per mile? 8:23. I came in first female, and got a Trail Nerds hoodie for a prize. A 10th over all finish. Perfect 10!

Most of all, I had an endorphine rush that would be illegal if the Republicans had any idea how good it feels.

58 minutes 49 seconds. It was the best time I've had in my entire life.

I wanted to share it. I had our weather guy, Alex throw a couple pics in the weathercast that night. Got some funny emails from Topeka Nerds on that one.

Oh and the dog. He is always so sad when I come home, covered in mud and smelling like fun. The next morning I woke up an hour and a half before the alarm. Puccini looked at me with longing eyes.
"Please, please- can we run?"
It was off to Clinton, where he bounded up hills, splashed in the water and flew down the hills. Happy, happy, happy. Just like his mommie.

Muddy Hugs

Hangin' with the EX

2008-10-13T16:41:00.000-07:00

On September 7th, five weeks ago, I posted a blog about divorcing pavement. I had decided I needed to take the plunge. Make a choice about which surface was for me. It has been oddly difficult.

Like all divorces, you end up spending some time with the ex. In the past 2 weeks, ( over 3 weekends) I've been asked to emcee or run paved races, because of my job as a newscaster. The first was just a 5k, my least favorite distance. I ran with my friend Stefanie and wasn't shooting for any great time. The weather was absolutely beautiful. In the middle weekend, I had a trail running breakthrough. The next paved race weekend proved more interesting, and difficult emotionally. It was a half marathon. It would be a lot of time on pavement, and a distance, of which I'm much more fond.

Again, the weather was perfect. My ex was looking great. I met some folks during the race who were pretty nice. I'd met up with some new Trail Nerds before the race. I was running fast. I started to wonder if my ex was trying to get me back. 7 miles/ 55 minutes. 9 miles 1:10. 13.1 in 1:43. My previous half marathon PR was 1:48:30. Yup, the ex wants me, and wants me bad.

But for this MudBabe, it was lipstick on a pig . Remember that swollen toe problem I had after 21 MILES the week before. It started around mile 5 and my left hip started to ache around mile 7. I hit mile 10.
"Oh she's got a second wind."
There was a fellow about 59 running behind me. Not a typical running type, but he was keeping up.
Little did he know it wasn't a second wind. Just desparation to get OFF THE PAVEMENT.

Every time I looked down it looked the same. Asphalt, concrete. For a paved race though, it was a nice course. Through neighborhoods, and a loop instead of out and back. "Come back to me trail runner-- I'm so smooth!!" Still, despite the fall season, I didn't even cross a leaf. Or a twig. Did someone sweep them off before the race? I was BORED. And no amount of running fast was going to help.

I didn't have a moment of confusion, or regret for my decision to choose the trails. Several factors played into this. My week of breakthrough running-- but also the following week of runs that directly preceded the race. One breakthrough just wasn't enough for this MudBabe.

Covered in fairy dust, I've been tackling the Red Trail. 300 million year old limestone and shale blocks. In the past it's been my favorite spot at Clinton for beauty, but I shied away from it on solo training runs because technically it's so difficult. Running with the groups, we always just walk it. But lately, I've noticed Bad Ben just flying over the rocks. I wanted to be able to do it too. Amazing what running that portion twice a day, 2 days in a row can do. I'm running it. Not as fast as Ben yet-- but definitely improved. And I'm addicted. I couldn't stop thinking about it while I was on that pavement.

Dead tired, the alarm blares. 6:30am. Don't have to go to work until 2pm. Sure, I could sleep in and run on pavement at 10 or 11. Nope. I bound out of bed.. twitching for another attack on the Red Trail.

Or I'm returning from an appointment in KC. Do I meet up with a friend for lunch? Nope. Red Trail again.

Another bonus. I'm mentoring some new Trail Nerds I'd met the previous Sunday at Sandrat.
"You are our trail running guru!" I had just taken Topekan's Hunter and John on a tour of the Governor's Mansion, and their first experience on single track.
"Wow-- this is amazing. I'm so bored with pavement. We need a Topeka Trail Nerds Chapter."
Well guys.. you've got it.
"ew. Look at all the snot on your tights!"
I have a mucus problem, and keep forgetting a hankie.
"You're the snotty hottie!"
It just doens't take long to bond with new runners. We'd already run across a gaveyard. I made a joke about shallow unmarked graves. But there was no whining.
"How do you deal with the runner's high Sophia?"
John had just flown down a hill like a kid at recess at Clinton.
"You were so up when we met you at Sandrat."
"I try to never come down! And fortunately running on the trails is easier on your body so you can run more-- faster and faster-- higher and higher --although I do use ample amounts of fairy dust. Flying."

Here's the scary part though.

What if this paved half marathon had been September 6th, instead of October 11th? On the cusp of my decision to go with the trails. I would have missed the Northshore trail run, where I had progress. Not a breakthrough, but progress. With just the fun of a few weeks on the trails, but no true rhythm, I'm not sure I would have been strong enough to stick with my decision. (by the way, I ended up passing that lady in front of me in the pic--that was the one paved blip in the trail race)

It's really hard to make a decision to go with something new and unconventional if you don't immerse yourself in it. Or if you aren't in it long enough to really have a breakthrough. What strikes me most about my path on the trails, is that each day, week and now a month, piece after piece falls in place and the confusion goes away. This time, I made the right choice. But that hasn't always been the case for me.

A big goal for me was to get a job as a reporter in Kansas City. It was the right, conventional choice for a young woman advancing her career. Day after day. Year after year, I got more and more confused. Finally, I broke my contract and quit. It was a rocky time.
"Sophia, do you want me to get your job back."
My lawyer was trying to help.
"No, I don't want to go back there."
As I struggled along this path though, things fell into place. The confusion dispelled.
I got a job I like a lot better. Even though Topeka is a much less glamorous city.
Many reporters work here, hoping to get to KC. Not the other way around.
Topeka, an unconventional choice. But I like it.
I have fun at work.. Like at this recent fire.

