It Was Only a Matter of Time...

Well the cat's pretty much out of the bag.
Several months ago I posted my thoughts about how we categorize people, in spite of our limited exposure to them, based on externally visible elements, most of which are trite and represent very little of the human inside.

Well, I'm likely going to be re-categorized...  Life goes on...

Hers and His

Mt. Diablo 50K - 2013

1 hour, 3 minutes was our time around the Crockett Loop.  Not bad for Matt and I cycling into a headwind for the entire loop.  Wait, how is that possible?

I felt a lot better than I supposed I would, only 4 days into recovering from racing the Mt. Diablo Trails Challenge 50k.  We rolled back into Martinez just before dark with our headlights beginning to reflect off the street signs.  My cycling legs were managing fine in spite of the punishment I had delivered to my running legs last Saturday.  Dinner always looks and tastes spectacular when you're starved, and the grill had barely browned the turkey breasts before I was nibbling off corners.  But I guess I'm not as well recovered as I had supposed, for shortly after the table was cleared I was found propped against the wall asleep on the hallway floor waiting for the toothbrush brigade to clear the bathroom so I could take my shower.  I was in bed by 9:30 and asleep in 30 seconds.

Mt. Diablo out the window of the car on the way to start the race.
My race will finish on the far side of the mountain.

The Mt. Diablo Trails Challenge 50k was the highlight of my running season.  Though I considered not running it at all this year, I basically trained all year for this one event; the one punishing challenge that either awes my friends or convinces them that their suspicions about my sanity are confirmed.  Then, I was sent this link by Matt earlier in the week, and was awed myself by the caliber of one of my competitors who used this same race as a filler between his more important events.  Ian Sharman who took first place, was written up in Running times relatively recently.  I realized quickly that in spite of taking 40 minutes off my time from last year, finishing the race in 5 hours 50 minutes, I am far from being mistaken for elite.  I finished 19th out of 157 finishers.

But elite or not - I am inspired.  Ever since I started reviewing the results of the race and realized that simply cutting another 20 minutes off my time would have put me in the top 10, I've been inspired.  I read the bio on Ian and am doubly inspired.

I never saw Ian at the start, and frankly I don't think I saw him all day.  By the time I cleared the first hills, the guys out front were far and away.  I started about 1/4 of the way back and slowly worked my way up to the group of runners that I would eventually finish behind.  I never could fully bridge to their group, though I managed to run with Marty Reed of Save Mt. Diablo most of the day before he bridged up to them, and I owe him a huge "thank you" for the pacing and comradery.

I have a lot of things to work on before I run this again next year:
First - I have to learn to run down hill.  The gal, Justine, pictured below could run downhill.  I have no idea how she did it, but with seemingly no effort at all, she would pull away from me down every hill.  For an hour or so we ran "together" as she would float down hill ahead of me, and then I would catch up on the ascents.  Without much effort however, she slowly began to pull away.  Justine is simply a very strong runner, and by the end of the race, she had distanced me by a quarter of an hour.

Second, I need to beat the cramps.  The 2 - 3 mile downhill leg immediately following the 3rd aid station started my legs cramping.  I need to be putting in longer, faster miles more frequently to get my legs accustomed to that level of fatigue, or better yet, strong enough to not get fatigued in that amount of time.  I was hydrated and fueled, so I have some research to do, but I suspect that the majority of the solution will be found in more hours on the trails.  I'm truly looking forward to this solution.

Third, I need to run more.

Fourth, I need to run more...

I have realized a passion for trail running.  Ian said it well in his interview with Running Times  "But one of the biggest advantages of running on trails is the ability to visit places which are spectacular and really out of the way. So the longer the race, the more scenery you can fit in and the more remote a location can be reached."  So I'm looking forward to another year of training and chasing horizons.  See you on the trail.

Boston Marathon - DNF

A lonely tear slipped onto my cheek as I drove along Highway 4 and absorbed the press conference being held by Massachusetts General Hospital Chief of Emergency Services, Dr. Alasdair Conn and Chief of Trauma Surgery Dr. George Velmahos.  I continued to listen to the new updates for a few minutes then touched my radio to make it go away.

