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The GRANDEST of Adventures: Conclusion

9/30/2020

Needless to say, the combination of my fear of heights and Dan’s current condition, we opted to take a car back to the North Rim on Wednesday. Yes, it was disappointing to accept that R3 had officially become R2, but it was the safest, wisest choice possible. I was not going to die being a cardio tourist. It just wasn’t worth it. There was a small Bear waiting at home for me that I need to live for.

I ate my avocado toast and raised a delicious bloody Mary at breakfast, incredibly thankful I did not have to squeeze my feet back into those horrible shoes.

We were IN there!

So we spent the rest of Wednesday morning admiring the view from the South Rim. It was incredible, to say the least, to look down on the 3-Mile Resthouse AND Indian Garden and think, we were actually down there. We did it! We really did it. With what seemed like a wild idea one July morning became reality just several months later. It did not go nearly the way I thought it would - 3 soaking wet pairs of socks, not enough food, and over 5000 feet of elevation gain and loss - we actually hiked from one side of the Grand Canyon to the other. Holy smokes. It was like the marathon of marathons, with the most beautiful of scenery, limestone galore, and some serious moments of contemplation. And a rabid bunny thrown in for good measure.

By the time we got back to the North Rim, we were definitely in a celebratory kind of mood. We grabbed a few beers from the saloon (Dan’s new favorite three words: Cherry Vanilla Porter) and headed out to Bright Angel Overlook to enjoy the view. Of course, as I read (or reread, if you will) in the book after arriving home, a tourist slipped and FELL OFF of Bright Angel overlook, I probably would not recommend taking alcoholic beverages on the hike. Several people commented on our wisdom to bring frosty delights and asked when the waiter would be back. Almost as good of an idea as opening and In n Out next to Phantom Ranch.

It was really fun to chat with other hikers - most were shocked and genuinely impressed we had done rim to rim in one day. Hearing their comments was a nice boost. Had they see us stumble into El Tovar the night before, they may have changed their minds.

Really, at the end of the day, all I wanted to do was watch the sun set from the secret patio at the Lodge. And just our luck - a couple got up, freeing two chairs, with about twenty minutes until the big moment. We leaned back in those Adriondacks, kicked up our feet, and took in the view.

The Grand Canyon is magical. There is no other word for it. Simply magical. I have never felt so at peace. I cannot wait to go again.

If Bright Angel Trail is the golden child of the Grand Canyon, North Kaibab is definitely the bigger, scarier older brother. South Kaibab is kind of the red-headed stepchild, since it seems to be the most infrequently used trail out of the three. North Kaibab though...wow.

I convinced Dan to give the brother another try before heading home on Thursday morning, and he eventually gave in (“It’s only a half mile to the overlook! I swear!” He just wrinkled his nose and grunted.) Technically, I guess it was closer to .65, but who’s splitting hairs? I know, I'm pushy. But I love me some Canyon and wasn't quite ready to head back to Real Life yet.

From Coconino Overlook that morning, seeing some of the drop-offs in the light was...a lot. I’m not sure how I would have done with all those stairs going back up. But it’s is, without a shadow of a doubt, back on the bucket list. R3 may have evaded us this time, but there’s always room for Round 2.

We even got a chance to see the mule train in action again, this time with passengers. I realized the answer to the question I’ve been asking myself for years: what is my spirit animal?

I always thought I was a bunny in a past life; it made sense. Big feet, mostly veggie diet, frightens easily. But now I know, I clearly came from the mule family. They are slow, steady, with a rather large round backside. We may not be the fastest, but we will get there. And dammit if we are not incredibly stubborn.

I am one with my people

What would I recommend if you are thinking about a trip to the World's Largest Hole in the Ground?

Bring real food! We both agreed Dan’s condition was likely due to TOO much water and not enough food. He consumed close to 12L during the whole hike, and based on his size, should have eaten a whole lot more than he actually did. Gels are great for running in a shorter amount of time, but real food like sandwiches are necessary for long, slow hikes.
Try out all of your gear ahead of time. I’m so happy my pack was well-broken in; I knew how to shimmy out of it quickly, readjust the straps, and put that puppy back on quickly. No chafing on my arms or shoulders, either.
Bring water shoes! Again, not just for going off trail, but also for the water crossings that they do not tell you about. I can only imagine it is wetter in the spring as the snow pack begins to melt.
Layers, layers, layers. I was so happy to have gloves at the start; it was freezing (especially for us desert folks who shiver when it's cooler than 64 degrees). My lightweight windbreaker also doubled as a rain jacket, and my hoodie was thin but warm. Compression socks to sleep in is also highly recommended.
Speaking of socks...bring 3x the number of socks you think you will need. I am still pissed about my wet left foot. (Maybe that’s the title of a future book? “My Wet Left Foot.”)
I fought with Reinier on this one for weeks, but ultimately, I’m glad I found a hat to wear. For my giant noogin, I found a solid one at REI just days before the trip and it helped keep the sun off my shoulders. I was surprisingly not sunburnt despite being out there for almost 15 hrs.
Invest in the best head lamp you can afford. I switching out my running head lamps (battery powered) for a super fancy, rechargeable one a few weeks before the trip, and I am SO happy I did. The beam on it was BRIGHT and especially when there is absolutely no light, it will save your life. Charge it the night before the hike just to be on the safe side.
Trekking poles are a MUST, especially if you have any fear of heights. It was like having an additional two more points on the ground, which really helped my balance.

