Musica.

Yeah, it's probably going to be Brandi Carlile posts all week. Lol. I've been listening to her on a continuous loop for days now, for no particular rhyme or reason.

In other news, I can't find my suitcase. Or maybe I never had one? Who knows.

Emery

Em is staying with my dad during construction. Sleeping without her is remarkably hard. I forget sometimes, amidst her irritating 'I'm tired can we go to bed now?' whining, how strange it is to have to fall asleep without her here.

The animals all serve distinctive purposes. The fish keep me calm. The cats kill all the bugs. The dog makes me feel safe. This is intentional, and my life feels strangely off-kilter without her here. Maybe this is why I never get any sleep in hotels, I'm not sure. But I do know that I'm definitely wide awake tonight.

With any luck, morning will come quickly.

Song of the Day!

I dug a hole inside my heart
To put you in your grave.
At this point it was you and me,
And mama didn't raise no slave.
You took my face in both your hands
And looked me in the eye
And I went down with such a force
That in your grave I lie.


Feeling much better this evening. Spent some time with my dad and TOC, and all is right in the world again...and what isn't quite right yet, will be right soon. :)

All my love.

The World is Ending.

Not really.

But it certainly feels that way today.

There is entirely to much upheaval in my life right now. Construction starts tomorrow on the inside of my apartment, which means for the next 3-4 weeks my home will be invaded daily by a crew of construction workers, city inspectors, and other unknowns. All of my things had to be packed up and put away and my home no longer feels like it is mine.

My medical identity has been stolen and I am unable to make any progress on it until tomorrow which is driving me crazy.

I am also working at our sister facility daily this week, which I am excited about because I get to work with the Boss Lady, but it also means more change to my cherished schedule. This is not such a big deal, and I'm happy to help out. I mention it only because change is change, and I'm sure it's adding to my stress in some way, I'm just unaware of how.

I haven't been sleeping much lately, and the recurrent dream where my mother kills me has returned. I wake up screaming at least once a night, and spend my mornings shaken up over it. Last night in addition to the usual dream, I had a new one where I was trudging waist deep through a swamp trying to catch a rare and elusive fish with a team of scientists. All of a sudden a 25 foot long black snake broke the surface of the water and latched onto my neck. Its upper fangs went in just below my jaw on the left side, and its lower fangs hooked in below my left collar bone. The snake held its bite, but otherwise did not move. I held its body out and away from me walked out of the swamp, covered in blood. The lead scientist kept telling me it was a Teena viper, and I was insistent that he was just screwing with me because Teena vipers don't exist. However, he radioed emergency services who told me Teena vipers did exist, their venom was neurotoxic, and I was well and truly screwed.

He cut the snake in half and removed it from my neck. My central nervous system shut down and I died at the edge of the swamp.

I'm not really sure what to make of that, but it was unpleasant and I hope this is the last time I have to have it.

I don't dream much. Almost never, actually. And when I do it's usually just matter of fact dreams. LittleFoot goes to the grocery store, or LittleFoot does the laundry. Things like that. The exception is the recurrent dream where someone tells me my mother has died and I go to her grave to verify it. Then she shows up and stabs me to death cackling wildly and chanting prayers over me as I bleed out. I believe I have this dream more often than I am aware of as I often wake up crying with no memory of why or what I was dreaming of.

I wish I had never known my mother. That I could just live in an alternate universe where I had only my sweet and loving father to raise me. While I don't give my mother much thought these days, I still hear her voice in my head whispering she hates me when I get stressed out. And I can't seem to banish the dreams, no matter how I try. Such is life I suppose. This too shall pass.

I hope things are better with you, but I feel like you are trudging through the swamps of unending misery with me this week. That is lame. On the bright side, I will be there in just a few short days and we can forget the chaos that has descended upon us. Perhaps kayaking though the Sea of Orcas isn't such a terrible idea after all...don't hold me to that though. A duck pond may in fact, be all that I can handle. :P We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

I miss you dearly Dear Friend. All the Days. Some days, (like today) more than others. Say hi to Phil for me, I'll see you both soon.

All my love.
LittleFoot.

A Song for D-Day.

Well Dear Friend, it's D-Day!
The best day of the year!
I am incredibly blessed.
Today.
And every day.
And terribly grateful for everything the past year has given me.



thank you india
thank you terror
thank you disillusionment
thank you frailty
thank you consequence
thank you thank you silence

the moment I let go of it
was the moment I got more than I could handle
the moment I jumped off of it
was the moment I touched down

...

thank you india
thank you providence
thank you disillusionment
thank you nothingness
thank you clarity
thank you thank you silence

SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS
SIX DAYS!!!
*happy dance!*

See you soon Dear Friend!
Thank you for being so incredible.
You're the twin I should have had.
I miss you, always.
:)

Thursdays.

