Last supper and recap/resolution per expected.

Larry and I finally got around to visit a new Russian restaurant - "Na zdorovie". Heard of it about to be open back in May, and then they kept delaying, and then we got busy with life...but as we came back from visiting Larry's family in OK (great Christmas time, may I add!) and had our kids going to spend time with their "other" parents, and with next day having a plan to begin "Whole 30", it seemed to be fitting in. You know, Russian food, drinks and whatnot for indulging...Well, we were pretty disappointed with both a set up and quality of food (and a general leaning of the chef to southern regions of former Soviet Union and less so real Russian. And vodka was served warm!

Larry's family in OK.

I'd say they are happy with Santa's visit.

Anyway, it is here, the Whole 30 challenge, and I couldn't be more excited, because not only I am going back, Larry is joining me! This life-long fully admitting sugarholic, whose breakfast is cereal or pancakes, PBJ is a snack and a dinner, and mocha's along with 2-packets of sugar tea are "get through the day" things, is taking charge! I am embracing it as a family affair, and am so happy and thrilled to do it together!

But back to the recap of the year, the thing to do as this one nears the end.

As Gretchen (with the help of her hubby) put it nicely, highs and lows.

The highs, as the races went, would be two: Pocatello 50 (or so) miles and Lookout 50. As it happens in the case when I go to a race with no expectations, have a great attitude, and while hitting some troubles (when do we not?) am able to deal with them calmly and smartly - I enjoy the run(s). Seeing old friends - and meting new ones - was an icing on those cakes.

Regardless winning (and running a CR for the time) at the Blackhills 100 back in June, this race does not bear same weight for me. I was kind of done with long races by then mentally, and even though I put the best training forward that I could in Texas heat and absence of hills and inspiring trails (by my history of trail running), it was minimal and I simply "did the work" before and during. I had some good times there, but between miles 70 and 85 I really wanted to quit, just as I did (quit) back at Tahoe 100 2 years prior because I saw no point of doing it, again. I made it through. The recovery (adrenal that is) was longer than usual, and with the fact that I didn't get into Hardrock 100, may be it is a blessing in its own way. I need a break.

With that, and the second half of the year being a no-go in training for one reason or another, the year 2013 is setting up to be different - and even more exciting in its own way.

Lookout 50 was an awesome intro to what next year will hold for me (and both of us). We decided to forgo the well-known races  and dip to the side of the "unknown" (to general public that is, because of course they are well known and well loved by locals!). Three races are all set to "go" so far: Cheaha 50k in Alabama (with almost 7,000 feet of elevation gain no less!), Syllamo 3-Day in Arkansas (50M for me and 50k for Larry and kids in tow for spring break) and Freestate 100k in Kansas. That is it so far! We may consider something for May, but will take a couple months break in June/July to do some fastpacking/hiking vacation, and then venture to Montana for Elkhorn 50M in August.

As far as highs for other things, my older son Alex had some good months when he was in school for winter and spring terms and held a job for a while, although, of course, the lows come as well when those times were over. But here we are on the rise, again, and I am hopeful and optimistic. Raising teenagers is always a challenge (unless you have one of those "perfect children" with straight "A's" and activities and so on, and I don't), so we had highs and lows there as well. I think the best thing was for me to (try to) realize I can only do/control so much, and I deserve to be happy regardless. And somehow things got better with that. So here you go.

My relationship with my sweetie is on some new level of love and commitment, and that weird adjustment time of two adults with past was well worth what came out of it. The depth of what we have now has no questions. We are together. What can be better?

We plan to take better care of ourselves. I got my darling sucked in to a Bikram yoga by getting him a 5-class gift certificate, then he got himself a 5-class card (wow!) and I got him another one for Christmas. We will eat mindfully, even as the Whole30 gets done (and it WILL get done!). We will try and sleep 7 hrs every night, and train smart (while much weekly miles will not happen). We will go on more projects on our lovely house. And we will continue being thankful for literally "running into each other", as the Universe gave us a gift of finding love and happiness.

