On fire

I'm trying to think of the last time I was this passionate about a project, and I can't think of anything that quite matches the intensity and duration of the passion I'm feeling right now.

There are many that come close. The start of my (work) blog. The Mahal project. Michael Lock. DNA. In college there was my capstone. The Greyhound bus mega-story I worked on with Michelle. Homecoming house decs 2005. That might be the closest match.

But I don't think I've ever felt this overwhelming combination of excitement, stress, enthusiasm, nervousness, love, frustration, hilarity, agony, fun and pure adrenaline before. It has me reeling.

Do you ever find yourself with so many thoughts that you don't have enough time to yourself to fully think all of them? My brain is full of unfinished reflections and dreams that I keep bookmarking to come back to. I cannot stop thinking about work.

The insane part is I don't really mind thinking about it constantly.

That's not to say I don't dread it at times. I come home emotionally and intellectually drained. I can't bear to think of surviving another day. But then the next day I laugh and I laugh harder and I realize how much I enjoy the people I work with (some of them) and how much progress we're making. I picture our goal attained and the buzz comes back. It's an utter roller coaster.

Soon the project, at least the development stage, will come to an end. I'll have new goals to attain, and I'll work with different people to attain them. I'll feel all the emotions listed above, but probably not at the same time. I'll look back on this stressful and wonderful period in my career and long for that adrenaline, that insistent buzz - stronger than caffeine - that keeps me bouncing.

But for now, I'll hold on tight and enjoy the ride the best I can.

So long, night news shift

Last night I served my last official shift on the online producer schedule. Unfortunately it was a Saturday night, and who likes to work on a Saturday night? No one, that's who. But fortunately, it was indeed my last one.

Most people have no idea why I work weekends. I dread having to explain it because it's hard to describe. But I'll give it a try here in case you're wondering. A weekend night shift goes something like this:

Drag yourself kicking and screaming to work around 5 or 5:30. Check in with the dayside editor. Do whatever he needs you to do (post a story, change a photo, add a link) and catch up on e-mail. Reject comments that have been reported for abuse. That all takes about an hour.

Then start printing any sections that have gone to press already (Cue, Biz). Chat it up with a coworker or two while waiting for the slow, slow printer. Put on your headphones and zone out while you crank out your first section of the night. This involves moving the stories and photos over to our CMS, creating modules for photos, photo galleries, related links, videos, etc., cleaning up the stories for the web, adding appropriate kickers and headlines to each, placing on proper headline lists and reordering the headline lists appropriately.

Next up is dinner. Check e-mail and Google Reader while you munch. Then slug through the next section. By the time you've got that done, the local section is usually about ready to be produced. After that, the A section.

All the while, you're still keeping up with comment abuse reports, coordinating with the copy desk and editors and making sure the homepage is in tip top shape. When everything is produced, you consult with an editor to decide which stories will go up top. Then you rearrange the homepage, make it look nice and purty, do a few miscellaneous tasks to prepare the site for the next day, check your work and skedaddle out around 1 a.m. if all goes well (I've been there as late as 3:30 before though). You walk past paper deliverers picking up their stashes in the parking lot as you leave and that makes it feel even later.

So long, night news shift! It was nice knowing you. Here's to hoping I won't have to fill in for anyone anytime soon...

Surreal

I can't even believe my eyes.

An 8.9 earthquake in Japan, causing a huge tsunami. Houses, buildings, cars, boats in flames while being swept by the wave.

This video (the second one) from BBC made my jaw drop. It doesn't even seem real. It's so hard to imagine that actually physically happening. But it did.

Praying for Japan this morning.

A true Birkebeiner

(Originally published here and in print here.)

3:28 a.m.: My alarm goes off and I bounce up off my bed, a pad on the floor of the Ogema house where I’m crashing for the Birkie Eve. I’m relieved my short night of tossing and turning is over.

By 4:10 a.m., we are on the road to Hayward, where at 6 a.m. a bus will take us to the starting line of the American Birkebeiner in Cable..

“Look at all these crazy people!” my friend and training partner, Elizabeth, exclaims as we pull into the parking lot in pre-dawn darkness.

“We are these crazy people,” I think, still too out of it to articulate the words.