Well Dear Friend, I've been up to exactly nothing.

My knees still hurt more than I'd like to admit to, and my sprained ankle remains sprained. It's been so long since I had a sprain that I can't even gauge if it is getting better or remaining the same. Both of these things are relatively minor, and I don't really even notice it unless I think about it, but they're enough of an issue to make me cancel my Mt. Humphreys hike this weekend. (Something which I'm just slightly bitter about.) Instead I'm going fossiling, and then out to Wet Beaver Creek. It's a decent compromise, but I was so excited to have lunch in the tundra.


In other news, I've been knitting that godforsaken candle flame cowl pattern again. In white. WHITE. Why? Nobody knows. I dislike both the infuriating nature of the pattern, and the color white, and yet, I knit on.

I've also been prepping fossils and being sick.

Oh, and I've woken up convinced it's Friday since Monday morning.

I know nothing else. I miss you terribly, as always, and I wish I had been there today for all the excitement. (I know, Soon, soon.)

Until next time.
All the love in the world.
LittleFoot

R2R Rundown 12

Part 12
The Aftermath.

We'd stumbled out of the canyon well after the shuttles had stopped running. We called a taxi, but there were 30 or so people in our group alone waiting for one and the wait estimate was an hour and a half. Ick.

I text our leaders to let them know that we'd made it out safe and were waiting for a taxi. It was decided that because there were so many of us, he would just send the bus to pick everybody up. The bus arrived and we hobbled on. There was one group left in the canyon, we decided to wait for them to finish before heading back. They made it up just after 11 pm. We drove home exhausted and triumphant.

Upon reaching the hotel, I was too tired even to shower. I was starving but too tired to even think about chewing. I examined my blistered feet, (bad, but not as bad as anticipated,) text you, Dear Friend, and crawled into bed filthy and exhausted.



I did not sleep. At. All.

There was no position I could lay in that didn't hurt my feet. The sheets were too heavy on my blisters. I was famished. Ravenously hungry. And at one point I awoke to a pain that I can only assume was the result of my organs eating one another. The victory adrenaline was still coursing through my veins.

At 3:30 am I got up and somehow made it to the bathroom. I took a long, long, long shower. It felt amazing. I was super gross.

I got dressed and packed up my stuff.

At 5 am I was faced with a dilemma. I NEEDED FOOD. I wasn't sure if the hotel offered breakfast. The lobby was inexplicably located below ground. To reach it I would have to walk down the stairs from my room and across the parking lot. From there I had two choices, I could go up another flight of stairs to take the elevator down (up is WAY easier than down on sore legs), or walk down two flights of stairs to the lobby. There may or may not be food at the end of my journey.

The second option was to walk all the way across the parking lot then across the road to McDonalds. It seemed impossibly far away, like a tiny speck on the horizon, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there would be food there.

I didn't even hesitate.

Antoline was up at this point, and she made the journey with me.

My legs, despite my best efforts, were barely functional. My brain said 'right leg step forward' but my leg seemed confused about what exactly it was that I was expecting it to do. My legs were so sore and exhausted that my gait was more 'drunken toddler' than 'exhausted hiker'. I was weaving slightly, back and forth. My calves were unbelievably tight, my knees were stiff and resisting the commands to bend.

Slowly but surely we made it across the road. We were rewarded with food. Sweet, glorious food. It didn't even matter that it wasn't good food. It was food. I was soooooooo happy.

We returned to the room, checked out and made it to the bus. Inexplicably, in a way that seemed to ignore the very laws of the universe, of physics, of biomechanics, some people from our group were out RUNNING. Jogging like they hadn't a care in the world. Like they hadn't just hiked a whopping 23.5 miles the day before. I scowled at them in disbelief. Then my disdain melted into awe. One day, one day I will be like them. Unaffected by distance and elevation. A monument to hard work. Yes, one day I too will conquer the canyon and waltz around the next morning as if it had been a mere cake walk.

I promptly passed out on the bus. I slept most of the ride home.

Somehow I made it to Dad's house, still coherent. I regaled him with my victory tales as best I could. I showed him all 600+ pictures I had taken. I collected my sweet dog. Drove home. And collapsed into my own bed.

I walked like a drunk for a couple of days. It was as though my legs had completely forgotten what walking was and were puzzled by the task. Tuesday I was at my most sore, and my knees were screaming at me. Wednesday all the pain from my blisters had vanished. By Thursday I was mostly better. My knees still whine a little at the end of the day, but I can take the stairs again without having to stop.