It's all about attitude!!!

Even when you haven't done any training since the last race you did in June (and it's been 6 months), besides a semi-quality month of September with marathon-specific workouts, even when the last 2.5 months you haven't much at all (beginning from the trail marathon on September 29th where the asthma kicked in, then Whole30 energy sag, then personal/family things staying emotionally on the way of any running at all, and finally some kind of weird endocrine fatigue...) - you have to have a right attitude and let the body lead you!

Larry and I registered for Lookout Mountain 50 M quite a while ago on my quest to explore other states beyond the usual destination races: PNW, UT and CO. This one fit the bill, and then some! We flew to Nashville, TN, got in the car and in 2 hrs were in a most beautiful surrounding - may be in a weird sounding way for those who live in PNW or Rocky Mountains, but...We grew up in something similar, and as we get older, I think the memories of childhood make us more sensitive. The naked tall trees that lost leaves felt just right - how they supposed to be in a very late Fall. Not ever-green Fur Trees of West Coast, and not ever-green shrubs of Texas, but normal sadness of the nature seasons. The rolling hills were just perfect size, up to about 2,000 feet high, basking in the sun. Chattanooga, TN, puts Austin to shame - with life bustling and so much to offer! It was a lovely visit.

So was the race. It was THE first time in my life for a few things: for having not being even remotely trained/prepared/ for not having any kind of expectations, and for not meeting a single person I knew, saw or heard of. Yet the race was capped at 300 runners! Crazy! It was wonderful!

It stared with first light at 7:30 am, and we took off on a single track snaking around the bluffs with long drops and very rocky trail covered in thick layer of fallen leaves.

Course photos courtesy of race management.

I got stuck in a conga line for some 15 minutes, but it felt uncomfortable, and I made my way around, trying to skip slick and partially wet rock and not drop to the abyss. And since a couple guys took after me breaking from the crowd, next 20 minutes we were pushing it, and I kept thinking: oh, no, that is too fast...but it was fun!

Photo property of race management and Jeff Bartlett full set

We finally came to a sharp turn and dropped fast on a steep single track!

Photo property of race management and Jeff Bartlett full set

And then we had a mile of flat gravel road, and I was ready to stop...thinking 8 miles is all I can handle anyway! That was weirdly fun too!

As we entered the AS, somebody called out my name, and it was Tiana, a gal I coached. Talking about not knowing anyone! I filled the bottle, and next 7 miles sulked in my thoughts of why am I there...that section was so runnable, and I suck in running so much! But as we got to mile 15.5 AS, I see a huge climb right past it, and I perk up - as others drop their heads! My God, I am revived and alive! I love climbing! I started smiling, talking non-stop, as I steadily made my way up, passing people and giggling! I knew from now on I will be just fine...and it was just beautiful.

Photo by Abigail Meadow

Larry was waiting for me at start/finish mile 22.5 AS. He (smartly) decided to instead of suffering through a 50 un-prepared simply make it a 22.5M training run, hard, went with the leaders, ran like crazy, then was free to crew me - my favorite person to see on the course. He fed me my tomato juice and baby food pouch and sent me off.

Whatever happened after I will never comprehend. Now, I always have some kind of stomach distress in a race, if not one than another. And I puke about in third of my races, and don't really care for it, no biggie. So, I am beginning to feel like things (water and gels) accumulate in my upper GI tract and not going anywhere and not getting absorbed. All the while a kid Eric from Memphis latches on my heals (a friend of a friend) and we talk non-stop for 7 miles. I catch up with two guys from SC Ryan and Bengie (new friends from last climb) at that AS, we enjoy the waterfall and get on with a rope section up the cliff (really!).
Then there was a mile of dirt ATV road, and I think: I need to let them go. Then turn to the side and hurl. A lot. 4 times a fountain. And smile. It felt so much better after! But considering how much, I figure it's all I consumed since mile 22, and my water bottle is almost empty...

We weave around some water body (lake? swamp?) on freshly cut trails, see some front runners coming back, and then pop on a half a mile road stretch to the AS at mile 34. Larry is there waiting for me as I walk up with Eric.