Most important, I fell in mud with trail running and met a wonderful, supportive group of friends.

So I have a new theory. Perhaps it's too simple for most people to follow.
If you make a big choice in life and are riddled with chronic confusion, it's the wrong one.
If you make a big choice in life and the little pieces fall into place it's the right one--even though you may hurt at times for what you lost.
Most people make the wrong choices because of duty, or convention.

Now if you still don't beleive me. ask yourself.. was the confusing choice somehow the easier, status quo choice? Because, staying in KC reporting, would sure have been easier, and more dutiful than what I chose. But I would have been confused. And honestly, even though the Nerds are out of KC, I'm not sure I would have had the energy to try something new.

I was talking about the "ex" factor with John and Hunter after the race.
"Well, Sophia there is the comfort factor in hainging with the ex."
"Yeah, but I was bored."
"Me too. I'm ready to run the trails, Original MudBabe."
"Hills on Thursday, guys!"
"Hills on Thursday!"

Muddy Hugs, everyone.

The nicest answers I ever got to life's questions.

2008-10-07T16:16:00.000-07:00

Julia Wharton:

Summarize me in one sentence:
A smart, passionate and stunningly beautiful woman who is so strong and sure of herself that she goes after what she deserves.
Take a stab at my middle name: Mudbabe
How long have you known me?
Two teasing years, with a nice month tacked-on the end of that.
When is the last time that we saw each other?
MCIday
Do I drink?
yes
Do I smoke?
Only in bed.
Do I do Drugs?
Not since the Madcap Miami Days
Am I happy?
Intrinsically happy, but happier in the right company, with a good dog, or out on a run.
Am I a good person?
Good and good-hearted.
What was your first impression of upon meeting me/seeing me?
A gorgeous, self-assured woman who doesn't care what "haters" think about her.
What's one of my favorite things to do?
Sitting and snuggling in the right lap.
Who do i love more than my life?
My dear Phillip
Am I funny?
Witty, smartly funny and "punny."
Have you ever made me smile?
Many times, sometimes in shades of yellow.
What's my favorite type of music?
Open to most genres of music. Music can set my mood and my moods can set the music. I'm passionate about classical music, especially passionate about 20th century composers such as Prokofiev, and modern composers such as P. Wharton. Open to any type of music but gansta rap.
Have you ever seen me cry?
I saw a "Hillary tear" moment, once.
Can I sing?
Yes, and well.
What is the best feature about me?
Personality and infectious energy, and capacity for love.
Am I shy or outgoing?
Outgoing, definitely.
Am I a rebel or do I follow the rules?
A Rebel at heart, but keeps the rules in mind.
Do I have any special talents?
I play the violin, I have great stage presence, and am a very loving person.
Would you call me preppy, average, sporty, punk, hippie, glam, nerdy, snobby, or something else (what)?
All of the above, but I pull off everything with class.
Have you ever hugged me?
yes
Kissed me?
passionately
What is my favorite food?
Seafood
Am I a good cook?
A natural chef.
Am I dating anyone?
Yes, yes, yes.
If there was one good nickname for me, what would it be?
Beautiful Mudbabe
What's your favorite memory of me?
You opening your door for me on a certain Tuesday.
What is my worst habit?
Dating the wrong men...but have learned recently.
Do I like corn dogs?
A resounding NO
Have you ever had a dream about me?
Every night.
If you and I were stranded on a desert island, what is the one thing I would bring?
A $2 million dollar violin.
Are we friends?
yes
Whats my religion?
A profound belief in God and Humanity's capacity for love.

I believe in Fairies!!

2008-10-06T14:56:00.001-07:00

This amazing thing has happened. I've found rhythm running on the trails. Not pretend rhythm-- real live I count to 4 and feel my little feet pushing the dirt, rocks, and roots around rhythm. Power.
"Your stride is longer, Sophia."
It is and I can feel it. I pummel down the hills.
Wee hee!! I yell. It's pure unadulterated freedom. At last.
"Wow, she's speeding up on us."
Yes I am gentlemen. Follow me.
It's Saturday and 12 miles later, I'm tired. For good reason. 10 miles Monday at Perry with new Mudbabe Vanessa, mega-tron hill repeats at the Gov's on Wednesday. 16 miles on the hookie run at Clinton on Friday at a fast pace. Now it's Saturday and we're at mile 18.
"I think it would help a little to speed up." And it does, until at 21 my toe starts to swell. Still when I finish my heart is beating strong-- and I have lots of energy.
I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and was seriously worried I'd be dead weight on the 20 mile (I thought ) run.
"Was that more than 20?" We'd just finished and my watch showed over 4 hours.
"Hell yes. Try 23 or 23.7."
Phew... I can forgive myself for getting tired at 21 after a tough day prior. Had it happened at 18, I would have felt like a loser.

I've gotten kind of addicted to these back to back long runs. It's true ultra training and there's something kind of exhilarating and crazy about it.
But my week wasn't over.
The cherry on the Sundae was Sunday's Sandrat 9.7 mile river run.
Despite a flexibilty workout after the 23 mile run on Saturday, my legs were as sore and stiff. I didn't know what to expect on Sunday. But I didn't expect much.
"I may be trotting in the back helping out a slower runner."
"How are those sticks after 23 miles yesterday Sophia?"
Gary Henry was headed past me. He'd been saving himself since Wednesday for the Sandrat.
Oddly, my legs felt pretty good at the start-- but would they last?
Mile after mile, I look at my watch and realize we're running 8:10- 8:20 a mile. RTB RTB.
I ran with Superhero Mudbabe Debbie. Took her steady on- the whole race.
6 minutes faster than she ran the year before.
"I wish I could bottle up what was making you run so fast."
I'd told Debbie it might be the Sumatran Velvet coffee I had that morning--but I think it was something more powerful than that.
"FAIRY DUST! Peter Pan gave it to me."
Rounding the final patch of pavement at the end Kelley and Matthew were chearing me on.
"Your running looks incredible, Sophia. You didn't even look tired. Matthew said the same thing."

