I screamed like a banshee at Chiricahua

What’s at Chiricahua National Monument? In one word: serenity.

Of course there’s also the rich history that inspires a sense of awe and wonder. But when you’re meandering down the footpath at the base of the mountains at sunset, all you can really think is wow.

And thank you. Thank you, God, for creating such a gorgeous piece of earth.

Its beauty radiates in the rocks that balance high on cliffs in seemingly impossible positions. At sunset, this small corner of the world glows. And the peace that settles across the land seeps into you, and you think you could stay there forever.

If only there was a cell phone signal.

Actually, the only reason why I wanted to use my telly inside the Arizona national treasure was to tell people how extraordinarily beautiful it is. No photo I could ever take would portray its true glory. But I tried…

At the top of Chiricahua National Monument is Massai Point, named for a fierce Apache warrior who is said to have jumped off a train after being captured by white men. He trekked 1,000 miles on foot back to his home land.

You can drive or hike to Massai Point. And once at the top, the scene sprawled out before you is nothing short of mesmerizing. Giant boulders teeter on top of one another, defying gravity. Thousands of them.

Outside the monument, the land is flat, split by Hwy 186. Cattle ranches hug the two-lane highway and windmills dot the landscape.

You could get out of your car, stand in the middle of the road and hear absolutely nothing. And we did.

It was glorious. Coming back from the monument the first night, Laura and I pulled over. I don’t even remember why. Probably to watch the sun set. The next thing I know, I’ve stripped off my shirt, climbed a gate, flung off my bra and tore across some rancher’s land screaming like a wild banshee. It was liberating.

A purple glow fell over the land as the sun slowly sank behind the mountains. I ran back to Laura, the cold desert air kissing my skin. Across the highway a small herd of cattle and two horses had galloped over, their ears perked, their eyes wide. I scampered back over the gate, crossed Hwy 186 near mile marker 349 and gave them a show. A good one.

I’ve never felt more alive—standing there, arms open, screaming at livestock with nothing but land and sky around me.

Of the entire trip, it's that lone stretch of highway that resonates with me most.

If you ever make the trek, look for me. Listen for my laughter. I am there.

Read more about our journey to Chiricahua.

Road Trip Arizona 2009

Arizona. Desert.

Can you picture it? I couldn't. Until now.

My BFF writer friend, Laura Manivong, and I have trekked cross country on a quest to conjure up 20-year-old memories that were birthed at Chiricahua National Monument where she once served as a volunteer. The following photos were taken en route to the park on Hwy 186 in Arizona.

During our travels, it has become apparent to me that 1.) I cannot operate a compass and 2.) I have a respectful fascination with cemeteries...

Behold ... Dos Cabezas Pioneer Cemetery:

When I came across the next grave, I was surprised at how small it was. Then I saw the child-sized baseball glove:
Further on down Hwy 186, we saw some abandoned houses. Once was once a post office, according to the sign above the door. We ventured in, and it reminded me of the times my mother would take my brother and me on hikes through Missouri's southeast woods. She'd always find these old, abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere. And I do mean nowhere. Inevitably she'd always walk away with some antique treasure.

Today, I literally walked in her footsteps when Laura and I found this:

Even further down the road, we came across a ghost town, once called Muddy's Mine.

This next picture was taken solely for my Mama:

Here's another at the same location:

And here are what I believe to be the Chiricahua Mountains:


What you haven't seen yet is the tumbleweed Laura and I wrestled or Faraway Ranch, located at Chiricahua National Monument. That's because our adventure has only begun! There are more pictures and stories to come!

Bubbles in My Ear

I like bubbles. I do.

I like bubbly water. Bubble gum. I even like the song Bubbly.

But bubbles in my ear? Not so much.

The other night I was jolted awake by the strangest sensation. I shot up, thinking my new kitten had climbed into bed and confused my ear with a particular piece of anatomy from its mother. (It's strange what your brain comes up with when awakened suddenly from a dead sleep.)

I soon realized my little Prince was nowhere to be found. And the bubbles in my ear kept bubbling. So I did what any logical person would do. I jabbed my finger inside to see if I could make it stop.

I couldn't.

It came and went for the next couple of minutes. I sat there in the dark, trying to convince myself the dream I just had about a cricket did not mean that a cricket had, in fact, crawled into my ear. But then I started thinking about The Discovery Health Channel and the shows I've seen where cockroaches have actually climbed in and died in people's ears! I wasn't too concerned about cockroaches, but by this point I was fairly certain my cricket dream was my subconscious telling me I had a critter in my ear.

I shook my husband in a mild state of panic. Even bleary eyed and semi conscious, he could tell I was freaked out about something. I demanded he look in my ear.

He saw nothing.

Of course. A cricket in your ear isn't going to bed down and then readily wave at an exterminator.