I tell Larry I puked and am dehydrated and under-fueled, and beg volunteers for ice. I get it (yay!) and go on a 4.5M loop through private properties.

At first iced water settle me in, then my right knee hurts like crazy (training is NOT over-rated, my weak legs can't take well all the downs and ups!), then the stomach is filling up, again, and not processing. I emerge back, announce that my finishing time is non-essential (not that it ever was), but I intend to finish - and in good spirits! I smile!

Soon after, back at the twisted lake section, I slow down a bit, feeling odd, climb well (and pass a guy or two), and once hit the flat, hurl again. 3 times, profusely. Hmm, here goes my hydration and calories, again! I smile and since I carry extra bottle (just a simple disposable plastic water bottle), I drink up. AS at the water fall comes, I refill, leave, pass a girl - and hurl. Drink up, eat gels, smile, kind of finding it entertaining. Go another 3 miles, and about 3 miles before finish - stop and throw it all back out. I wonder how in the world I am still moving! Because, honestly, I didn't feel that I am loosing energy. I mean, I am hurting in a few places (like, my right knee and left foot), I am running in some stretches, but my walking is great, the big climb comes, I am hands on knees and pushing it - and being bewildered of an awesome mechanism my body is...

I pass 3 ladies running together 2 miles from the finish, where the trails flatten out and weave again. A few minutes later a lady I passed right after the last AS comes back alive and I encourage her to go strong - it really is awesome to see people come back like that! I tag behind, she runs it all, I run it some.

The only personal semi-goal I had was to make it to the finish line without putting the headlamp on. With official sunset at 5:30 pm (10 hrs into the race) and fading light at about 5:45 pm, I had no choice but to break it on. The trail was a bit messy there, and I knew if I fall, I will seize. But somehow  smelling the barn, I ran a lot of stretches. And then I turned my i-Pod off and heard a wonderful music of the finish line.

And there it was. I took a headlamp off and practically sneaked in. 10:35.

And I was walking after that just fine!!!

A few words about the race. It's a gem I haven't expected, even though read about it - and I ran some 85 ultras (it was my "marathon and above distance" race #105). The organization was class "A", top-notch! WEBSITE. The course marking was impeccable - not over-done, no confidence ribbons, just ground flagging blocking the wrong trail (which is smart, as on this technical rocky terrain you're bound to look down, not up). The AS are enough, but not too often (7-8 miles). The swag (if you're into this) is best I've had in a long time: long-sleeve hoodie, Patagonia technical shirt, a beer glass, and lots of serious prizes for top performances. The quality of top runners, judging by times, is impressive to say the least. Just because well'known "top dogs" don't come, doesn't mean locals can't run. They could put lots of those well-known names to shame! Just like marking would shame North Face championship and money-dispensing UROC and Rabitt 100 championship! They should give lessons!

I am so thrilled we went there to widen our horizon. There is SO MUCH to see around the country! Low-profile yet awesome races and courses are there waiting for us!

And with not getting into Hardrock, my last chance at it, my "career" as a 100-miler is ended. I cried. I really had a huge plan for this summer, for my family, for my personal challenge, that had little to do with being in "the race with others", but rather doing it, alone, my repeat Hardrock, so different than all the other 100's I had done alone, because it is a 2-day-2-nights alone, and different from my first Hardrock...and it's gone, and I am not going to just finish some other odd 100 for the sake to throw my name into a lottery bucket, again, for the sake of going through planning and sadness of not getting in...like Larry stopped trying to get into WS100...my count of 100's stopped at 19. Not a bad number. I had done what I wanted, and I am in such a different state of mind, and body...and I am still sad, but with all the changes around me IN the sport, I am OK and moving on as well. I am thrilled about running, visiting new places, spending quality time with my sweetheart Larry, doing low key events just to keep in shape, training moderately with plenty of time to pay attention to my family - and my health, and may be eventually picking up on some of my previous hobbies too.

And running. Still running, always running, because this is life.