The tragic coincidence in the types of injuries and the nature of the event are maddening.  Many runners with legs fatigued and cramping found a new agony as they ran to the aid of so many that will never walk or run again.  The family who lost an 8-year-old son is particularly painful to think about.  Nearly 1 year ago exactly, I crossed the finish line of the hardest race of my life - into the arms of my waiting 8-year-old and 2-year-old daughters, wife, and parents.  The father of this young man now grieves the loss of his son while sitting by the bed of his badly injured wife and daughter.

What balm is there for this?  What salve for those wounds?

I think I'm writing this as a catharsis for myself, as I am impotent to make any impact whatever in the way of good there.  But I pray.  I beg and I pray and I hug my girls when I get home and try to push the evil away as far as I can.

I run the Mt. Diablo Trails Challenge again this weekend.  I hope they have a moment of silence at the beginning of that race.  If it's not official, then I will pray alone, to God who knows and sees and is just and good.  His ways are past finding out - but I will also ask why?  I don't anticipate an answer in that moment, but when He wipes all tears away some day, I will ask again, and His answer will show all things well done.

But for now - we pray.

Beating The Storm

29 miles used to be a great bike ride.  Now I'm consistently running those distances training for the Mt. Diablo challenge (50k) coming up in few weeks.

I ran my hills route on Saturday which included the Carquinez Highlands, Mt. Wanda, and the 2 highest peaks of Briones - some of those a couple times.  Nearly 5,000 feet of elevation gain...  

A storm was coming in off the Pacific and would make Sunday quite wet.  It made Saturday morning's skies glow and the wild flowers pop

Here are some of the reasons I love those hills. 

Next time - why not come with me?

Phone Pics

I would carry a better camera with me while I run and cycle, but the muted watercolor effect my phone's camera produces is enchanting.

Pittsburg, CA 

Briones Regional Park - Looking west as the sun begins to paint the hill tops.

More paint.

Looking west  from the Benicia Bridge.

You can't capture the brilliance of the icy dawn with any camera.  The joy of running along frozen trails and leaving footprints in the frosted grass is difficult to describe, as is the metamorphosis of a wilderness trail from dawn into daylight.  I soak in the colors as well as the crisp cold - and know that what I will able to share is a trifle.  Those are moments of innocent selfishness - there is no way to share those sights and sounds;  they are available in that moment only and visible from that ridge, valley or road  - where at that singular moment and from that perspective only I can absorb the beauty.  If I don't  - then it is lost.  Those moments are a gift from the Creator, and He knows they are gifts I cannot easily share.

The Exercise Bike

I got my wife an exercise bike.  It has since occurred to me that it is possibly the least altruistic thing I have ever done for her. (Also in proof reading this, it has also occurred to me that "got" is a useless and terminally unimaginative way of denoting procurement.  Yet I allow it to remain because that's what I did; I got it.)
First, I am a cyclist and she is not.  This bike will very conveniently double as a winter trainer for me.
Second, it was free.  While surfing Craig's List looking for a good deal on a new bike (Which I have recently begun the process of lusting after) I came across a free exercise bike.  The seller noted that the pedal needed some work.  I reasoned that with the bike being free and having a problem so insignificant as a pedal (who needs 2 right?), driving to San Francisco on a Sunday afternoon was a safe gamble.  Turns out the seller was right; the pedal needed help, and even on exercise bikes the second pedal comes in handy.  The good news is that my limited supply of bike repair tools happened to have just what I needed to facilitate the repair.  In total the bike cost me nearly nothing, and within only a few hours my wife was pumping away, toning and firming those muscles and burning calories.
So this brings me to the third reason that this purchase was less than altruistic...  Yeah.

Another great thing about the bike is that it has given me something to write about on a rainy Sunday afternoon.  It seems like every winter we athletes who blog, write about the same things: Getting in workouts around the rain, working out in the dark, complaining about the rain and the dark, etc.  I have avoided those types of posts this year by - not posting much at all.  And that's the other thing we write about - the fact that we have so little to write about.  It would be natural to think that if there is nothing to write about, then don't write.  And if you think that way, then you have obviously never kept a blog.  Our readers are hungry with anticipation - right readers?  I can hear your literary stomachs growling - yes?

But stating that we have nothing to write about is pitiful, as is resorting to coercion or begging to get people to read your blog.  So as my ever-cuter wife whirs away those extra Christmas goodies, I will be reminded to write wise and witty things to my faithful audience of - Mom.