I went back to bed and tried to sleep as best I could, hoping whatever was inside my ear would stop moving, die or crawl back out.

It didn't. Twice more I was awakened by bubbles in my ear. That is the best way I can describe it -- like a bike tire that has been punctured. When wet, little tiny air bubbles bubble out. That's what it felt like.

I got back up and performed an exhaustive search online at 2 a.m. for "air bubbles in ear." Sadly, I came up with little information that convinced me that I was not housing an insect inside my head. So I marched myself to the doctor's later that day.

And?

There was no critter in my ear. In fact, the doc said bubbles in the ear is a perfectly normal occurrence.

Me: Well, what causes it?

Doc: Have you coughed, sneezed or laughed recently?

Ha. He wasn't kidding.

Apparently air and fluid can get inside the Eustachian tube by way of the throat. The bubbles are a release of this mixture. The best part, when it drains, it doesn't come out the ear, but down the throat.

Tasty.

Fortunately, I did not have the privileged of that experience. The bubbles just vanished. And after a sleepless night and a $25 copay I can now blog about ear bubbles. And crickets.

Chirp chirp.

New Favorite Commercial!

Post Office Pickle

So I'm at the post office, the place where joy radiates off the faces of customers and clerks alike. Right?

Please.

At my particular post office there's always a long line of impatient people waiting to be waited on by grumpy, never-in-a-hurry clerks.

This day is slightly different. But as usual I'm in a hurry because I'm always in a hurry because I'm always late. And the only thing that is keeping me from giving the clerks the could-we-speed-this-sucker-up stink eye is the couple in front of me.

They're an odd match. A 60-plus-year-old balding white man with an attractive, long-haired, itty bitty Asian woman who can be no older than 20 with some really swanky heels on her itty bitty feet.

Naturally, I'm intrigued. I know they're together by the way he rests his hand on the small of her back, his longest fingers resting on the top of her bum. She doesn't swat them away. I can't imagine why she doesn't swat them away.

The line inches forward and I'm thinking a dozen stereotypical thoughts that involve either a.) the Internet or b.) well, the Internet. But who am I to judge? Whatever. To each his own.

The postal clerk calls them forward. I can't see what they're mailing. I try, but can't, not without blatantly peering around the man's shoulder. The other clerk motions me forward. By now, I've been daydreaming long enough about all the funny movies I've seen where brides pop out of boxes fully dressed in wedding garb that I greet my postal clerk with a smile.

She doesn't smile back.

I'm not deterred.

Me: "I'd like to mail these pictures in a priority envelope, please. One that's about, oh, this big." I motion with my hands.

Clerk: Reaches under the counter and pulls out a very, very large envelope.

Me: "Oh.... that's too big. Do you have anything smaller?"

Clerk: Raises her eyebrows.

Me: I motion with my hands. "Something about this big?" I cock my head.

Clerk: Doesn't blink. She just keeps looking at me with her big brown, emotionless eyes.

Me: I wait for a response, but don't get one. "Right, ok... so, um, I'm just going to go over there and take a look and see what I can find." I point to the wall full of envelopes and boxes.

Clerk: She looks around me. "Next!"

Of course this frustrates me and I'm slightly irritated, but then it hits me. This gal is totally bloggable! (And it's been such a LONG TIME since I've blogged.)

With new appreciation for my grumpy, chubby-cheeked postal clerk, I step back in line with the appropriate-sized envelope and wait, wait, wait for my turn. To my disappointment I get the other guy. The nice guy. The guy who talks to his customers. He gets my pictures mailed easy-breezy. But then I look up at the clock and see I'm late for my run. As usual.

Frazzled, I head out the door, my hands full of left-over pictures, two pens, my wallet, a shoe string, but no keys. I run back inside, look on the counter, ask the clerk, both clerks, but no one's seen my keys.

Great.

I rush back outside and peer into my car and see them glinting in the sunlight on my driver's side seat. My window is slightly down, but of course not down far enough for me to reach in and unlock the door.

I had one thought in my head: My husband is going to kill me.

He's always telling me to lock the car with the key remote so that I don't lock them inside. I never listen. Clearly.

But then another thought pops into my head. ONSTAR! I'll just call them and have them unlock it. Perfect.

And then another thought jumps out of the land of logic and into my brain. My telly is in the car too.

Dang it!

So I flag down an older gentleman walking my way.

Me: "Excuse me, sir. I've locked my keys in my car. Do you have a cell phone I could use to call OnStar?"

Kind Gentleman: "Oh, yeah, yeah, sure." He reaches into his pocket, pulls it out and hands it to me. "It works like any other phone."

Me: "Um, okay..."

I whip on my handy dandy OnStar card and look up the number. I dial it.