Age group winners got rats. Here's the Mudbabe "Ratpack."

If anyone had told me on Monday I would run 16 fast miles on Friday. 23 good paced miles on Saturday-- and top it off with nearly 10 at an 8:18 pace on Sunday-- I would have said.. I wish you were talking about me, because that's amazing. But I would not have beleived it could be me.

Could I possibly have worked hard enough to acheive this? Do I deserve it? Tonight I look in the mirror at the fit woman staring back. She's smiling with a twinkle in her eye. I like her. I like her a lot. Actually, I adore her. She does deserve this. And it is me.

How did I do it? Not easy. Train hard. Lots of purposeful miles. Fast miles, hill miles, back to back long runs and planned recovery. I lost 18 pounds.
"Sophia, are you size 4?" Yes I am.

Still that was all easy compared with the mental weight I shed.
External changes are good, but much easier than taking care of yourself emotionally, and making changes from the inside out. But I was ready, and I started cleaning. Tossing out a lot of unnecessary baggage. Mostly guilt with a dash of confusion and some judgement.

I've been carrying a lot of guilt all of my life. Early in September, I said goodbye to guilt for good. Things became clear. I wasn't confused anymore.
"When did you stop going to church, Sophia?" My brother's friend Summer and I were talking about the Christian guilt factor.
"Oh a long time ago-- but I just stopped feeling guilty about not going 2 weeks ago." Still, I don't judge people who love going to church, if it makes them feel good.

Running in the woods makes me feel good. So I'll stick to that.
64 miles this week.
4 different Kansas trails.

When I was a child, my parents and grandfather's mantra was "if it's fun don't do it." So I always felt a twinge of guilt when I'd have fun. Now, not only do I feel no guilt, I make a concerted effort to allign as much fun in every part of my life, inclulding work--or even cleaning the bathroom, that I can. So much laughter. So much joy. So many spontaneous unexpected options. Because I have no guilt.

A funny thing happens when you expell a powerful ( negative) emotion like guilt and confusion. There is a beautiful gorge left in your soul. All of a sudden, people you used to think couldn't give you what you needed seem to give you enough. My whole life I've asked for so much emotionally from others. Unfortunately guilt, confusion and judgement were filling up the place the love was supposed to go-- and the love bounced off. Now the love goes in.
Inside I'm warm, loved and happy. A healthy glow-- with a sprinkle of Fairy Dust.

Muddy Hugs!

Small thoughts.. Big Projects..

2008-10-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

I have so many wonderful thoughts in my head. A poem. A shortstory. A thank you. I just don't have the time to organize them right now. Much of this writing comes to me as I run. With 64 tough, purposeful miles under my feet this week, I'm loaded. Itching to write. Desparate to express. But it must wait. I read an email from my brother and realized I needed to write up a grant application, spruce up his bio, and write a cover letter (in his voice) OVERNIGHT.

So I'm off to my contemplation room, where I'll put his passion and thoughts onto paper. I hope this will get him a residency with an orchestra. But mostly I hope it will bring his beautiful and intricate music to children and adults everywhere.

Still here are some pics from another, fun insightful week in the world of Mud, we know as Sophie's World.

It's lively and beautiful in Sophie's World

2008-09-28T19:18:00.001-07:00

I've been so busy lately, I don't even know where to start. On Thursday, I emceed an event called Live Red. Promoting women taking care of their hearts. I heard some really interesting facts about how much fat there is in Kentucky Fried Chicken.

This picture with the Cooking Cardiologist taht has the hunter gatherer in the background reminded me of a something Pat Perry said while on Coleen's birthday run.
"My family only eats wild game-- which incidentally, Pat shoots with a bow and arrow. Think about what the animals you eat,eat-- and if it's corn and feed (which is often reconstituted cow by-products--gross) it's not going to be good for you."

My co-emcee Lou was super cool, and told me all about the wonders of being single at 50!

Here's my heart healthy meal.

Saturday morning I emceed a local 5k. The weather was beautiful.

And I was presented with my first ever Sophia Spencer BOBBLE HEAD. I was ecstatic. Sometimes the little things in life are the best.

My gorgeous friend and co-worker Stephanie came along. She shot some video, ran with me and even won a Medal!! At the race, I got to talk to a 75 year old who'd run the Boston Marathon. (which I ran this past April)

He ran the 5k in a respectable at any age time of about 26 minutes and change. But he wanted to talk about politics.

"Hey did you see the debate last night?"
"Oh I didn't. My friend Clare had a friend visiting from Europe. We all sat talking about jazz, installation art, chamber music, prisms, photography and Indian Philosophy. I call it Sophie's World-- and it's beautiful."

" Sounds fascinating-- and you didn't miss much in the debates. You should hold onto those great moments with friends."
"Thanks. I'm fortunate that they happen most days and weekends." More and more, I realize my day-dream world is meshing with real life.

Clare's friend Hayden, tuned up this instrument that a little stick bug was enjoying. We all had such fascinating conversation about different musical processes and programs. Clare made a delicious vegetarian tart, and we drank red wine and my favorite selection of fine cheeses.

Conversation moved from Alexander technique to the unique intricacies of dealing with opera singers. If you think runners are nuts about their training and bodies-- try going out to dinner with your local opera diva.

"Oh excuse me-- do you have Perrier? And could I have a special dressing? Still, I'll have the cheese soup and extra large steak and potatoes so I can keep up my enormous figure." Don't even ask about their accomodation needs.