Oh yeah, I guess this should be my Christmas blog post, so unless I'm moved by the elusive "muse of fire" in the next day or so- this is Merry Christmas.

Madame Marathon

I was recently emailed the following question...

"Okay Scott,
I am really enjoying running. I am enjoying it so much that I would really like to push myself. I plan to do a half marathon in February. However, I am having an itching to go beyond that and attempt a marathon... I have found two at the end of the summer that look doable for a 1st timer like me....anyway- any thoughts? I was thinking of a sprint triathalon in June. but would forgo it to work on this...this seems more challenging physically, but logistically easier (one type of training). So-am I too old? Is this nuts?"


The Lady that wrote this is in her early 40's, and with her husband, has recently embarked on a notably transformative journey toward a higher level of fitness.  In answering the question, I realized that I was articulating some important lessons I've learned over the past few years.  I share them here...


First of all, congratulations on breaking through.

Regarding the half and full marathon…
Bear in mind that 13.1 and 26.2 are arbitrary at best.  While they represent notable milestones of achievement, your body doesn’t have any clue that they are at all meaningful.  Your body is going to respond to the stimulus of increased training by constantly transforming to become more efficient at doing what you are training it to do.

If you train for a full marathon, then inevitably you will pass the half marathon point somewhere along the way.  So, training for a full marathon will include training for a half.  If your body wants a break along the way, then it will tell you.  That may not coincide with the arbitrary 13.1 milestone.  You may reach 10 miles in your training and hit a wall.  Or, you may never hit a wall and push right through to the Western States 100.  There are many things to consider that basically don’t address those specific distances at all…

Elements:

Time – it takes a long time to train efficiently for long distance running. I’m not talking about the fact that you need to start training 8 months in advance.  I’m saying that training requires running long distances, which takes a long time.  I’m holding steady right now – not getting faster or further, but I still have to run 3-4 hours per week to maintain.  As I’m sure you know, running 3-4 hours involves at least 2-3 hours of prep and recovery.  In other words just to maintain my current ability, I’m spending 5-7 hours per week on something other than daily life.

Injury – your body is going to react to the training uniquely from anyone else.  If you can ramp up your training indefinitely without injury, then there is no reason to quit (in my opinion).  However, you need to be honest with your body, and back off if (probably “when”) the injuries occur.  It is unfortunately a natural part of long distance running, and if you read running literature, there is an amazing amount of print devoted to injury – for good reason.
Rest is an integral part of injury prevention.  Don’t let any goal get in the way of adequate rest periods.  Again there is ample literature on injury and rest, and it should be very familiar to you if you are going to embark on this quest.

Cost – Running becomes a little more expensive.  You will learn what to eat and what not to eat – and what to eat costs more money.  You will go through shoes every few months – and if you don’t, then read the paragraph above again.  You will buy more running gear, and do a lot of laundry.  But it could be worse - you could have fallen in love with auto racing or Rodeo.

Desire – This is a huge force.  If you want to run, then you will be unhappy if you don’t.  Yes, I know life is full of disappointments.  However, running is such a natural and innately good thing, that spending time running is hard to argue against.  If running means less time doing other inane or unnecessary activities, then fulfill the desire and let the endorphins flow.  I don’t watch any TV.  But the same people that can’t figure out how I can find time to run 10 hours per week while training for a race, also think me odd for not watching TV.  It’s all about desire.  I’m personally unwilling to diminish a healthy desire, when many frivolous desires are nefariously clamoring for that space

Objective – What is your objective, really?  If your objective is to reach a milestone, then drag it out as long as possible.  No sense getting there too soon and then leaving it and the benefits behind.  If your objective is a lifestyle, then there is still no real hurry.   You will get there when your body is ready.  If you need the clearly defined goal of a specific race on a specific day to maintain the greater objective, well then, there you have it.

...So I conclude with this final thought.  Marathons are great.  I've begun a habit of running one solo every few months.  However, I have not allowed them to become an end in and of themselves.  Madame Marathon, is simply invited to the dance on occasion to test and measure my skills.  My first marathon was a milestone to be sure, but the mud wasn't even dry before, I was certain that the music would continue to play and that the dance was just beginning.  
What distance or what test you measure yourself by is going to be uniquely personal, however, I feel strongly that we should all establish some criteria by which we judge our life, and are periodically driven to self-enforce.  For my fitness, it's the marathon.  

Ridiculous...