Kind Gentleman: "It's pretty windy out here. Do you want to get in my truck and call them?"

Me: "Um, no, that's okay, thanks." Nightmarish thoughts race through my brain of him turning his cab into a pickup prison, locking me inside, peeling out of the parking lot as I scream and bang on the windows hoping someone will come to my rescue.

I turn around and talk to OnStar. They want my name and address. I edge ever so slightly away from the now creepy gentleman and give OnStar my info, hoping against hope the man who's telly I'm talking into can't hear me and isn't keeping a mental note of where I live so that he can come find me and show me the inside of his truck that I've just declined to climb into.

In less than a minute OnStar has literally come to my rescue. My door is unlocked and I am free to send the kind/creepy gentleman on his way. I give him his phone and then see mine in my hand under my wallet.

IDIOT!

I had it the whole time.

Who does this?! Embarrassed, I try and keep it hidden, but then it rings and I'm totally busted.

Cute Kitten with No Name

This little guy needs a name. Help me pick one!

High Heels are Overrated

I have runner's knee. Again.

Wanna know what made it flare up again? Heels. High heels, the kind you wear when you wanna look nice. Professional. Smart. Sassy. Sophisticated.

But looking classy comes at a painful price!

Big deal, right?

Wrong.

Why? Because I'm a runner. And when a runner can't run, she gets sad.

The Kansas City Half Marathon is weeks away. Will I be ready? I'm not sure!

Oy vey!

But I found a sliver lining. Swimming. I've been swimming all summer, training for the previously mentioned triathlon. And although I knew swimming to be one of the best conditioning workouts, I didn't know the swim-to-run ratio until now.

According to CoolRunning.com, you only have to swim about 1/4 of what you would run. So a six mile run would be equivalent to a 1.5 mile swim. It's just too bad my gym only has a 25 meter pool. Makes for a lot of laps. But it's a good substitute while I rest my knee.

Also, did you know the bike-to-run ratio is 4:1? Every four miles you bike equals one mile running... so says former FOX 4 sports director Frank Boal. Miss that guy.

And speaking of cycling, RAGBRAI 2010 is July 25-31. Count me IN! As for my heels? They're out. For good.

Jackson County Tri

2009 Jackson County Triathlon Highlights

1.) I thought I was going to drown during the swim.

2.) I spotted a kayak with a red floatie trailing behind it and seriously thought about grabbing hold.

3.) I swallowed so much water, I'm surprised my belly didn't turn into a darn aquarium. 

4.) After the swim I was MAD. Mad that I started in the back of the pack rather than the front. I could have saved myself from having a dozen panic attacks trying to swim past someone. 

5.) During the bike one awesome cyclist wiped out, got back up, and eventually passed me-while dripping blood. I was impressed. Helmets off to her!

6.) During the bike transition, I nearly forgot to take off my bike shoes. Imagine running in those. TRAGIC!

7.) With my running sneakers on, the run was great. Felt good and strong.

8.) I finished 1:26.14 -- six minutes faster than the last time I competed there. Placed ninth in my age group.

9.) My friend, Kerry? She did the long course and finished fourth in overall women! ROCK STAR!

10.) Next triathlon is Sept. 12. It'll be cold by then and I don't have a wet suit. Should make for a fun blog! 

Also, check out my Twitter friend Shelly Centis. She took FIRST in the Santa Rosa Marathon. FIRST! She won a bike. Hop on over to give her a big cyber high five! 

Oh, and she has a pet chicken. That's worth a cyber high five alone. ;)

Top 10 for First-Time Triathletes

Tomorrow I will be competing in my first triathlon in over a year and a half, and in honor of the big shin dig, I thought I'd pass along my top ten list for first-time triathletes...

TOP TEN THINGS FIRST-TIME TRIATHLETES SHOULD KNOW

1. Your competition IS peeing in the water.

2. Put your goggles on before they sound the horn. HELLO!?!

3. Know that during the swim, getting kicked in the head is normal, as is gulping water and fearing for your life.

4. When exiting the water, know that your bike will be difficult to find unless you've got fireworks going off beside it.

5. Once on your bike, if you need to pee, go ahead. You're already wet.

6. When pedaling up hill, it helps to pretend you're Lance Armstrong. Or Moses.

7. When passing those few fat men, don't gloat. They CAN, and mostly likely will, catch up.

8. Once you hop off your bike, your legs WILL feel like grape Jell-O.

9. Run fast -- or not -- but don't walk. The shaking will stop. For most. Eventually.

10. Finish strong. Food and drink (and a real toilet) will be waiting, as will your next triathlon.

SWIM BIKE RUN! Love it or hate, but do it! At least once in your life. ;)

XO!

Telly Blogging

Blogging from my telly! Look at me go. Life has gotten sooooo much easier. xo lovies! ;)