On the 30-minute bus ride I eavesdrop on the two men behind me, as they discuss their past Birkie experiences and today’s conditions.

They predict that the downhills are likely to get icy and carved out in the single-digit temperatures. I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.

Up until this point, I’ve been appropriately nervous about the 54-kilometer race, but three hours before my start time the reality of what I am about to undertake begins to set in.

Elizabeth and I had signed up for the Birkie almost on a whim. On our borrowed and used skis, we learned the hard way (and halfway through our training) that you have to apply kick wax to waxable skis and glide wax even to waxless skis. We fell down hills and struggled up them. We put in our share of time on the trails, but still we were, relative to most Birkie skiers, complete novices.

After struggling with faulty equipment most of the season, Elizabeth dropped down to the Kortelopet three weeks before the race. I faced the Birkie alone.

I have been an occasional cross-country skier all my life. Growing up, my dad made sure we got out on skis whenever the opportunity presented itself, which wasn’t too often in the Chicago suburbs. A passionate outdoorsman, he skied the Birkebeiner in 1987, a year so warm the race would have been canceled if the route hadn’t been shortened and artificial snow added.

Twenty four years later, I was going to take my place on the start line on one of the coldest race days in history.

When we stepped off the bus in Cable, the negative 10 degrees on the thermometer matched the numbness I felt. I tried to harden myself for the challenge to come.

While Elizabeth and our adoring fans, her boyfriend and my husband, staked out a spot on the floor of the Telemark Resort, I wandered, admiring the fact that the line for the women’s restroom was shorter than the men’s.

As we walked to the start line, I had no idea if I was ready, but that was irrelevant. Suddenly I was skiing the Birkie.

I lost my balance and fell in the first kilometer, when the race felt "like Chicago traffic."

Elizabeth and I stuck together the best we could during the first nine kilometers, before the Korte and the Birkie trails split. As we approached the fork, my emotions swelled. I thought of the journey ahead.

"Don’t leave me!" I joked to Elizabeth.

Then I was on my own.

The trail was peaceful, and a light snow turned my eyelashes white and icy. Once I found my groove the time seemed to fly by.

I skied past a plaid-clad member of the "Birchleggings Club," who was out for his 31st Birkie. At the next aid station, he passed me. Eventually I caught up and passed him again. The routine repeated itself at least five times and brought a strange sense of comfort.

My only goal, besides finishing, was to enjoy the day, and I embraced the mostly silent but occasionally chatty camaraderie with fellow skiers.

My clearest struggle was in aid station efficiency. Opening my fuel belt and eating gels and chews required a complete stop and mitten removal. And unlike the many men on the trail who answered nature’s call, um, in nature, I had to wait in a 10-minute line for a portable outhouse.

After the prolonged stops at each aid station, it took a good 20 minutes before I was warmed up enough to feel my fingers.

My little fan club greeted me just when I was starting to need them, at mile 26. Their hugs and encouragement sent me flying on my way to the inevitable encounter with "Bitch Hill."

I had heard stories of this legendary slope, but couldn’t quite remember where in the course it was located. I figured I’d know it when I saw it, and indeed, there was no mistaking this hill.

If training at Lapham Peak had taught me one thing, it was how to attack wall-like hills. I practically ran up this one, passing at least four skiers in the process. From there, I knew I was going to finish the Birkebeiner.

Still, the last 5K was the toughest both mentally and physically. Visions of the finish on Main Street danced through my mind, as I shuffled across Lake Hayward.

I tried my best to grin at the few spectators left on the course, immeasurably grateful for their support in these frigid conditions. With one kilometer to go, a man ran alongside a skier ahead of me waving a plastic cup of beer in his face. "You’ll get this at the end!" he taunted. I silently cursed that cruel, cruel man. The lake seemed to go on forever.

I began to choke up once the finish line was clear on the horizon. I had to breathe, though, so I couldn’t cry.

Instead, I sprinted. A voice announced the name of a Birkie founder who crossed the finish line right beside me. I mumbled a congrats to her but she didn’t seem to hear. I stopped skiing and discovered how sore my legs were.

It didn’t matter. I had finished. I spent 6 hours and 52 minutes skiing 54K in single-digit temperatures, and I actually enjoyed it.

Being a crazy person never felt so good.