Overall, our hike came to just over 25 miles and took about 11 hrs of moving time, 15 hrs on the trail. This was FAR longer than I anticipated, but I’m glad we had the supplies and gear to get us through it. I packed as light as I possibly could manage, but still had all the necessary things in case things really went wrong. For now, my little safety kit - Bandaids, signal mirror, water proof matches, Nuun tabs, topo map, safety pins, and poncho - will remain in my pack going forward.

What’s next? Well, I’m eyeing a 50K race in November in Valley of Fire. If all of the races continue to be cancelled, well, I guess I will have to continue to hit the trails. And camping, though I haven't done it in years...well, the NPS may just receive a permit application from one K. Boschee in the next few weeks for Spring 2021. Because I really, really, really miss my hole in the ground.

Thanks for reading!

...and if you ever find yourself in Hurricane, UT, let me recommend this corn dog stand. Go for the dog; avoid the cacti. Trust me on this one.

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The GRANDEST of Adventures, Part 2

9/29/2020

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“I always start these events with very lofty goals, like I’m going to do something special. And after a point of body deterioration, the goals get evaluated down to basics, like where I am now - where the best I can hope for is to avoid throwing up on my shoes.” - Nuclear Engineer and ultrarunner Ephraim Romesberg, 65 miles into the Badwater Ultramarathon

Eventually, we found Phantom Ranch.

It was...disappointing. What was a popular canteen has now become a simple grab-and-go place with no hot food, no beer, and nothing appetizing. Thank you, COVID. I choked down a bagel and some gummies. There was loose talk of opening an In-n-Out Burger (can you imagine?!). I peeled off my shoes and socks to give my feet some air and was immediately bitten by 200 red ants in the dirt below the picnic table. Ow.

With the uphill grind still ahead of us, we had one last big “oh wow” moment - the mighty Colorado. My words will once again fail me here, because describing this beast is nearly impossible. I couldn’t believe how blue it was. So clear. And loud! It roared up at us from almost 50 feet away. The Silver Bridge was functioning again (thank you!), giving us the opportunity to save 1.5 miles, had we had to take the Black Bridge off of South Kaibab. I gingerly stepped on each grate, thinking of Indiana Jones (the second movie -"Indy! Cover your heart!") when they fall into the alligators. No gators here; just a very fast, very cerulean river. The bridge swayed in places. Instead of it feeling scary, it felt liberating. Silly fun, in fact. This was AWESOME.

About 500 ft into the trail near Pipe Creek, we saw three boats of river runners making their way down. It looked so fun. Fast current, yes, but what a ride. It was around this time that a mule train passed us. No riders, just two rangers with about 8 mules loaded down with supplies. That meant only one thing: lots of mule poop ahead. But at least the trail would be wider than North Kaibab. I locked eyes with one of those mules and I swear, we had a moment. I was proud of that mule. He’s probably seem some stuff.

The climb began. It was after 1pm at this point; my dreams of a 3pm finish time dashed. I figured it would take us about four hours to climb out. At least we were still feeling good and had seen some incredible stuff. This was truly the hike of a lifetime. As long as we got out of this canyon before nightfall, we’d be in good shape.

We climbed. And climbed. And climbed. We avoided mule poop and the rivers of urine; we pulled ourselves up and over the giant wooden stairs. The blisters on the sides of my feet from the descent began to scream. I ignored them. I realized why there are so few pictures of people on their ascent in the canyon; sure, we see the happy-go-lucky folks starting out, cruising down those switchbacks, but what about the climb? No one takes photos during the climb because you are still busy swearing under your breathe.

It was tough, to say the least. Most frustrating was that the mileage constantly seemed to be off. My watch was dead at this point, so I annoyed Dan with repeated questions of our altitude, mileage and overall time. I reasoned we'd hike between 25-26 total miles, additional mileage courtesy of our little sojourn to Ribbon Falls. We'd likely climb to close to 7,000 ft in order to get out, an elevation gain of about 4800 ft, and I was guessing we'd finish up in 12 hours total, around 2.3-2.4 miles per hour. If you think that's slow, try climbing the stairs at your house for 12 hours and let me know how fast you are going on hour 12. Throw some sand and mule poop in there for good measure, too.

All of the water taps at the South Rim were on, which was incredibly helpful. The three liters I added at Phantom Ranch were necessary, as sweat poured off of us. The temperature hovered in the mid-90s and I was down to my running shorts and tank. I suddenly and very clearly understood the concept of “cardiac arrest” from the book - and we were essentially fit, athletic runners. How did other people do this?

We climbed. We shuffled. Our pace was shockingly slow. I prayed my heart was healthy and Dan’s was too.

About an hour later, we hit the Three Mile rest house. Almost there! Except...we weren’t. We were at motherf*cking Indian Garden, a full 4.5 miles from the rim. WHAT?! I thought we had passed that hours ago. How was our mileage so screwy? I kicked a rock. I swore under my breath. I looked at the other hikers draped casually around the picnic tables - happy, clean, chatting, clearly on a day hike from the south rim - with pure annoyance. My mood plummeted further when we hit three - THREE! - water crossings directly outside of Indian Garden. All day, I had been so careful to not let my feet get wet. And with four miles to go, on the third crossing, my left foot slipped in off the rock and went directly to the bottom. My whole shoe was soaked. I had no dry socks left. I limped into the sand, my foot making squishing noises as it exhaled the water. “It would have been nice if they warned us about the water crossings!” I yelled to no one in particular. Dan turned around, trying to stifle his laughter.