I miss the canyon every day.
It is on my mind constantly.
I can't wait to go back.

R2R Rundown 11

Part 11
Indian Garden to the Bright Angel Trailhead.

We had a long rest at Indain Garden. We waited for the sun to get a little lower in the sky, ate more food, and chatted with the other hikers. There were several other people still behind us, including a group that had some heat issues on the corkscrew and had to take an extended break. One of our hike leaders was with them and the situation was under control. The other leader was up at Indian Garden with us.

I announced that the stretch to Indian Garden was much more like 6 million miles than 3.2. He said that the final stretch would seem much, much longer. I was skeptical.

He informed us that final ascent was broken up into three 1.5 mile stretches. The climb was steep and we should expect each leg to take about an hour and a half. He recommended only carrying a liter or two of water at a time, and refilling at each stop to reduce the weight we had to carry uphill. I was not about to do this because I'm paranoid, and wanted to have enough water if say, I broke both my legs and had to slowly drag myself out of the canyon. I stubbornly filled my bladder up all the way.

It is also important to note here that we were rapidly approaching the 20 mile mark.

The 20 mile mark is also known as the bonk point, the point where you are most likely to hit the wall. Bonking is when your body switches from running on a full tank, to running with the low fuel light on. Energy stores are depleted, mental acuity has deteriorated and nothing short of a long, long rest are going to make it better. This is what all my preparation, all my careful planning, slow pace, careful and continuous hydration, and calorie consumption were about. Avoiding the bonk.

(Earlier in the trip, back at dinner at Jacobs Lake, we were eating with a couple of ER doctors that were going on the hike with us. One of them told the story of a drunk and dehydrated girl in the ER who was insistent that she was 'too classy' for a bedpan. We decided at dinner that we were 'too classy' for mile 20. We cackled with joy, were determined to cruise past it without issue.)

At this point, with mile 20 looming ahead of us, we felt damn good. We were in fact, ELATED. We reveled in the joy of having made it to this point without a real issue. I was particularly thrilled to have made it so far without nausea. Nausea is my mortal enemy. Once it begins I am DONE. I cannot function and feel nauseated simultaneously. It is, quite simply, game over for me. Pain and suffering I can handle in spades. One tiny little hint of nausea, and you might as well cut off my arms and legs, because I am well and truly screwed.

I took my shoes off here, but not my socks. I already knew the verdict. Blisters. Lots of them. I had been feeling them since the Devils Corkscrew, but blisters have never really bothered me THAT badly. I know they're there, and sure, they hurt, but I'll take blister pain over headaches or knee pain any day. I didn't need to know how bad they were. I didn't need to think about them during this last stretch. I just needed to focus on the goal and keep moving. I also removed the bandages from my knees, they were feeling much, MUCH better now that we were no longer going downhill.

We packed up and marched onwards, triumphant.



The sun was officially starting to dip behind the canyon walls and the temperature was just about perfect. A creek crossed the path at one point, or rather, ran right down the middle of the path for about 20 feet or so, making for a muddy crossing.



We saw some tadpoles, and a lot of caterpillars.



The view from this point, until the sunset was spectacular. I tried my hardest to capture it, but failed spectacularly. None of my pictures even come close to doing it justice.



Somewhere around this point, we realized that our hike leader was right. These last stretches were going to take forever. We hiked and hiked and hiked and yet the 3 mile rest remained out of our reach. Antoline was starting to notice the elevation change, and our pauses became more frequent. We continually leap-frogged the same three or four groups of people. Over taking them when they stopped for a break, then being over taken by them again when we stopped. It was amusing.

Eventually our hard work was rewarded, and we reached the 3 mile rest house. We had hiked 20.4 miles, we were now at 4,750 ft elevation. The sun was officially setting, and we finally had cellphone service. I excitedly text you and then my dad, and then decided that was insufficient and called Dad to tell him how awesome life was. I was so close! At 7:40 pm we hit the trail again, sun setting over head, and the south rim looming above us.



Our hike leader turned out to be right on both counts. The last stretch of the hike did feel like it was almost endless, and I soon began to regret lugging around 3 liters of water when I clearly only need to carry one. I emptied some of it out, and kept on going.

The last of the sunlight slipped away long before we reached the 1.5 mile resthouse.



We took out our flashlights just before the darkness swallowed us. At this point, I was in full cyborg mode. My legs moved methodically. One and then the other. I watched the glow of the flashlights above us bounce back and forth along the seemingly infinite switchbacks. Where on earth was the final resthouse? How the heck could it possibly take this long to walk 1.5 miles? On and on we went, forever and ever. Several times we asked each other if we could have possibly just missed the resthouse in the darkness. Maybe we just walked past it. Maybe it was magical, like fairies, or unicorns, and we hadn't really believed in its existence, and as such, were not allowed to see it.

