Health by Heidi

 "Be careful," the motorist advised as he rolled up next to me.   "I'm not moving till he moves!" I replied with a nervous chuckle.   The motorist waved and slowly drove on.  I straddled my bicycle, standing on the shoulder of the road on a self supported bike tour, descending down the east side of Logan Pass in Glacier National Park.  All had been proceeding smoothly until I rounded a corner.  There, on the side of the road, stood a gargantuan grizzly bear.  I grabbed the brakes, promptly halting my descent.  Mr. Grizzly grazed contentedly on the foliage at the road side, ignoring the sparse traffic that slowed and swerved around him.  His coat was thick and heavy, brown with tan shading around his shoulders and face.  The telltale grizzly hump rested between his shoulders like a bowling ball made of muscle.  The power in his body was palpable, coiled in his muscles like a den of rattlesnakes ready to strike.  He per...

I'm gonna do a seven day bike tour in Colorado next year.  Any interest in going with me?   I pressed Send and the text message whooshed away to my best friend, Denise.  I waited.  Three bubbles appeared.  Do you think I can do it?  Denise is a marathon runner and cycles intermittently as cross training.  She is an aerobic monster, is intimately familiar with long stretches in the pain cave, and lives at 7,000 feet elevation. I know you can do it!  I wouldn't have asked if I had any doubt!   Whoosh went my reply.  I waited, watching the bubbles appear and disappear.  Denise was thinking carefully about her response.  Finally, it came. Ok.  I'm in.   The Colorado bike tour that we were discussing was a seven day, fully supported bike tour through the high mountains of Western Colorado.  Each day, we would ride anywhere between 45 and 82 miles, climbing the high passes in the process, including two passes...

 Bonking.  Hitting the wall.  Lead legs.  Crashing.  Running out of gas.  So many names.  One simple thing.  Most of us have heard of it.  Several of us have experienced it.  It’s that thing that happens when you don’t fuel enough during a sporting event, and suddenly your body begins to betray you.  Everything feels harder than it should. Then things start to feel impossible, and only get worse.  You may know the feeling intimately.  For me, the initial stages of a bonk vary depending on what activity I’m engaged in, but generally it starts with a massive case of grumpy.  If I’m on my bike, I start to get really mad at my hair.  More specifically, I start to hate my braid.  REALLY HATE my braid.   Why won’t this fucking braid stay off my shoulder.  Just stay in the middle of my back.  Why is that stupid braid hanging down my back.   I HATE my braid.   And on and on it goes.  If...

 Any outdoor enthusiast has that one special place.  Whether it’s that certain mountain or special trail or specific piece of road, it becomes the favorite.  We may have other spots that we run or hike or bike more, but this one is the ONE.  We’ve been on it enough to know all its subtleties. There’s that big ponderosa at mile one that I can’t walk by without stopping and pressing my face to its bark, inhaling its spicy vanilla scent.  There’s that bush just beyond the last corner that tells me I’m almost to the top. The rock on the left just fell a few years ago after a heavy rainstorm.  You know that place.  It starts to feel like an old friend. That place for me on my bike is the double pass ride from Sula to North Fork and back.  I summit Lost Trail pass two times.  I love climbing.  Put me on a high mountain pass and my heart soars. Every spring, I wait anxiously for the roads to clear of snow and the road crews to go through and sw...

 "We were going through everything this past weekend, and Kim and I think it would work best if you and I take Ernie if anything happens to Mom."  My husband, Scott, had called me from Oregon where he was visiting his family.  His mom was sorting through all of her things, downsizing and moving into a smaller place.  In the process, she was also updating her will and all that went along with it.  Ernie was her three year old Yorkie dog. "Yeah, that makes sense," I replied, thinking that if we ever did end up with Ernie, it would be years away.  At the time of the phone call, we already had three cats and a seven month old yellow lab named Juno. Fast forward five months.  "I'll be home this weekend with Ernie."  Scott was once again calling me from Oregon.  Several events had transpired, and we now were the new parents of Ernie.   I grew up with cats.  I never had a dog until I met Scott.  I like dogs, but I am a cat person...