The difference in mileage AND my soaking wet left foot was demoralizing, to say the least. It’s like that well-meaning spectator at mile 18 of a marathon shouts, “You are almost there!” and you want to punch them in the face. No such luck, friend. We weren’t almost there. And the roughest part lay ahead.

My foot gurgled with every step.

At this point, I started to worry about my mom. I had told her I would call her as soon as we exited, no later than 4pm that day. Dan’s watch said we were closing in on 5pm. I began to fret. At what point was Karen going to call Search and Rescue? Those flights aren’t free. I didn’t have an extra $30,000 to spend on an unnecessary helicopter ride out of this canyon. Even though we were still miles from the rim, I checked my phone and was delighted to find I had service again - thank you, Verizon tower! One quick text later, my mother was reassured.

We finally hit the Three-Mile Resthouse. Good gravy, that was a long 1.5 miles. I was shocked to find that in order to use the restroom at this stop, you had to rock scramble a good 50 meters just to get the bathrooms. More steps? Nooooo....While Dan rested, I dropped my pack and headed upwards to the potty. There was a deer standing about 10 feet off the trail. I don’t remember it, but apparently I waved to the deer and said, “What’s up, bro? Are you having a good day?” Dan just shook his head. Later, he told he me couldn’t understand my apparent fear of small woodland creatures, but when faced with an 8-point buck less no more than two social distances away, I was all casual.

Oh deer...

We continued our climb. As the sun started to set and darkness enveloped the Canyon once more, I felt the first strains of panic start to rise in my throat. We need to get OUT of here, my brain screamed. I did not think it was going to take us this long. We pulled our headlamps out yet again, and when I clicked my light on, I was shocked at what I saw. Dan did not look good. Pale, sweaty...almost green. Uh-oh...not knowing what else to do, we continued uphill.

I could keep tabs on him based on his headlamp, even though he was behind me. At that point, I started working out several contingency plans in my brain. If he collapsed or could not go further, I was going to wrap him in my Mylar blanket and go find a ranger. There was no way I could physically carry him, as he was a foot taller and almost 80 heavier. Provided he stayed upright and continued to put one foot in front of the other, we'd be fine. All of sudden those blisters on the sides of my feet stopped hurting as I worked through these scenarios. I couldn't tell if my headache was from stress, my headlamp, or my ponytail. Why did this seem like a good idea, again?

Nighttime on the South Rim

A few minutes later, I realized his light was not behind me. About 20 feet back, he sat down to take a break. While it was pitch black on the trail, there were still hikers around us. A couple that looked like they had been hiking for all of 30 minutes were leap-frogging us up the trail. On this particular jump, the guy got too close to Dan and Dan promptly puked on the guy’s feet. Surprisingly, the guy was cool about it. I stared at the canyon wall directly to the left, willing myself to not start sobbing. This was getting downright scary.

Puking - and then taking a Roctane gel - seemed to help. With a second wind (third? Fourteenth?), we managed to finally, finally drag oursevles past the 1.5 Mile Rest house. Knowing we had such a small distance to go definitely helped, and nighttime went from being scary to being my old friend - hello, Darkness. No drop offs to look at here! Back to hiking in the warehouse. I could see the ridge line above us and the lights from other hikers exiting the Canyon. We were so close! Almost there, almost there....we hit “Second Tunnel” - thank God - then First Tunnel! Then, out of nowhere, there was a weird house to our left. They wouldn’t build a house without being close to the rim, right?

I felt like sprinting out when I saw two girls standing at what appeared to be the trail head for Bright Angel. “Is this a parking lot?” I asked. They blinked at me, totally confused. I guess that's not someone's first comment upon exiting the Grand Canyon. I didn't care - I saw cars! It was! It really was! We had made it!

As much as I felt like laying down and weeping on a bench, we still had to get to the hotel, about a half mile down the road. But it was a road! With pavement! Mostly flat with only a slight incline! And no poop!

We dragged ourselves up the steps of the hotel, amid guests in rocking chairs, sipping cocktails in their cute, clean North Face gear with faces full of makeup and curled hair. The noisy din of cocktail hour muted almost instantly upon our arrival. We must have looked like we just crawled out of a swamp. Dan told me later that he was still unconsciously using his trekking poles WITH his headlamp on, making our entrance that much weirder. I crack up just thinking about it.

I made a beeline for the registration desk, intent on ending this day as quickly as possible. When the kind woman told me our room was on the third floor - "It’s a historic hotel with no elevator" - I laid my head on the partition and cried. Gwen, as we would later learn her name, took pity on me. Because of our super late arrival, she started click-click -clicking through her computer and found a closer room on the second floor. It just so happened to be the Presidential Suite; the nicest room in the entire hotel. She upgraded us for free.

If I ever have another child, I will name her Gwen.