But the majority of the conversation was in the lightness, brightness and color. Out of the beige world. Clare has just moved out of suburban darkness and drab, into a beautiful house full of color, wood floors, character and inspiration. It was the perfect venue.

Enlightenment comes if you're open to it and courageous enough to pursue it--even if it means breaking the mold of convention. I am blessed with so much creative, artistic beauty in my life.

Oh and-- even with all this going on-- I managed to run 63 miles this week. A new Sophie Record. Most of it at Clinton Lake, where my mind, body and spirit united, along with some memorable phone photo ops. The best pictures are the ones you can only get if you can run at least 10 miles on a rocky rooty trail! Art imitating life. A very, very good life.

On an odd side note: the Salmon Flats salad at In-gre-dient in Lawrence is incredible.

Angels

2008-09-28T17:07:00.000-07:00

Recently I was referred to as an "Angel." Sounds nice huh? It was. However, I don't think the author of the comment meant one of the frilly Halloween or Christmas Angels. And not the dark angel either. Defintely not dark.

It's not the first time I've been called this. My friend Emma sent me a passionate, heartfelt card a few years ago. We were great friends in State College, PA. She's glamorous, tall, insightful, and as is often the case with women of those qualities, beaten down and misunderstood. But not by me. Her card read "you are an angle (she misspelled it-- I hope I'm an "acute" one instead of "obtuse.") sent into my life to enrich it.

It was such an honor to watch her grow, think and learn to love. That angel Sophia was a sweeter guardian type. That was what was needed. A warm hand, a kind thought, experience of being older. Encouragement. Validation, and unconditional love. Even when I wasn't confused and knew what would happen, I let her stumble and fall and find her own way. When she reached out her hand, mine was always there. Emma, you are my sister.

The new Sophia angel is a warrior. Because that is what is needed. Fierce in love. Courageous. Focussed. Powerful and strong. Enough for 2. I have had to practice fighting, endure countless battles of emotional tests. And each time something comes up, it's easier and easier. This angel learns. She wasn't strong enough before. But that has changed.

I will watch the stumbles, and the falls of confusion. Over and over. But my light is bright. And these arms are oh so strong. All my enegy harnessed and ready.

I will drag you out of the beige, colorless darkness. But not until you ask.

This is what the author of the comment meant.

Stretcheeeed

2008-09-23T17:12:00.000-07:00

My brother is visiting again. This time so we can play some concerts with my mom. One raised 5 thousand dollars for the Topeka Symphony-- the other raised the bar for performances for local children.

The time with my family has really been great-- especially compared to the last visit when I was all sad and grumpy. Enough was enough. I duct taped up my shattered heart-- slapped a little mud on for texture and viola!! Family fun time.

Well sort of. My mom's not too much into fun, although she did go for her second ever pedicure. The first was on the prior visit.

I made sure I did a long run (15 miles) with the MudBabes on Friday. We billed it as the "nooner/hookie" run. Lots of fun. Part of the fun was a slide into mile 9. Another home run, earning a score of 10 from Superhero mudbabe Debbie Webster (Webbie) . Dirt from my shins to my chin with no major injury. There was even dirt in my nostrils. And my mouth.
"Hey -- take my picture-- this is awesome!! Look dirty mud everywhere!"
Ample chatting is part of the MudBabe movement. Since I was mid-sentence when I fell, I took in quite a bit. Oh that's a leaf she's pointing at.

Still, Mizuno Mudbabe Kelley Johnson joined us and said my trail running is vastly improved. As my brother would say: "Outside validation is sooo important."

My arms were pretty sore on Saturday. Actually everthing was sore, including an odd spot at the small of my back. Strange since I fell forward into the mud. Fortunately it didn't affect my violin playing too much. In fact, it might have made it a little better.

I was really anxious about the Sunday concert. I haven't performed a solo concert like this in 12 years. My brother was there to play some duets with me-- but for one selection it was me and the piano (my mom). The duct taped heart shined through. I played with power, heart, soul and lots of passion.
I drove my mom home after the concert.
" You sure didn't sound like you haven't been practicing regularly for 12 years."
There were a few seeds in the musical lemonade, but like a couple rocks and roots on a trail, it just added flavor. After the concert I popped over to the station to anchor. A 2 sport day for the mind. Phew. I felt stretched.

The real star is my brother. He played like a classical rock star. Power, accuracy, intelligence and color. He peppered the intimate performance in a Symphony Patron's house with humor as he introduced our selections, and played with true inspiration. I'll admit, as I was turning pages for my mom, I was so proud I teared up. He was playing his own composition. It was hard-- and incredible.

"This world class composer is my brother."

The same brother who patched up my house.

His friend Summer Jones came in from San Diego for the concert. She added some zip to Casa Spencer where she stayed on the fine accomodations of my spare room and an air mattress. Summer got a math degree in between stints as a dancer with the Rockettes and now works as a choreographer in San Diego.

"Philip said you played wonderfully."
Wow. My super talented brother told Summer I played well. He told me too, but I wasn't sure if it was real until I found out he told someone else.

Shucks. She's sad in this picture, because the trip was too short. Don't worry Summer.. you'll be seeing me again sooon.

Not much time to breathe though-- concert number two is looming. Taking kids to a new level is time and talent consuming. And as multi-talented as I am, I needed a lot of help to make my brother's vision come through on this one. I got us into doing the concert and the payback came from Philip when he told me I was going to have to sing. While I'm pretty confident about my narration skils-- singing is another world.. but I was up for the job.

He wrote a song with piano trio accompanyment to a poem called "The Perfect Pig." The pig doesn't like itself, so the other animals offer up their best features. Since it was written in 2004, the pig doesn't get a tube of lipstick.

Philip wanted an actor or dancer to dress as a pig-- and then put on other costumes to represent the other animals on top. Favor number 1. My friend Clare gets her friend Ric Averill who is uber theater/music/children's everything guru, to pony up some costumes. Philip did the rest.