A weekend full of great memories. A weekend that went without a glitch in any way or shape or form. A weekend full of life.

With the season greeatings, it's family thoughts.

I miss my sister. I miss my sister so much, she is the closest person to me when it comes to blood relatives. It's funny, kind of, because she is 10 years older than me, and while she basically raised me (baby-set would be more correct as it's not that she was actively raising me, rather having to stay home since my dad was on active duty 24/7, and my mom worked full time plus some insane hours, or dragging me around with her). Apparently, I was a nasty little brat (I was 4, remember?), and I would tail-tell on her if she was with boys (we are talking early 70's in Soviet Union here), or cry and not go with her to see her girlfriends, so she can't. I was also constantly sick, like, strep throat with high fever, bronchitis, pneumonia, and all kinds of respiratory nasty stuff, and she'd be staying home making me hot chicken bullion and trying to feed me medicine.

Then I was 6, and that summer she turned 17, finished high school, and left our tiny Belarus military village to go to Saint Petersburg (former Leningrad) to be admitted to a University. She was (is) a smart creature, and very hard working. We always wondered how is that all her straight "A's" came because of "butt studying" and mine - because I was kind of gifted and it was easy. So unfair...

But she left, I started school, and we hardly saw each other but holidays and summer breaks. When I turned 10, she got married (normal age for a normal Soviet woman, you know) - and for the first time somehow I felt like someone really close is slipping away from me. That I don't "owe" her anymore, some weird dude I've never seeing before came and took her. I cried a lot at that wedding, loosing something very special. She hugged me a lot, but had to entertain the guests and her new in-laws...

There was a short re-connection, and a pay-back of sorts, when by next summer she gave birth to a boy, my nephew, and since she still had a year at school left (and refused to take time off), after first 4 months of his life the baby came to live with us - my parents and I - and she would take an overnight train (Soviet Union, remember? cars are only for special people) every other weekend to see him. I just turned 11 when he moved, and now I was the one who can't go play outside, as my mom arranged her work schedule the way that she'd stay with him half a day, then I come from school and take over - and she goes to work from 2pm to 10 pm. So, my year of 5th grade was full of bottled milk, dropping baby on the floor, wiping rags off his poop and piss (no diapers!!!), and pushing stroller through the snowy road, trying to not run it off the road into a side ditch (it's heavy, you know...)...Looking back, I wouldn't have changed it for the world. My baby nephew died in a car accident 8 years ago, when he was 24...

But back then, when she finally graduated, her then husband (a navy doctor) was assigned to a North Division submarine, and they moved all the way to Murmansk, close to the Polar circle, where the day lasts 6 months - and so does the night. And I didn't have to do the babysitting duty but twice a year - in the winter for a month, when she and her son would come escaping the darkness of her tiny military village to Moscow (to which we had moved by then as my father had gotten a new position in military headquarters) while her husband was under the water for 6 months, or in the summer, as their whole family would drive across the country from North to South (Black Sea, where her in-laws lived), and they'd stay for a month with us.

One winter, my last year of high school, I got to visit her during a winter break. Since not everybody can get into a closed military division, after flying to Murmansk, I had to take 2 buses, and the last one I took under some woman's name, all dressed up in lots of fur up to my eyes and holding wrong passports in my hands. It was an adventure for me, if a scary one. I came through OK, and when I finally arrived - I had never seen that much snow at once and so much darkness - and I've lived in what you know as Northern Newfoundland winter all my life - and so much hauling winds, that we had to walk a couple of times holding onto a rope stretched out between buildings. That was the first time we clicked. We set in her tiny kitchen of an apartment and smoked cigarettes and talked about life...

That summer I graduated, and as a present to myself took a train down South to visit her while she was at in-laws in Black Sea area. On the train I met some folks, and upon arrival talked he into letting me go stay with them instead for 2 weeks. She covered my ass for my parents...

I visited her once more up North, when I was in my second year of medical school, just short of age 18, in September, and this time we had enough time to make official documents for the entry. It was beautiful as we traveled to Karelia lakes and made campfires and cooked shish-kebab - and the nature around was burning in all kinds of beautiful colors...