So there you have it: two exhausted hikers, covered in dirt and grime, one still green at the gills, hauled themselves up another set of stairs, only to collapse on the floor in the nicest room on the South Rim. At no extra charge.

Once the Hokas were off, I practically skipped through the giant suite with total joy. TWO sets of fluffy robes AND slippers! Look at that bathroom! We have a sitting area! And a couch! Hooray! I proceeded to take the longest shower known to man, with the bathtub looking like a murder scene as the red dirt swished off.

Happy Kim

This sure as hell beats Phantom Ranch

When room service arrived, the nice man asked where we would like the food. I told him anywhere, since we were going to eat it with our hands. We will likely never get upgraded again.

I can't help but look back on our hike and smile. Within a 60-minute window, our lot changed considerably. We went from muck and dirt with aching feet and vomit to devouring French onion soup, a New York strip, and a nicely chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

Life is nothing if not surprising.

The conclusion and final thoughts tomorrow. :-)

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The GRANDEST of Adventures, Part 1

9/28/2020

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North Rim in the rain

Kaibab: Native American word meaning “mountain lying down” or “mountain turned upside down.”

My first sentence uttered upon seeing the giant pothole: “Wow. that’s...big.”

Please excuse my simplicity - seeing the Grand Canyon in person on the North Rim, even from the edge of the parking lot of the Lodge, was enough to render the chattiest of us speechless. And then it hit me:

“We have to go in there?”

Our little adventure had started a few hours earlier, on the second to last Monday in September. Brimming with supplies and good spirits, we set off from Vegas that morning, ready to tackle this canyon thing. We had gone over our supplies and gear, so I knew we had exactly what we needed in the event harm came our way. From compression socks to a fully-stocked medical kit, snacks, a tomahawk, several knives, a topo map, waterproof matches, my Boston Marathon Mylar blanket, and a tiny speaker with music (“to keep the energy up”), I thought we had covered all our bases.

We hadn’t even reached Arizona when the first injury happened. Waiting in line at a corn dog stand in Hurricane, Utah, I wandered over to a nearby rock store to look at the rocks. On the lot, there was a giant prickly-pear cactus with bright red buds. The buds looked so squishy. Careful to not harm the plant, I picked up one of the buds that had already fallen off, thinking I’d bring it home to Scotty as a little treasure. While I was careful to avoid the one-inch needles, I had no idea the bud was also covered in tiny, microscopic needles that immediately implanted themselves into each of my fingers. As much as I tried, rubbing them only pushed them in farther.

I sheepishly approached the truck and asked Dan for the medical kit. He looked up from his phone right away, surprised that we had not even reached out destination and I was already in need of aid. Sadly, there was no set of tweezers in the kit, so I was forced to pull each individual needle from my fingers one by one. It took hours.

I never finished that corn dog. (Remember friends: there are no vegan police.)

By the time we were both gazing over the side of the wall on the North Rim, mouths agape and speechless, those needles quickly were forgotten. The sheer enormity of the task ahead of us was daunting. But this is how I’ve felt on the eve of every marathon ever. The questions swirled. Did I do enough to prepare? What will go wrong? What did I forget? I wasn’t concerned about time or mile splits this time; I was mostly worried about temperature, heights, sheer drops, the weight of our packs, rock slides, flash floods, lightening, the aggressive Arizona grey squirrel, heat stroke, dehydration...to name a few.

Yes, some may think that reading “Over the Edge: Death in the Grand Canyon” was a poor idea in the weeks before this trip. I beg to differ. While the first chapter “Falls from the Rim” made my palms sweat, the rest of the book was incredibly helpful. All 556 pages gave me an incredible boost of confidence - not because of my hiking abilities (which are poor), but for the simple fact that I, demographically speaking, was at a far greater rate to survive the canyon than pretty much anyone else. High five to all the other 42-year old women out there!

The book laid it all out. The highest risk group to fall from the rim? Males, 20-29 years old. Why? Because they are rock scrambling, showing off, or just simply goofing around by the edge. As of 2018, out of the 64 total victims that have accidentally fallen from the rim, only 10 were female. Of those 10 women, two were thought to be on drugs or alcohol, one could have been a murder-suicide, leaving the last seven having pitched over the edge because of vertigo, stumbling over their feet, or a simple but deadly attempt to take a photo. “Just one more step back” is a local joke. Death by Selfie is also a real thing too. But these numbers, instead of freaking me out, did the opposite: it made me feel better. I was not planning to use drugs or get drunk; I was fairly confident Dan was not going to murder me, and there was no way I was taking a selfie near the edge. We all know I am a terrible selfie taker. May the odds be ever in my favor.

The book had even more helpful information. Since less than 1% of the Grand Canyon’s total visitors ever venture below the rim, I knew the numbers were on our side. (“What are the odds of having a visitor go below rim AND be Auntie Anne’s winning pretzel maker from 1998?” Dan mused on Wednesday. I guessed .000000001%. I had no idea of his pretzel making skills). Of environmental deaths, men were the most likely to die, again from falling from cliffs within the canyon, heat stroke, or cardiac arrest. The age group 22-35 year old men had the greatest chance of experiencing heat stroke and dehydration, whereas as the 45+ dudes were most likely to die from heart attack as they climbed out. Note to dudes planning their Grand Canyon adventure: you have a very small window to make this happen. Dan happens to be 37.