We need a page turner. A local retired heart surgeon who also plays the piano helps with that, and recorded the show, and is let my mom practice on his outstanding Steinway all week. Incidentally, he also hosted concert number one. Thank you Dr. Paul Kindling.

Meanwhile, I've taken my mom away from her job teaching French and piano at Luther College for a week to accompany us. Thank you mom.

Oh and the actor. Yikes-- who to ask. I start calling around. No luck. No luck anywhere.
Then Craig Gold our morning meteorologist shows up to pick up some tickets to the Royals, I got from an old friend in KC. He's perfect. And says he'll do it!

Nancy at the library has helped with everything along the way. Thanks Nancy.
I have a video camera, so I'm all set there-- but I could use some editing. I'll tackle that later--

Finally we needed an audience. Thanks to my neighbors on Pembroke Lane, my trail running buddies and all the folks who saw the concert promoted on KTKA.

It sure seemed like everyone enjoyed our musical offering.. Craig was adorable as the pig-- prancing around in an assortment of costumes-- and afterwards I let the kids try on the pig/fish/stag/ elephant etc parts. Now that was cute.

Most of all, I loved to see their faces-- entranced at watching the violin's bow-- or seeing a new picture that went with the animal sounds the violin represented. Grow little keepers of new experiences. Grow.

Reporting on Flight 93.. thoughts

2008-09-14T16:57:00.000-07:00

I was packing to head out to my first “real” job in news in Johnstown, PA. I’d worked for 2 years as an anchor in West Virginia, but the station didn’t have live shots and was very small. In fact, we still used a paper teleprompter. This was a job with a real newsroom and live capabilities. I was excited to be in the field working as a reporter. Little did I know what field it would be.

While at the hairdresser in my hometown of Decorah, IA, I heard the news of the crash on the radio. But without pictures it was hard to understand what was going on.

By the time I came home, what had happened was all too clear. Two towers turned to rubble. My father was on the phone with my brother who lives in New York. He’d called to say he was ok.

An hour and a half later a plane crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. I’d never heard of the town. A map on television it was 24 miles from Johnstown, PA. My station, WJAC, was first on the scene.

When I reported for duty the next Monday, the small newsroom of reporters, photographers and producers were exhausted. 3 reporters had covered the crash non-stop for 6 days and they desperately needed sleep.

“Sophia, we’re going to work the crap out of you for the next week or so. We’ve got to give the others a break.”

I put on a pair of comfortable shoes, pinned a flag on my lapel and jumped right in.

Live shot at noon? Yes.

Live shot at 5? Yes.

Different story at 5:30? Yes.

More at 6? Yes.

Overtime until 11? Yes.

I was honored to say, “I’m live where the offensive for the war on terror began—as 33 passengers and 7 crew members on flight 93 stormed the cockpit where terrorists were trying to take-over the plane.”

Keep in mind the plane disintegrated, along with everthing in it. For months they found stray parts in trees and bushes across the lush Somerset County countryside.

This work was hard. It was emotional.

“Today the Coroner tells me, he’s identified four

passengers by dental remains.”

Those were the first ID’s of 40. The coroner worked tirelessly to make those ID’s and give the families some peace. Each family took what was found and had their funerals.

But the site where the plane crashed is like a sacred burial ground for the heroes. The people who live in Somerset county embraced those families, and are good stewards of the memorial. In all the sadness there is about 9-11, this is the one place where there is the most healing. Because the heroes were

fighters. You will never see a protest at near the hallowed ground of Flight 93.

Instead, you will see little homemade flags and angels.

Next time you’re on an airplane, look around you. I often think about those 33 passengers when I’m sitting on a plane. Who would you be? I hope I’d be a hero—or at least sit by one.

For some twist of fate the passengers on Flight 93 were an incredible bunch of people. I was fortunate to meet some of their surviving relatives.

Richard Guadagno was a longtime employee of the Fish and Wildlife Service. An environmentalist with a generous heart. Look over at his picture. Don't you wish you'd gotten to know him? I do. I met his parents at the first meeting about a memorial. They were warm and sweet and deeply hurt, but still shared their story with me. They told me what a charming and caring person their son was. They told me that their daughter went to clean out Richard’s apartment “just in case,” there were things they shouldn’t see. She called later to tell them there wasn’t anything they couldn’t have seen. They miss him so much.

Jason Dahl was the Captain of Flight 93. His sister-in-law told me that he flew her to visit her husband (his brother) once when they were dating. Jason flew her out there so his brother could see her in her “pretty new dress.”

On the second anniversary of the Flight 93 crash, I was assigned to a tree planting. Many family members were there. I went to talk to a woman in a United uniform, assuming she was a friend of one of the staff. Her story was not what I expected.

“I’m Mark Bingham’s aunt. He was flying on my sky-pass.”

My heart went out to her. All Americans have survival guilt, but hers is enormous.

What can we do?

Continue to fight.

And to remember.

Divorcing Pavement

2008-09-07T16:29:00.001-07:00

I've been running a lot lately on the trails. Some might call it a binge. But I don't like that word. It seems so undisciplined and unhealthy. Like binge drinking and binge eating. And I have binged on running before.
June: While the 50 miles a week I was pounding out may have seemed disciplined, I was headed right out my front door on pavement. Not just any pavement either. Hard unforgiving concrete. The whole experience makes me sad. First you notice a hip injury, then even your heart hurts as heat and exhaust fumes fill you up instead of warmth and nature. The worst part? The trails at the Governor's Mansion were only 2 miles away. Why didn't I just get in my car and drive over? Or ride my bike?

Sometimes the answers are so close in life-- yet we just can't grasp them.