I'm sitting here with my hands hovering over the keyboard trying to come up with a way to say that I crashed again.  I crashed again, 3 days after my last crash.  I hate being in the same room with ridiculous, but alas, here I am sitting in its seat with ice on my elbow.  Until last week, I could say that since January of 2010, I had ridden over 7,000 miles on a bicycle - without a single wobble - no less a crash.

I still haven't heard from the owner of the red SUV that I careened into last Thursday.  I can only imagine that the bill for body work on her vehicle will set my "new bike" fund back a bit.

But that has faded into near insignificance since I crashed again on Saturday.

In the foreground is the bump that tossed me, and in the distance is me and some new friends discussing why I should, and why I was not going to, ride in an ambulance.  Photo Credit - Chris

This is the "G" rated version of my injuries.  Let's just say that my shorts and jersey had to be cut off by my wife.  Where the picture ends, so do my shorts, and a lot of skin.

The story is fairly straightforward.  I joined the HOP group ride Saturday morning to "get right back in the saddle" after my accident on Thursday.  This, by all accounts, was the right thing to do.  We had completed 48 miles of the 50 mile ride and were flat flying down Sycamore Valley Rd. in a tight pace line - at least 8 of us.  The last time I looked at our speed, we were going over 30mph.  Pedaling hard to stay within a few inches of the bike ahead of me, I heard the very distinct sound of that bike hitting something in the road, and then nearly the same instant, my bike seemed to disappear from under me.

I remember my helmet hitting the asphalt, and then thinking "stop, stop, stop" as I slid 20 - 30 yards along the bike lane.  I now know that I can go from 30 - 0 in about 3 seconds without the use of brakes. An off duty cop watched it happen and was one of the first to come up.  Chris's face appeared above me almost immediately, and in the haze of recollection, seemed to be running the show.  He's a veteran cyclist and has experience in these things.

Within 20 minutes I was allowed to sit up, having brought the firemen and police officers up to date on current events and wiggled all the requisite body parts for them.  The very nice lady with warm hands that had so patiently held my neck for most of that time was somehow adamant that they consider the fact that I had only answered 3 of the 4 "current events" questions correctly.  Granted, where I went to school that would have given my a D-, but in my defense, I can't be expected to come up with my age and the month even under ideal conditions without a little more time to think. They kept the back board and neck brace hovering nearby, but once I was seated on the curb, It was clear (to me at least) that I was going home and not to the hospital.

They showed me my bike, which had weathered the storm remarkably well, as they were about to place it in the back of a police car.  The plan was to chauffeur me to Chris's house where I would wait for my wife.  He had chatted with her on the phone and had given her the basics while we were waiting for the EMT's to arrive.  He had returned to tell me that "she wasn't panicking."  I just grinned and thought - yeah - that's why I married her.  When I saw that the wheels still spun and the brakes worked, my machismo returned in full.  I rode the bike to Chris's house 1/4 mile away.  The breeze in my new wounds was just a hint of what was to become a rather painful afternoon.

That painful afternoon, I have realized, was only the beginning.  Funny how when I think of "road rash" now, blow torches seem to come to mind.  I don't intend to spend time complaining, but frankly there have only been a few times that I have felt utterly miserable.  The Poison Oak incident was one of those times, and I'm afraid I'll look back on this as another.

Without waxing too philosophical, I am forced to consider my current condition.  I've injured my foot as a result of too much ladder work plus a long run that I never should have let get out the door.  I've ramped up my cycling in order to stay in shape while I can't run.  I've now injured every limb of my body plus the majority of the joints tying them together as a result of 2 consecutive bike crashes on 2 consecutive rides.

Chris has texted me and told me I need to get back in the saddle as soon as possible.  My wife seems to be just waiting for me to unlock the bike so she can sell it.  My daughters aren't real sure what to think, and my mother has disowned me - I believe.  And me...?

I actually miss the bike already.  The very thought of giving up cycling is repugnant.  I will stick to the mountain bike for a while, but I suspect HOP will see me again (wearing a new helmet).   The good news is that my foot feels remarkably well. I should be able to hit the trails again running in the next week or so - slowly of course.