It was dark and all the creepy crawlies had come out. We saw bats and kangaroo rats. An impossible number of spiders were crawling along the trail. Caterpillars and scorpions were abundant as well. Antoline was struggling mentally. At one point she started questioning her ability to complete the hike, but we were so close. I promised her it would be okay. That we could totally do this. That we'd come nearly 22 miles, we could totally do two more. I told her I'd carry her up to the top, (on my back like a camel) if I had to. But her feet kept moving. I gave her a power gel and we kept on keeping on.

We finally, after an unimaginably long time, reached the 1.5 mile resthouse. We paused only for a couple of seconds, and then continued the march. The stars were high above us, and there were more of them than I'd ever seen before. It was stunning. The temperature was blissful, I couldn't imagine having to climb up this last stretch of the rim with the sun blaring down on me.

It is hard to describe in words how long this last mile was. It. Was. Long. Longer than I had anticipated. Longer than I could imagine. But then, all of a sudden, we could hear people up on the rim. Drunk people. People that most definitely weren't inside the canyon. We walked and walked and walked. We reached the tunnel, and then, then we could see the lights from the Bright Angel Lodge. Shining like a beacon from the top of the canyon.

Those last switchbacks to the top took the longest, but the end was in sight. I was so high on adrenaline. I'd made it! Just a few more feet.



And then it happened, I stepped off the trail onto the rim, 6,860 feet above sea level. Legs noodle-y with exhaustion. Knees weak with fatigue.



It took 16 hours and 10 minutes.

I'd walked from one side of the Grand Canyon to another.
23.5 miles in all.
My own two feet carrying me all the way.
My knees were resentful, but happy.
It was the coolest feeling ever.

I text Dad to let him know that I made it.
I text you to scream out how awesome it was.
I updated everything I could update with my victory picture.
I have never, ever been so happy, or felt so accomplished.

I cannot wait to do it again.

R2R Rundown 10

River Resthouse to Indian Garden.

If I had been weaker? Less prepared? I don't know...something...I would have been in tears at this point. The pain was relentless and unlike anything I've ever felt. I had to keep pausing every other step when we walked downhill. I kept right on smiling. I'd made it nearly 16 miles, I could do 8 more. Besides that, hiking down is optional. Hiking up is mandatory. I knew that going in.

How I made it though those downhill stretches I'll never know. My knees screamed at me with every available nerve ending at every step. They tensed. They occasionally locked up. They begged me not to bend them.

I did my best to listen to what they were saying. To rest when things got really bad. To stretch out the tendons. To tense my quadriceps and lift my knee caps in between steps. Still they pleaded with me. No. More. Downhill.

We reached a point where a small creek crossed the path and we took an extended break here. I took off my shoes again and let my feet dry out. I had several blisters at this point, but none of them were very bad or terribly painful. I re-bandaged/taped/moleskined my feet and put on a pair of clean dry socks. I ate some more food (though truthfully, I was both eating and drinking continuously for close to 98% of this hike). A couple other people from our group met up with us there. One of the women in particular had the single most amazing blister on her heel I had ever seen. It was super intense. We could not figure out how to bandage it. It was nuts. Comparatively, my feet were in amazing shape.



From here, the trail was mostly uphill. I was THRILLED. My knees immediately felt better. I actually had NO pain at all on uphill steps, but every now and then when I had to step down, even a little bit, I got a seriously painful jolt.

The trail wound around through some marshy green areas for a bit. There were lizards everywhere, and lots of shade. Soon however, that all gave way to some serious climbing. We found ourselves approaching the Devils Corkscrew at the hottest point of the day.

The Devils Corkscrew is where the serious climbing begins. It is a series of evil corkscrews, full of stairs, winding through the black rocks of the Vishnu Schist. The temperature can soar to over 130 degrees here in the summer. It only hit 110 while we were there, but man was it hot! I tied my kool towel around my head, and that was a huge help.



Antoline was starting to struggle with the heat and elevation during this stretch. She thought she felt a headace coming on so we IMMEDIATELY found some shade and sat down to rest. More food, water, and tylenol were consumed, and before long she was feeling much better. I tried my best to get some good shots of the Devils Corkscrew as we left it behind, but the shadows from the canyon walls made it difficult.



Our breaks became much more frequent from here on out. The heat was sucking the momentum out of us, and is was important that we didn't push ourselves too hard. I wasn't about to start having issues now, I'd come entirely too far. Our pace was just about perfect. We were tired, and struggled a little bit at points, but we both felt really good. We never got nauseous or faint, and my knees were feeling terrific by this point.