Moving forward, I've decided I prefer the word "gorge." Much more positive. The word holds so much more passion and good will. Even topographically. While running on a trail, have you ever come up to a beautiful "Binge?" Nope. But there are many glorious gorges. And let's face it the word sounds like gorgeous.

So I'm gorging on trail running. I'll admit when I first started running with the Nerds it was more of a social outlet. I couldn't quite part with the rhythm and speed of the streets. And it's odd. How could someone with my passion and flare like training that's so boring? Easy answer. I just hadn't grown up enough. I've only been running since 2004, and sometimes it takes a while to figure things out. I was confused.

Over and over my friend Kelley would beg me please to get off the streets. She was afraid I was going to hurt myself. She knows me well and knows I like to overtrain. But like leading the horse to water, you can't make it drink. For the longest time, I just wasn't understanding. I would run the trails on the weekends with my Nerds and Mudbabes, but it was pavement all week. Everyone was telling me--"choose the trails," but I needed to learn it for myself.

It was so convenient to just pop out the door and pound the pavement.

But it wasn't just the convenience.. I wasn't sold. I convinced myself I wasn't taking the easy road because I was still running hard on the pavement. Hard enough to finish well at Boston. And I still had trouble getting my rhythm on the trails. I was afraid of falling. Often running the trails, I lost ambition and would just trot along slowly. No attempts at getting faster.

However, I liked the people. And I really liked the mud. I was just confused.

Some history: In December 2007, I got off the trail at Wyco during the chili run and happily returned to the pavement, but felt like a quitter. I was lost. Deep down I felt I was a trail runner, I just couldn't let go of the speed and ease. But you pay for that choice with chronic injuries.

August: I make a choice. I want to run. Not just today. Not just tomorrow. But forever. And I want to run far. 30-40-50-100 miles. I want to run in the woods with reckless abandon. I want to dance by the light of the moon and take an ad- hoc shower after a 10 mile run with my best friend. I come to terms with the summer insects. After creepy dreams of ticks, I overcome my fears and just pick-em off. And put me out front of the group. There is no spider web I won't run through. NOTHING scares me.

And The Governor's Mansion is still only 2 miles away.

I love those trails but hadn't run them since March 21st. Now I was ready to go back.

Trails on Mondays.
Trails on Tuesdays.
Hill repeats on Wednesday.
More, More, More, on Thursday.
Hills on Friday? Sure.
Run Lawrence in the morning and Hillsdale in the evening? Yes.
Race on Saturday. Count on it!
Trails everywhere, everyday. 50- 60 miles a week.

Sure, it costs me time since it takes longer to run those 50-60 miles on a trail. And it costs me money in gas to get to the longer trails. But it's worth it. Despite all those miles, my body feels great and it's rock solid. As for time and money? It's worth it too. Because good health and happiness are the most important things in life. I am sold. Sold on life. Sold on running trails. GORGE. I'm divorcing pavement.

I feel a little bad that I carried this -- well hard to say it-- love of running pavement all these months of being the Original Mudbabe. But now I close my eyes and I see these perfect formations of rocks and roots-- and I kind of get all giddy. I want to see how fast I can get around them....

So it returns. The need for speed. Can I find it on the trails?

Trail Race on Saturday: Well the extra practice combined with the destroy or die hill repeat regimen worked.

I ran solid 10 minute miles at a race at Clinton over the weekend. I darted ahead of the lady in front of me on the last half mile because it was... you guessed it.. uphill. I came in second for the ladies and made my best friend and myself proud. Considering I got hit by the ragweed and ran 14 miles the day before, I'm good with it.

And I do love being competetive. I'll get faster-- just you watch.

But this story isn't about being competetive. It's about seeing that sometimes the rocky, rooty tough choice is the right choice. It's about seeing what you want and overcoming confusion. It's also about allowing yourself to be confused, and working through it-- not just in your head, but by doing it. It's about loving two things, but moving forward even if it's not socially acceptable. And it's about making a choice -- even if you loved what you let go. If the reason you loved something is because it's convenient and easy, it's not true discipline. And that's unhealthy... so get on the trail!

Muddy Hugs,
OM

Shattered

2008-09-04T17:23:00.000-07:00

My brother just visited me for 2 weeks and it was really great. Once he realized I like to wash my muddy trail running shoes in the dishwasher, we got along just fine.
"Ew.. I guess I'll wash them by hand."
Great guy. Not only does he tolerate my peculiar (although effective) habits, he does dishes too.
He was there to paint my living room and patch up the house. At least that's what it looked like to the neighbors. Really he was there because my heart was broken. Patching the house and doing the landscaping were his way of showing love and support.

And it was HOT in Topeka.
He dug up daylilies which are nearly impossible to kill.
"I am lion, hear me roar!"
He had a huge bulb that looked like the trunk of a small tree in his hands. A former daylily from the area by the side of the house. That strip is now cheerfully spread with easy to manage red chip bark.
I need low maintainance when it comes to gardening.
"I can't beleive the Republicans think the Mexicans are taking jobs from Americans. No
American in their right mind would suffer through this work like a Mexican day laborer."
That is unless they love their sister.

I started to feel better.
Then my heart shattered. The pieces went everywhere and my brother didn't know what to do.
So he picked up the one nearest him.

And one by one my beautiful friends stepped up.
Stephanie, you were first and by design most constant. Listening with reckless abandon. Meeting me each day to work out, even when I didn't show up. You gave me hugs at work. You ran with me at 11 o'clock at night when my brain was about to explode. Most important you make me proud. Because you're running and growing as a woman. You put hope on your piece, and honesty.

Amy: You live in Hong Kong. Yet your love and strenth cross oceans. You took the time to compile a CD of songs to inspire me and to remind me of all the wonderful times we've had together. Your taste is truly ecclectic, from Chinese folk song to Poppie Pop music. Many would see yours as a dream life. A husband you love, two beautiful children and homes around the world. But when you see me, it's clear and you tell me so I know it's true... I am YOUR inspiration. And it's an honor. Thank you for asking for training programs and never giving up on your dream of being a distance running. Your piece holds my inspiration and it feels very loved.