3 days

Less than three days till the Birkie, and I wake up this morning with a horrible sore throat and stuffy nose. Perfect.

I've been chugging Airborne, sucking on Cold-Eeze, hydrating, taking copious amounts of Vitamin C and praying that this cold kicks it. I filled my entire trash can at work today with used Kleenex.

I probably should get some sleep too, right?

Smiles and dream jobs

This video made me smile.

Then it made me wonder.

I mean, that's a lot of places to travel to and a lot of work for approximately five seconds of video per place. And where did he find the people to dance with him?

Luckily, this youtube sensation has a website that explains it all. Stride gum sponsors Matt Harding's trips around the world, where he contacts his e-mail list of fans in every corner to show up and dance with him.

Dream job much?

Weekly workouts update

Let's see how this week in workouts shaped up. First is the plan, followed in bold by what I actually did...

Monday: 1 mile run (test the knee) + 30-45 minutes strength. 30 minutes strength at home.
Tuesday: Ski 9 miles. Ran 3.5, walked .5, 30 minutes core and hip strength.
Wednesday: Body Pump. Rest.
Thursday: Bikram Yoga. 1 hour strength at home - lots of core and pushups.
Friday: Bikram Yoga. Finally made it to Body Pump!
Saturday: Strength. Planning on running 3 miles outside too.
Sunday: Ski 3 black loops. Plan to make good on this if there is snow on the trails.

This wasn't exactly the week of workouts I envisioned (because I am a bear in the morning) but it actually had its strong points - like lots of awesome core work and a RUN! Hadn't gone on one of those in weeks.

Tonight I'm also meeting Elizabeth to ski 9 miles after work. I'm nervous about the trail conditions, but we'll see what shapes up.

Changing it up

It's back. The pain. The right leg. My IT Band!

That 20-mile ski did me in. I rested on Saturday, then skied about 6 miles slow with Peter on Sunday (and had an emotional breakdown on the trail for no apparent reason) and my leg has been in discomfort the entire time.

I tried to foam roll it out, but it didn't seem to make a difference.

So now I curse myself for not doing all the strengthening exercises I learned in physical therapy all this time. And I hope hope hope and pray that my leg feels better by the end of this week, because we've got less than two weeks till B-Day (Birkie Day).

So here's the plan for working out this week:

Monday: 1 mile run (test the knee) + 30-45 minutes strength
Tuesday: Ski 9 miles
Wednesday: Body Pump
Thursday: Bikram Yoga
Friday: Bikram Yoga
Saturday: Strength
Sunday: Ski 3 black loops

Changing it up big time to aid recovery, hopefully. :-\

20 miles on skis

20.13 miles. 4:15:55.

Longest ski ever! Second longest workout ever! (Longest was 16 seconds longer - Chicago Marathon '09.)

I was solo and (relatively) speedy for this 20-miler at Lapham Peak. Glee/Michael Buble/Across the Universe Pandora station kept me motivated to do two black loops including the Stairway to Heaven (which doubles back on 1/3 of the course, making it almost exactly 10 miles).

It was tiring. It was brutal at times. But when my body wanted to give up, my mind took over and pushed me through to finish strong.

Celebrated with a fish fry and two beers at Red Mill with P and friend Luke. :)

Cold snow = slow snow

I got 10 of my 15 intended miles in today at Minooka Park. I would have done 15, but I ran out of time! That has happened every time I've gone out for a long ski -- I've either been chasing daylight or having to be somewhere.

And every time I intend to go earlier in the day. This morning I was supposed be out there by 10, then by 11, then by 12... eventually I got to the park at 1 and started skiing at 1:15. Sheesh.

The single-digit weather didn't phase me until 1) I realized it was making the snow really slow on my waxless skis and 2) My fingers got really, really cold.

Despite the slow snow, I kept a decent pace (averaging somewhere in the mid-14s per mile). My form got quite sloppy by the end and I literally face-planted into the snow twice.

My body may or may not be yearning for rest. I'm on my sixth consecutive day of working out - 4 days of skiing, 1 day of Body Pump, then today's ski. That's unheard of for me. And yet I'm still planning on going to Body Pump tomorrow.

Stupid? Maybe. We'll see what happens.

Anyway, let's just hope it's 30 degrees and sunny on B-Day (Birkie Day).