While men died from thirst, women, on the other hand, were more likely to die from hyponetremia, an imbalance of sodium within the body caused from drinking TOO much water countered by not enough food. This, again, made total sense to me. Of course we, as women, would be hyper-concerned about our hydration needs and overdo it. I’ll admit, hiking was a total appetite killer for me; I struggle to consume real food simply due to lack of appetite. But if that meant my kidneys were going to blow out and my brain was going to swell? Pass the gummy bears.

Armed with this knowledge and much more (Most dangerous animal: that damn squirrel. Likelihood of a flash flood: low. Potential to drown: extremely low; we weren’t setting foot into the Colorado River. I skipped that whole chapter), I felt as though we had trained and prepared as much as we could. Perhaps the best part of the book is when it points out that mountaineer is much different than canyoneering. “Mountains let people know just how hard it really is gain elevation solidly via one’s own power....Mountains often weed out the unfit so early in the game that, once they realize they have bitten off more than they can chew, they can often return fairly easily downhill to their staging zone. Canyons do the opposite.” Provided no rabid squirrels bite me and I don’t trip over my own feet, my likelihood for survival was high.

Our plan was simple: Day 1, we traverse down North Kaibab Trail starting at 4am. Get through “The Box,” the hottest part of the Canyon, by 10am. Depart Phantom Ranch, the very bottom area, no later than 11am, and then hike back up Bright Angel Trail. With two routes at the South Rim, most hikers prefer to go down South Kaibab - only 7 miles but very steep - and go up Bright Angel - at 9.3 miles, it’s a much more gradual climb. I figured the whole thing would take close to 8 hours and we’d pop out on the rim no later than 3pm on Tuesday afternoon. On Wednesday, we’d take South Kaibab down to North Kaibab. Since this was Day 2 (tired legs) and more uphill, I estimated it would take us around 12 hours.

I did exactly what the book suggested, which was leave a note in the car stating our names, descriptions, routes, and estimated times of arrivals and departures, hence anything go wrong and rangers could easily find the vehicle with our itinerary. For good measure, I sent the whole thing to my mother the day before we left. I knew Karen would call Search and Rescue and keep us safe.

And Tuesday morning, at 4:08am, amid total darkness, we arrived at the trailhead of North Kaibab, jittery and full of anticipation.

Hey hey! Who has poles and is ready to hike?!

We started the descent. In the inky blackness, all I saw was...sand. So much sand. Why didn’t anyone mention the sand? It was like a freaking beach up here. Then I realized - the sand was for the mules’ hooves, to make the ground softer. Ooooh....that gave me a boost. If a mule can do this trail, I can too!

We passed Coconino Overlook with little celebration; we were only .5 miles into the trip. Supai Tunnel came out of nowhere; that was about 1.7 miles down. Dan stretched out his massive wingspan, all 6’6”, and touched both sides of the tunnel.

With no light except the ones coming from our headlamps, there was nothing to see; no cliffs, no heights, no drop offs. I could have been walking in a warehouse for all I knew. Instead of the darkness being scary, it was reassuring. No vision meant no fear of heights!

The trail began to get more gravely. I had on gloves, a shirt, a swifty, and my hoodie - while the temp at the top was around 40 degrees, we were warming up quickly. Considering we still couldn’t see anything around us, I opted to not remove any clothing until we had better lightening.

About two miles down, there was a small rustling sound to our left. Dan pointed out a tiny grey bunny. I looked over to see a large rabbit with red eyes and long teeth. It jumped. Near me. There was a thump. I screamed. Dan laughed. Wth? Rabid bunnies on the trail? He pointed out it was completely harmless, but I strongly disagreed. That bunny had a look in its eyes and it was not normal. Dan then pointed out my scream most likely scared away anything else living on this side of the Canyon. Fine with me.

Around mile 4, we were delighted to discover a bridge - bridge! That’s novel! I thought there was only the bridge across the Colorado River. In reality, there were probably 7-8 bridges in the Canyon and we greeted each one with the same level of excitement and wonder(“A BRIDGE! OMG!”) Clearly, hikers are an easy group to impress. We crossed the Redwall Bridge like champs.

By the time first light broke, I realized two things: the mule poop had stopped and we were going down what appeared to be an epic number of steps on the side of the Canyon wall. In certain parts, it was narrow. Like, really narrow. And the Canyon walls caved in, making the path that much smaller. How the hell did people run this? I held my breathe, taking baby steps, and concentrated on Dan’s feet in front of me. These traverses were short to be sure, but holy moly. No rock wall, no trees, nothing but a sheer drop of about 400 feet directly to my left. And no mule poop meant...this trail was officially not for mules anymore. My palms began to sweat in my gloves.

The sound of a waterfall was like music to my ears. We had hit Roaring Springs, the first “big” moment on the hike. Snapped some photos, admired how far we had come, and cruised on through. Manzinita was up next, at 5.1 miles. This was a rest area, complete with potties, picnic tables, and my favorite: a map. I was really surprised we were only 5.1 miles into the hike. My Garmin was already acting weird; it had clocked us at close to 8. I had a feeling the real number was around 6 miles, but we were feeling good, making good time, and enjoying the scenary. It was almost completely light out at this point; close to 6:30am. A light drizzle started to fall, bathing the Canyon in an eerily, grey light that made the colors that much more vibrant. This was truly one of the most beautiful things I had every witnessed.