Karen: You were there when my heart broke. You hugged me. You smiled and said how pretty I looked in my cute little dress. And all I could do was cry. But I had to go to work. One week later you sent me a card via snail mail. Since no one uses that anymore, it was special. You made your little piece special.

Laurel: Your insight in honest and pure. You paint a picture of truth. You also help me with my overcommittments which helps me get through each day. Like designing a program.
Your talents are so underestimated and it makes me happy to know that I understand you better than so many people. The little peice of my heart that you are nurturing right now is probably the strongest, and it's because of you. One day I hope to pay you back. Your piece has found it's ambition again.

Kelley: your piece is unique. You talk to it about work. You run with it. You listen and worry you aren't responding as you should. But all it needs is your special kind of love. Your love is so similar to what it lost, it makes you wonderful. Irreplacable. Don't be mistaken. You are nuturing and understanding too. I feel your spirit always. Your piece is oddly connected to the one I lost. So it's going to take a little more time to heal. But you are patient, and let the peice think out of the box. So it just might be ok.

Coleen: Your anger, not directed at me, is sincere. And oddly it gives me power. I know I can trust you because you say what you feel, not what you think I want to hear. You are always supportive, and lend an important perspective to a very difficult piece of my heart. And when I can barely run-- and gasp for breath on a rocky rooty trail, your hand extends to me. I make it through. I make it through. Your piece is stubborn. But you are working to train it.

Clare: Like a mother ship you keep me on course. When I stray in the wrong direction, you steer me home to what really matters. Crickets, a ceiling fan and the sweet soaring sounds of playing my violin. When I'm hurting and just can't put it into words. You can always explain why. Thank you for bringing me out of the crazy part of my head and imbedding me in what is deep and strong. You've painted your little peice with maps and charts to help it find it's way home.

Cindy: You are 100% fun. You've got your little peice of heart doing cartwheels. Bopping around the Power and Light district, dancing by the moonlight--or in a crazy bar, and meeting lots and lots of new and exciting friends. Gasp. I don't have to think about anything but having fun when I'm with you, and right now that's so important. What's peculiar, is that you say I'm YOUR most fun friend. hmmm.

Debbie: I saved you for last. You may be holding more than one piece. You listened. You suggested. You encouraged me to call the therapist over and over. And when I went, he suggested and encouraged me in the same ways you did. You may not be a professional, but your insight is incredible. Almost scary that someone can see as clearly as you do. You see reality. Not through rose colored glasses, but sharp 20/20 vision. When I am afraid, you give me strength. And you are relentless in your love, nurturing and encouragment. It is only a small percentage of women who are what you are. You are my hero and the Superhero MudBabe. The peices you hold.... are starting to beat again.

10 Beautiful girlfriends who love me for who I am and one incredible brother.
I am blessed. Truly.

Healing is a long process, even when the peices are all together. But not unlike my brother.. I too am a lion. Hear me Roar!

Muddy hugs

Race for the Cure-- to the toilet?

2008-08-11T19:03:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 3am the morning at my friend Kelley's where I'd spent the night before Race for the Cure. Something wasn't right. Whether it was the veggie burger I ate the night before, or just general stress, I felt sick. When it was time to get up for the race at 5:30, I was so dizzy, I had to get out of the shower wet but not clean, and lie down.
"do you need anything Sophia?"
"I'm sick. My head is spinning."
"Go back to bed. Don't race if you feel sick."
I had to do this race. I'd spent most of the week setting up interviews with Travis Fox. He'd done my trail running group (trail nerds/muddbabes) and my friend Coleen and me personally a huge favor by designing a logo for Brew to Brew. Later it became the logo for the trail running ladies. His mom, Cindy died of breast cancer at only age 42.
I called my photographer Justin.
"I just about threw up. I'm dizzy and I've had other 'adventures with the bowl' all night."
"I thought you were going to puke during the race (from running fast)"
"Justin it's coming out both ends."
"Can't you put a cork in it?"
I laughed weakly. But he gave me what I needed. A little push. Had he been lackluster about going to the story, I would have crawled back in bed. Well actually I did crawl back in bed, but not for long. I managed the shower and got to the race. I was greeted warmly by my best muddbabes Coleen and Debbie. We wore our pink shirts with the logo Travis designed in honor of his mom.
"How are you?"
I think Debbie was asking about my emotional state, but instead got a synopsis of the power sprayer out the end, I'd been dealing with all morning.
And the race was very inspiring.
24 thousand people running for a cure, in memory, for awareness-- or just simply for hope.
I brought a small video camera and did interviews which aired on my TV station that night at ten. My friends Debbie and James caught up with me (Coleen was running slow with her charity group) and I interviewed them and got some cute shots of Debbie's shoes. I was very touched by so many that I met. I'm glad I could do my part, and also share it on the news.

And I was able to give back in another way. A young girl had stopped with a super-sized ankle at the aid station (where they were destroying the planet passing out plastic bottles -sheesh people it's a 5k?!!) Anyway the workers seemed to understand about as much about a swollen ankle as they did about the planet. I grabbed some ice out of the bin and fashioned an ice pack with the remnants of a bag on the ground. I hope her ankle is ok. The volunteers did call for transportation for her.

I suppose you all didn't need so much information from me on my physical state-- but hey it proves you can get through anything. Right?
Also in Coleen's interview she said she did her first self breast exam in the shower the night before. Her husband will not let her live down that she told the world she felt herself up the night before the race! Oh yeah that one was not going to die on the edit bay floor! So I'll tease myself about my rear end issues.
And anyway let's face it, the Trail Nerds' Muddbabes are after all -- a movement!! (please insert baby wipe joke here...)