And here I add what is so very evident to me - now.  I am blessed.  In 3 days, I have been spared from death twice.  Thursday could have easily ended with me wearing a toe tag, and likewise Saturday could have easily left me paralyzed or worse.  As Chris took me to my truck, we chatted and he told me of his friend who is severely disabled from a minor collision on her bike.  In spite of my pain, I know I am blessed.  I sit here and type easily with both hands and no neck brace.  I don't even dare ask why.  I know that God is good, and His ways are past finding out.  And yes, He would still be good even if I had been disabled or killed.  I don't ask why - I am just thankful.

Is God trying to tell me something?  Aha!!  Now there is the question.  I think I'll go out and take a ride on the bike to think that one over...

So What's More Dangerous?

I'm inclined to count the days injured cycling and compare them to my days injured running.  And while I'm at it, I should compare them to the total days in a year...  Can you tell I'm getting weary of being injured?

Well I nearly started the clock over again today.  I've been cycling pretty regularly to get my fitness level ready for full recovery and a return to running.  I have high hopes of placing well in the Mt. Diablo Trails Challenge this spring and to do so will require a lot of running over the next few months.  Well, I'm not running at all right now, and some days it even hurts to walk.  So, until I can get in for an X-ray I sit, worry, and cycle.  But today I nearly put the entire shebang on hold.

Descending Pine St. toward Alhambra on my road bike, I was approaching the last hard right corner at around 25 mph when a small car darted out into the road and sped off down the hill in front of me.  It pulled away from me as it entered the corner, but the next instant it was standing still.  I found myself faced with one of those "make the best of a bad situation" moments.  I was leaning into the hard right turn in the middle of the lane.  A pull to the right would have only placed me on the right hand side of the small black trunk, probably spitting safety glass through broken teeth.  Inertia was in favor of a pull to the left, but all rules of the road prohibited such a move.  Rules became unimportant as I chose a few more moments intact over a breach of the California Driving Code.

It occurred to me in that spectacularly lucid eternity which parses the milliseconds of pending disaster, that the stoppage was the result a second vehicle - ahead of that small black car I had just passed on the left. That particular vehicle - a red Nissan SUV - was waiting to turn left, indicating that another oncoming car was imminent.  All of these thoughts, plus the fact that I had not shaved my legs yet, and would likely be wishing I had, sauntered through my consciousness as I rocketed past stopped cars.
Struggling to maintain control of my bike, and avoid allowing the ever capricious friend and fiend, inertia, to pull me into oncoming traffic, I rolled between the double-yellow like on rails, feathering my brakes to keep friction and my tires in an amicable relationship.  Too much on the brakes and I would be sliding under the oncoming traffic instead of flying over their hoods.  Oh, the decisions we aren't truly given the requisite time to make...

And then bad got suddenly worse.  Traffic cleared.

The red Nissan finding a gap in the oncoming traffic, pulled left.

Bam.

The large dent near the rear must have been my right shoulder, and the dent ahead of the gas door must have been my right brake hood.

I lay in nearly the exact middle of the intersection for a second as all of the witnesses witnessed from the safety of their cars - and then drove away.  The poor gal in her red Nissan felt so bad that I eventually had to put my hand on her shoulder and tell her I would be ok.  Because I am.  Basically.  

The bike came through remarkably well with only minor scuffs and about 1 year's worth of wear removed from the rear tire.  I scrubbed some skin off my right elbow, and have a bizarre streak of road rash right down the middle of my right shin.

My right shoulder and neck are already making mutinous rumblings in spite of 800 mg of ibuprofen, so I suspect that when I wake up in the morning they will have conspired to effect a full revolt.

I finished my ride, but I took it easy.  I took the corners a little slower, and looked just a little harder around the corners to see what might be lurking.  Cars were definitely the enemy for about 25 miles and that ominous crunch kept replaying in my mind.

The good news - I think I can keep my plans to ride on Saturday.  The physical injuries seem to be superficial, but the psychological ones will keep me tentative in the corners again for a few months.  And, I suspect I'll be getting a phone call from her insurance company tomorrow.  Fun.  Wish I could find that little black car with no brake lights...

October Snow

Our original destination of Relief Reservoir and Emigrant Lake was strongly discouraged by the park ranger. "Your trails will be impossible to find, they're under two feet of snow," he said, "and unless you're extremely good with a map, compass, and snow shoes, I don't recommend it."  