At the rest area, I watched a girl at the picnic table eat tuna directly from a pouch, and realized if you had told me it was 5:30pm, I would have believed you. I had no concept of time at this point.

We kept moving, hitting all the normal stops with no problems. We had agreed before the trip that Ribbon Falls, at mile 8.1, was a definite “must-see.” Unfortunately, when we got there, we were greeted with this:

Um...

Seems legit.

I shrugged. Oh well, it was a nice idea, but not going to happen. I picked up my poles to continue downstream.

Dan was undeterred. He insisted that we could find a way over the creek via another crossing. Alarm bells went off in my head (“Most hikers that die in the canyon do so because they wandered off the original trail”...the book pointed out numerous times.) Ever the rule follower, I followed him but remained on the trail. He cut through the shrubs; I followed on the path. Eventually, we found a crossing where the water was only several inches deep, but it was still moving fast. I still wasn’t sold on going off-trail when I realized he had his shoes off and had plunged a sock-footed leg into the freezing water. “Dammit!” I cursed. If he jumps, I do too.

Mentally, I calculated how many socks I brought with me. Enough, I reasoned. I gingerly followed. Once we made it over the slippery river rocks in nothing but our socks, I dug around for another pair, ready to put my shoes back on. But instead, I found a pair of outdoor slippers my mom had sent me for my birthday a week earlier; they were to be my “after hiking” shoes. With a thick rubber bottom and neoprene foot covering, they could also double as water shoes. Score one for Karen!

I happily threw on my pink slippers and couldn’t believe how much better my feet felt. I practically danced on the rocks, through the creek, over the cacti on our way to Ribbon Falls. Shunning the Hokas for footwear that actually allowed my feet to feel the ground, I wondered if maybe I was a Vibrams girl at heart. My feet felt AMAZING. It was like wearing ballet slippers, and I was using my toes again. Heaven!

By the time we made it to Ribbon Falls, I realized Dan had been right the whole time: this was TOTALLY worth the detour. It was probably one of the most incredible things I had ever seen. Water cascaded from two separate falls with greenery trailing up the side of the falls and little red flowered bursting in bloom. This was like utopia to us green-starved desert dwellers. Knee-deep, the 50-degree water rejuvenated tired muscles. I was hesitant to get wet - water = chafing in my running world, but today, we were hikers. We got soaked in the little fern-covered grotto, soaked our tootsies in that mineral water, and wished we had a floatie and maybe a beer. This place was paradise.

All too soon, it was time to leave and carry on. Crossing back over, drying our feet, and smushing my feet back into those unforgiving Hokas took some time. My anxiety started to creep in again when I realized our little waterfall adventure had taken almost 90 minutes, throwing us completely off schedule. But it was worth it. Totally worth it.

We marched into the Box right around 11am. My jaw clenched; this was exactly the wrong time to be in the Box. Based on weather predictions, it’s best to avoid the area between 10a-4p, as it can be the hottest part of the canyon, with temperatures soaring to 110-115 with no shade and no wind. It could be stifling. We, however, lucked out - the cloud cover made it the perfect day, and the temperature could not have been higher than 85 at that point. We marveled at the beauty around us - the slot canyons, Bright Angel Creek, the green. So much green! I felt like a brachiosaurus head was going to pop out from around the bend at any moment. It was like Jurassic Park met Jumanji, with a dash of Indiana Jones thrown in. This was the adventure of a lifetime. I had never seen such untouched, pristine land before.

That’s when it hit me: very few people will ever see this. The process of getting down here - and then back up - will prevent most people from being able to witness the amazing grandeur that is the bottom of the canyon. There was nothing here with wheels. There were no kids. No strollers, no ice cream stands, nothing that would suggest we were living in 2020. We had our phones out to take pictures, but had no service. There was nothing but the sound of rushing water. It was truly the land before time.

Phantom Ranch, our lunch spot, was allegedly 13.6 miles from the North Rim. Today, however, my watch was reading 18 miles in and Dan’s read 16 - and no Phantom Ranch in site. We continued onward. The mood became a bit grumbly. The temperature was definitely climbing and we still had the hardest part yet to do. I was trying hard not to think about it. But every glance up at the soaring limestone gave me a little pit in my stomach: we climbed down here.

Now we have to climb out.

Part 2...TOMORROW!

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Maturity

9/14/2020

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So, 42. Wow. 42.

I never feel old until I’m around younger people — then I’m like, wtf did I do with my life for the last X amount of years?

But this is a different kind of birthday. I dont' feel old at all. In fact, I feel...refreshed. It’s kind of a like a rebirth in a lot of ways.

For the last 2+ years, I’ve been scrambling. Divorce, job, finances, child, my own mental health (which seriously got the back burner more times than I could count) - it was a hot mess. Me, trying to make ends meet. Me, trying to please everyone. Me, putting down boundaries and then getting walloped in the face. It was not fun.

While I certainly don’t wish anyone to go through what I’ve experienced, I can tell you this: I’m stronger and better because of it. I now know my worth. I am not going to settle. Insecure dudes - take the high road. (Or low road, as several have done...) I know what I’m good at and what I need to improve upon. Check your own issues at the door; they are not welcome here.