Mudd and Kisses everyone!

Stephanie's First 8k

2008-08-07T19:14:00.001-07:00

"Do you eat before you race?"
"Yup. Always something. At least a piece of fruit. Wheat tortilla if you can stomache it."
My friend Stephanie/newscast producer was running her first race since college and I could tell she was nervous. Earlier in the week we both gasped through a 5 miler.
"How long is 8k?"
4.97 miles. She was starting to worry she wouldn't be able to do it.
"You can always race twice as far as you can run on a training run." Don't ask me where that came from originally, but i think it's pretty true.
First little surprise-- and I should have known when I saw the distance. Grass! Lots of soft grass to run on.. but it can add a little to your time.
Turns out it was a sort of cross country team reunion for Topeka West and there was a decent turnout.
On your mark-- get set-- go!
"Don't go too fast Steph!"
"Oh I won't."
This was the main reason I was running with her. It's so easy to jump out of the gate too fast. Especially when it seems like people are flying in front of you. Add a little adrenaline and excitement and you've got the recipe for disaster. I don't know the exact chemistry, but starting out fast throws a bunch of nasty lactic acid in your legs that will burn like crazy on the last few miles-- which will end up much slower.
We did ok. 8:50 the first mile. But the course got harder. Up and down the grassy hills.
"Let's take this one."
I encouraged Stephanie to power up a little knoll-- and she's great because she's always up for a challenge and a little competition. After all she was an athlete growing up.
"When I ran the 400 in High School we used to say it was one minute of hell."
"Well today might be a little longer in hell."
And it was hot. Hot hot hot in Topeka.
The humidity was so high the sweat was just clinging to our skin and not evaporating.
"I wish this was a 5k."
"We'll be ok, just keep the breathing steady Stephanie."
"Do you want to just go ahead Sophia?"
We were at mile 4.
"Nope this day is about you. But I can if you want me to go to the car and take a picture of you at the finish line. It's up to you. Company or picture?"
"I don't know what I want." she kind of whined.. but just a little.
"I think you should stick with the company."
"Yeah."
The last mile can be pretty rough. A mile doesn't seem long. Unless you're racing. We got to the last 200 yards and could see the finish.
"Kick it Steph."
She has an amazing sprint and I knew I couldn't catch her, but didn't care. I was so proud of her on her first race. She had prepared so well and ran a great time. 46 minutes and change. Much faster than the 50 minutes she'd hoped for.
Later for more fun-- I ran the kiddie race on the grass barefoot. Back to nature!

A couple days later we were chatting at work.
"Hey I forgot to tell you thanks so much for running with me. And I feel bad you ran all that way and then I finished ahead. When you could have creamed me if you'd just run your regular pace."
It was not a problem. I was glad to be a running mentor and good friend. And as fate would have it. The time I ran earned me a 2nd place medal in my age group. Go figure.

Muddy Hugs,
Mud Stud

Lunar Trek--Friendship in lonliness

2008-08-06T19:10:00.001-07:00

It was dark and I was running alone. Why? Although I looked like Goldilocks with my hair curling in the incredible humidity, in fact I was baby bear. 20 miles was too short-- 40 too long-- 31 was just right. Unfortunately my old friends were doing 20 and Danny Miller who jumped in with me at the start wanted to do 40. So I was alone-- trying to get back my mudstud stripes! Miles 1-15 were a blast. I overanalyzed everything from running to diet and relationships. Danny entertained me with some stories of Vegas-- which--well-- had best be left alone. The big highlight for me was when I realized we were actually running ahead of the famous "Kearney Boys." Straight from the Heartland.. these guys run fast.
"Woo hoo!" I did a little swirl and dance in my black running skirt and pink mud Babe's top. "We're ahead of the Kearney Boys."
"Not for long."
Thanks John. But we trotted into the 15 mile aid station a touch ahead of them-- Danny went on for greater longer distances-- and I turned around into the darkness of the night-- and my thoughts. Over the next few miles I'd see the 50k runners who were behind me since it was an out and back course.
Here comes someone-- wow-- smells good.
"Nick?!! Nick." I realized Nick the lady killer was running the 50k.
Things got very dark after that. By three in the morning, I was starting to feel a little worried about my safety-- but I kept on running. I cursed Caleb Chatfield for telling me to run 31. I wondered if my friends Debbie and James would be irritated they'd have to wait for me. Then there was the delirious moment wondering if I was even going the right way. Did I go over this rough road on the way out? Am I ever going to finish? Do I care? Can I finish in 5 hours. Well no on that one. At the marathon mark I'd run a 4:36 and I was starting to think a 5:30 was out of the question. But as in life-- the rough areas pass, and if you stay in the race, something amazing can happen. You fly. Well sort of. 9:45 a mile felt like flying at that point. As I rounded the corner to the school, I started yelling. "wake up everybody I'm here !! I'm here!!"
I finished in 5:24. Might be the "respectable but annoying" category (like a 4:07 marathon) still it was faster than all but lightning fast Bryan. Mr 4 hour. ugh. Still it's kind of disappointing when you don't make a goal-- but then it's great when what you did is enough. And sometimes that is your best. Sometimes it's sad to run alone and wish someone was beside you-- but then it's nice to finish and know you're not alone at all. Debbie, James and Laurie were cheering me in. With warm smiles, kind hugs and even a kodak moment! I knew I was loved. And just a little secret. Shhh. During those tough miles.. I got into my zone by chanting through all the people who love me.

We stuck around to cheer Gary in . I cheered in the Kearney boys who ran 40-- apologized to Danny for bailing on him-- I should have known my Nerds would wait for me no matter how far I wanted to run. And what a fun breakfast. The Kearney boys got up and left and I dived into the leftover biscuits and gravy. James ate some too.
"I don't even like biscuits and gravy."
You know when I was in High School, I didn't like running. My how times change.