When my life gotten nuts (in not so good way) for a year after that visit, and I flunked my winter mid-term and was not given a stipend in medical school (even though re-took the exam and got a "B"), she was the only one in a family who knew - and since I was relying on my stipend (on top of my salary I was making as an EMT nurse during nights) and my parents did little in terms of financial help (I stayed in my room), she would send me 50 rubles, the amount I was getting prior as a stipend, to me every month, carving it from her own budget without letting her husband know. I will forever be in debt to her for that...

Things gotten busy after that, even though she still had been coming on the same schedule, at least twice a year, and I always loved spending time with my nephew - not so much with her, she was having marital problems and was doing her best to patch things up, and I had a full time Medical school and a full time job, and then I was in love...

A year after I got married - my dear sister got divorced. She spent a year in that tiny military village inside the Polar circle fighting for her (and her son's) life trying to make ends meet, and eventually she couldn't - and she moved in to Moscow.

This is Soviet Union. My parents lived in a 2-bedroom apartment (which we call "3-room", as there is no really such thing as specious living room, or dining room, or hallways, just 3 rooms and a bathroom and a 20 sq feet kitchen). My then husband and a year old baby lived there as well, and when Tanya and Misha moved in, it was as crazy as it gets.

And looking back - I wouldn't have changed it for the world. We still didn't have diapers, and the constant hand-washing (!) of baby sheets and cloth diapers was non-stop, along with all of it hanging in the kitchen to dry. The baby food had to be cooked and mashed, Alex cried all the time, I went to school still full time and worked full time at nights as well, and so did my husband, and my parents worked, obviously, too - because I had too much pride to ask my mom to take a year off. And there she was, trying to patch her (and her son's) life back together...

Times were changing, and via some connections my dad was able to move "up the line" for a co-op apartment, and somehow I scribbled and borrowed enough money to pay for it (all up-front, no credit companies in Russia!) - and soon after, 6 months of a chaos, my family moved out. Things were settling in.

Another year and half passed by, and I was packing a suitcase to US...hoping to come back home soon. Had I known next time I'll see my family it would be over 3 years later, with a new baby on my arms, and things completely different...

That's how it went for the last 19 years. After that first long break, I always tried to go and visit every year. After Misha had died, for the first couple of years I did it twice, for support. I had felt far removed, more and more. They'd be times we felt separated not only by thousands of miles, but by emotional canyon as well. I was changing, my old country was changing, and we couldn't have a "feel" for how to hold it together.

But throughout it all, through my older son's Alex fall-out with drugs, boarding schools, leaving the house, prison, through my divorce and financial struggles, my new move - my sister was always there for me. With time we stopped asking extra question and give extra advice. We allowed each other make mistakes. We realized that things might be so different for us we will never fully understand them. And yet we always knew that we can find each other's support regardless what we think of the situation.

And we talked. We talked so much, I just have to be grateful I found a 5c/minute calling card! And as with a good friend, we could always pick it up where we left off.

This is the year I am not going to visit. It's complicated, and it is related to bureaucracy, and I won't go into details, but I am not. And as the Holidays approach, the sense of missing out on this hits harder every day. This is a tradition. I have to be home, wrapped into a blanket, on a couch, or in the kitchen with a cup of tea - and my sister across me, and we talk. And laugh. Because regardless how far apart we are in age, how we didn't really grow up together, and how the last almost 30 years we never lived close, and that neither one of us thinks or acts like our parents - we are one and the same. We can finish each other's sentences, and predict what the other would do in any case, guide, and hold hands, and breathe the same air...

I was going to write about my older son, too, who is yet another person I love so dearly it hurts - but my thoughts of my sister ran rather long. Another time. Alex, you are always in my thoughts, kiddo. This last visit was "what the doctor ordered", for both of us. Sometimes hitting the bottom is a blessing in disguise. I hope this time was the last one. We pray for you.

I and my sister Tanya.