I’m made colossal mistakes over the past few years. Trusting people who did not deserve my trust. Ruminating on situations I could not change. Trying to make others change when in fact, that was not my place.

But it’s been a long, slow road (::insert hiking analogy here::) to finally get a lot of the life lessons that I needed to learn. Slow down. Be patient. Meet people where they are at. Be kind. When they are not kind, still be kind. Stand up for yourself. And probably most salient: BE PRESENT.

I struggle with being present because I’m predisposed to anxiety. That’s not a cop-out; it just is. Tell me a situation, and I’ll tell you all the positives and negatives that could come about. I will quote you stats. I will tell you all the ways this did not work in the past, because dammit, I've researched it and talked to people and done my due diligence. I will never tell you the best part about being in that situation because I’m thinking 10 ft ahead and possibly two weeks ahead. Maybe that's a good thing - maybe it’s my advanced age. But I am starting to understand - thinking ten feet ahead helps no one.

As the Grand Canyon trip approaches, this advice is more literal than esoteric. I have watched SO many freaking videos on the trails, and I’m like, wow. I need to keep my head down and just move forward. My fear of heights has not gone away; I’ve just learned how to deal with it with all the crazy Mt. Charleston climbs (which, btw, are terrifying. The phrase “rock wall” will send a chill down anyone’s spine if they cannot look at heights.) A friend asked me how I was going to handle the drop offs at the Grand Canyon. My response: I’m not going to look. He said, “You are going all that way to NOT look?” Me: Yes, 100%.

Because that’s practical. That’s me. And I’m okay with that.

As I get older, I’m realizing life is what you make of it. No one is coming to save you. You have to be your own hero. You want a birthday party? You make it for yourself. You want to do big things? You figure it out, and despite the obstacles, you keep going. Grand Canyon has been a weird mix of yes, I’ve got this and, who do I think I am? And at the end of the day, it’s the words of David Goggins that resound most strongly in my brain: I’ll show you. Let me be the next.

I got this.

It’s freaking awesome to have another birthday. In the days of the ‘Rona, some don’t get to. Me, I’m healthy, agile, and athletic. I have the means to travel. I am truly, truly lucky. I can’t wait to see this giant hole in the earth, potentially faint, and then keep going. As Reinier has said many times. conditioning me for the hike, “It’s going to suck at some point.” I’ve always dreaded the suck. Now, I feel like I’m looking forward to it. Just like the half marathon this past weekend, when points of it sucked and I wanted to quit, I reminded myself about the beauty of life: nothing lasts forever. That’s the good news...and the bad news.

Bring on the suck. I got this.

Onward to more adventures!!!

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The Next Big Thing

9/9/2020

1 Comment

This doesn't look like running gear...

Hey all!

Anything new?

So yeah...how's 2020 treating you?

I won't rehash what already has been said and I will try to refrain from using words like "unprecedented" and "uncertain times." This year has definitely been one long, strange trip and I think we'd all agree, there is no end in sight. Let's just all take a moment to be thankful that the murder hornet threat turned out to be unsubstantiated and the Garmin cyber attack resolved itself fairly quickly. Everything else that's going on...I got nothing.

What have I been up to? Well, that's a great question. Prior to the world losing its collective mind, I was counting on an aggressive fall running schedule with the Marine Corp Marathon on October 25th and then the New York City marathon six days later. Obviously, none of that is happening. In fact, during the first few weeks of the pandemic, I struggled just to get through the day, let alone get a few miles in. The combination of the uncertainty of the fate of humanity PLUS working from home, home schooling a fourth grader, AND a global crisis?

My little brain was fried.

Consequently, I did what many others did as well - I laid on the my couch, ordered far too much Thai take-out (yellow curry is my comfort food), and packed on the pounds. It wasn't until mid-May when I put a dress on and questioned why it was so tight around my hips. A quick jump on the scale shocked the hell out of me. I haven't weighed this much since 2012, a year after I started running. After a week of crying, moping, denial, and kicking stuff, I put on my big-girl pants and called the only person I knew could help me: Reinier.

Every Monday for the next month, I spent in his garage lifting heavy stuff and whining about my life. Thankfully, the man not only has a great sense of humor but an incredible amount of patience to boot. He encouraged me to run "just one mile a day." Kim circa 2017 would have laughed at this; she was clocking 35+ miles a week BEFORE Thursday morning's speed work. However, 2020-Global-Pandemic-Kim couldn't seem to shake her pad thai habit or locate her running shoes.

At the end of the day, however, I listened. I got my miles in. I stopped shoveling noodles down my throat. I bought arugula. I actually ate the arugula. Around 80% of the fruits and veggies purchased at the store were consumed as intended, instead of meeting an untimely death in my fridge. I ghosted my Uber Eats guy. The pounds began to melt off. Whew.

Randomly, Scott and I spent a long weekend in Utah in early July and that's when I realized how incredibly inexpensive it was to travel now. We had the best time riding horses, drawing by the pool, and playing golf; that vacation was really a turning point for my mental health. It felt SO good to be out of the state, and more importantly - outside.

I stopped feeling sorry for myself and decided to set some big, hairy, audacious goals. If all the races were going to be cancelled, well then dammit, I will make my own.