His further recommendation was to head south and enter the Emigrant Wilderness at Cherry Lake.  The elevations there are approx. 2000 feet lower and the assumption was that the snow would be less of a factor.  After some last minute research, I called in our wilderness permit for a 2 day 1 night trip to Styx Pass - out and back from Cherry lake.

Tim and I had both missed our annual group backpacking trip earlier in the summer, so we were cramming this one in between an autumn storm and our busy fall schedules.  

 We have agreed that this ranks among our best backpacking trips ever.  In spite of its brevity, this mini adventure was a perfect respite from the chaos of California Bay Area  life.  The temporary re-calibration of priorities from "profit and loss" to "eat or get eaten" is good for the body and therapy for the mind.

 We had hoped to see snow but held no expectations other than that it would be cold and possibly wet.  Cherry Lake at 4600' had no snow, but in less than an hour of climbing we were already spotting small patches of snow in the shadows.

 Climbing through 6000' the snow gradually increased to where all that was not covered were protruding rocks and the well trodden trail.  After 6500' even the trail was covered with snow and I was beginning to wonder how those whose footprints we were following had located the trail.

  

 Within two miles of the pass, we were on our own.  Alongside a small half frozen lake the foot prints we had been following made an obvious circle in the snow and headed back down the hill.  This provided us with a unique understanding.  We were absolutely and verifiably alone.  No other trails came up that slope, and there was no sign of any human activity from here to the pass.  We would soon find that no tracks headed up from the far side of the pass, and thus we concluded that since the last snow fall - two days prior - we were the sole humans to occupy this crystalline expanse.  Ordinarily one cannot know if others may be nearby until you happen upon them.  Here on this trail we could be certain - we were alone.

 Arriving at Styx Pass (7500'), which is also the boundary between the Emigrant Wilderness and Yosemite National Park, we were faced with a decision.  Our original plan sent us two miles down the other side of the pass to Cherry Creek where we would camp for the night.  Ordinarily a water source is requisite for a suitable campsite, and Cherry Creek would serve as that source.  Atop the pass, surrounded by acres of pure water, Cherry Creek diminished in importance.  Abetting our pending decision was the fact that the trail completely disappeared on the frosted open rock face of the pass.  I suspect that some serious recognizance would have eventually revealed our route - but taken by the striking beauty of the spot - we opted to search out a suitable campsite there.

 It was Tim who suggested the igloo.  Neither of us are architects or Eskimos, but the concept seemed pretty basic and a great means of occupying ourselves in lieu of a hike down the north side of the pass.


Let's just say that by the time we were done, we had figured out how we should have begun.  However, the finished product was not only self supporting, it was also functional.

As darkness approached, we stopped construction long enough to collect firewood and establish a fire ring.  (Don't tell anyone that we created a new fire ring in the wilderness.)  As Tim prepared a fire, I put the finishing touches on our shelter.

 In a final moment of brilliance Tim offered his rain-fly as a door, and it was staked to the face of the fortress to ward off the icy blast that had risen with the moon.  His collapsed tent and my ground cloth were spread on the packed snow as some meager insulation against the chill.

Dinner was typical backpacking fare and delicious as all well-earned meals are.  The wind swirled over the pass.  We burned the fire high as we pulled on layer after layer.  When we ran out of layers we ducked into our shelter and crawled into snug sleeping bags to wait out the night.  We both slept soundly.  I woke only briefly every few hours, and heard the constant pattering of the rain-fly against the hard packed snow.  I woke very early and noted with some confusion that I could see starlight.  I'm no Eskimo, but I'm fairly certain that igloos do not have stars.  The small hole we had left in the center of the roof had enlarged, and the windward side of our shelter was pocked by holes growing larger by the hour.  The wind was wearing away at our protection.  I emerged from my dreams long enough to recognize the potential for alarm, but in a half coherent conversation with Tim, we decided that the gains (staying snugly inside our sleeping bags for another hour or two) far outweighed the risks involved in a total collapse of our structure.

At 5:55 am I awoke to a new sound.  Silence.  The wind was gone and the forest was completely still.  Extracting myself from my North Face cocoon, I crawled under our now motionless door onto an icy moonscape. In a moment as black and cold and still as any in the day, I stood outside our beleaguered cave and felt more than saw the immensity of our mountain.

I restarted our fire from coals and quietly watched a competing flame spread across the ridges far to the east.

Birds we had not noticed the previous day now heralded this great awakening.  I put on water for tea.