So one morning a few weeks later, while the small Bear slept. I crept out to the loft and started my research. For years, the idea of doing the Grand Canyon rim-to-rim has appealed to me, but it was nearly impossible to get reservations at local hotels or a permit to camp. But that was all pre-COVID; what if the pandemic has affected visitation to the Grand Canyon too? What if there was a silver-lining to this whole mess?

Several hours and a few phone calls later, I could not believe my good fortune. Somehow, there were a few open slots left for the hotel on the North rim in late September. It was during the week, which was not ideal, but holy cats - there was actually an opening! Because it closes for the winter on Oct 15 every year, the season is so short and they book up so quickly. I managed to find a place on the South rim, too, that matched our dates and the next big thing suddenly sprouted wings.

So what the heck is this trip all about? Well, my friend Dan and I will be taking the three biggest trails in the park - hiker highways, really - and covering just over 48 miles in two days. Starting on North Kaibab, we will descend about 5,400 feet over 7 miles into the canyon, then cover just over 7 more miles on flatter ground. From there, we'll hit a little campground called Phantom Ranch, which is a where most people spend the night. We, however, will be continuing up another 9+ miles out of the canyon on the Bright Angel Trail to hit the South rim. All on Day 1. We will spend the night on the South Rim (hotel, thank you very much, WITH air-conditioning and private bathrooms), get up the next morning, head back into the canyon on South Kaibab until we reach North Kaibab Trail, and then up and back out. Seems pretty straight forward, right? My biggest concern at that point was how I was going to fit my 27-step nightly skincare routine into my hiking bag.

What, you think I wake up looking like this?

Like everything in my life, I was inappropriately overconfident until I actually had to do it. So with Reinier and another friend - who happens to be an elite cyclist - we set off to conquer Griffith Peak, a ten mile hike with about 3600 ft of elevation gain. I stupidly texted Reinier the night before and said something ridiculous like, "ONLY ten miles? And we get to walk it?! This sounds luxurious!"

Kim. Oh, Kim. Oh silly, silly, stupid Kim.

That morning in August, I learned how freaking heavy a backpack was; 3L of water felt like a small child on my back. I learned how much damn food you need to bring and that I hated all of my food within three miles. I learned one mile may take you twenty-five-freaking-minutes and it is the LONGEST TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE. I learned the first four and half miles may take you over two hours (unless you are an elite cyclist; then it only take 1:40). TWO HOURS of climbing. Straight climbing. Imagine getting on the stair master at the gym and just going at it nonstop for TWO HOURS. That morning, I slogged behind Reinier and Max like a grumpy toddler, silently letting the tears run down my cheeks as I fretted about just about everything. I kicked a lot of rocks, annoyingly pulled my pack way too much, and considered throwing in the towel.

In my excitement over scoring a reservation, I also had foolishly chosen to disregard my darn-near paralyzing fear of heights. I've had this fear for as long as I can remember, and it's so bad, I literally cannot change the air filters in my house because they are "up too high." Okay, you may be asking yourself, if I can't change an air filter, what in god's name am I doing hiking the Grand Canyon? Yeah, that's a great question. I have no idea either. I mean, like every single marathon I've ever done, it all starts out as a good idea. And then I realize, I am in WAY over my head.

Griffith Peak, Aug 1. I'm smiling but I don't mean it.

It took me over 33 minutes to GET OFF of Griffith that morning. That's going DOWNHILL. Reinier coached me the whole time ("trust your shoes") as I literally choked back my fear during those first 50m. It's pretty sad when you like climbing uphill better than going down. In my mind, I kept picturing myself tripping, then rolling like a ball, then.... off the side I go. All 10,600 feet to the ground. Weeeeeeee...

Even now, typing that, my hands are starting to sweat.

It's been a long, strange journey since that climb. In my attempts to multi-task, Scott and I would hit Wet N Wild and while he climbed seven stories to go down the slides, I climbed seven stories...and then went back down. And then up again. Then down. My one-day PR at Wet n Wild is 208 floors. All of the lifeguards were laughing but hey! I got some serious steps in while the small Bear was having fun.

Each weekend trip to Mt. Charleston provided more helpful training. I've summitted Charleston Peak twice, Griffith twice, the Saddle six separate times, and then just on Sunday, I decided to create my own route. Eighteen miles and 5,394 ft of elevation gained, I have never been so happy to see my car. Or my sandals. I also made the very tough decision that I will be bringing NO skincare products with me because quite frankly, I'm not carrying that shit.

We leave for this epic adventure in just under two weeks - the biggest miles are behind me. And I'm VERY happy to report that while this hiking stuff takes FOREVER (what happened to the days of running 20 miles AND still being on time for 9am baseball?), it's just as effective as running in terms of weight loss. Reinier, magic man that he is, managed to carve off 13 lbs and close to 4% of body fat. While not quite "fighting weight," now I can concentrate more on how much my water weighs instead of my booty.

So stay tuned! The real adventure is just beginning. Excited to be back to blogging and as always, thanks for reading!

Charleston Peak, summit #1

Charleston Peak, summit #2

Griffith Peak, summit #2

Scrambling up Camelback Mtn in mid-August; it was 115 degrees.

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The GRANDEST of Adventures: Conclusion

The GRANDEST of Adventures, Part 2

The GRANDEST of Adventures, Part 1

Maturity

The Next Big Thing

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