It took forever to reach Indian Gardens. Forever. It was without a doubt, the longest 3.2 miles I have ever walked. There were points where we thought we must have missed Indian Garden. We had been walking for what felt like forever. How could we not have gone a measly 3.2 miles?

The trail started getting greener, and the heat started to be less of a bother.



We were getting close, we could feel it. At every corner I said, 'this is the last corner, I can feel it'. I was wrong many, many times. We came around one corner, and there were deer on the trail!



They were unimpressed with our presence and slowly moved out of the way, continuing their grazing.

Finally, FINALLY we made it to Indian Garden.



It. Was. Awesome.

We were officially half way up the Bright Angel. We'd come almost 20 miles, were back up to 3,800 ft. elevation, and the sun was getting low in the sky. It felt magical. MAGICAL.

R2R Rundown 9

The Colorado River to The River Resthouse.

We left the Colorado River and headed uphill. I cannot describe in words, how happy my knees were to be heading uphill instead of down. This excitement however, was short lived.

From the river, you start the hike up in earnest. I was elated to be moving uphill. I can go uphill forever, like some sort of hiking machine. Slow and steady for ever and ever. Downhill is another beast, one that kills my knees. I was glad to have it behind me. So glad in fact, that I didn't even mind that the slog uphill was through deep sand.



Up and up and up I went, watching the river move farther and farther away from me. The deep sand gave way to actual sand dunes, but I was still too elated to be going up instead of down to care.



You would be forgiven for thinking, as I did, that it was all uphill from here. That is a sneaky, sneaky lie. One that my knees both had not anticipated, and failed to appreciate. They hiked me up, up, and away from the river in the heat, in the sand, and then the terrible thing happened. The trail turned a corner, and lead all the way back down to the river. While it was mildly disheartening mentally, my knees had a full scale mutiny.



From the first downward step I knew I was going to have issues. Not only did the outside of BOTH knees feel like they were packed full of glass, but I could feel them starting to stiffen and lock in an attempt to keep the tendon from rubbing against the outer knuckle of my knee. I had anticipated this battle of wits, between myself and my knees, but was still shocked at the amount of pain each step managed to produce. Before long I was pausing for a second or two between every other step, trying to will my knees to bend.

When I had a flare up on Squaw Peak, it was only in my left knee, and I had managed to complete the descent by keeping my bad knee locked. With both knees in pain, this was not an option. I didn't complain, and for the most part I continued smiling like a fool and saying cheery things, positive things that kept us moving. The joy of the adventure overwhelmed most of my other senses, but in the back of my mind, the doubts were growing.



By the time we reached the River Resthouse I was in agony. We'd only come 1.5 miles from the river and because of the gain and then loss nature of the path were still only at 2,480 ft.

I plopped myself down immediately and ace bandaged my other leg. I was somewhere around an 8 on my pain scale, and the pictures get much more sparse from here on out.

I was still in really high spirits, Dear Friend. I was happy and not at all panic-y, but I was also totally and completely unsure how exactly I was going to manage to get myself out of the canyon.

All those hours of bikram yoga prepared me for this moment. I have never been so grateful for a yoga class in all my life. Those classes taught me the importance of a positive head space. I know that sounds like hippy mumbo jumbo, but I swear on all things holy, the moment you start thinking you can't do something, you're screwed. That doesn't mean you should push on through insufferable pain or headaches, or dehydration, or anything else, but it does mean that when stuff starts to go wrong you have to sit back and address it without getting to the 'I can't do this space'. I firmly believe that I can do all things, the logistics however, are occasionally illusive.

I knew I was going to make it out of the canyon. More than that, I knew I was going to make it out of the canyon without any major issues. I was SO CERTAIN that I would do it, but at this point, I just hadn't figured out HOW. The logistics of a 8+ mile hike with two bad knees was a mystery to me. We sat here for a while, ate some food, and gave my knees time to recover.

When we started out again, things hadn't really improved. The sand however, was at least behind us.

R2R Rundown 8

Phantom Ranch to the Colorado River.

When last we spoke, I had just made it to Phantom Ranch (14 miles in and at an elevation of 2,480 ft.). This was the first place where we had actual bathrooms, instead of composting/septic ones. This WOULD have been marvelous, except that the waterline damage meant there was no water to run them. Ha! Instead we had to fill and carry buckets of water from the pump (which was unaffected) with us to flush the toilets. Really, this was more amusing than irritating, and I was still grateful for a 'real' restroom.

We made our way to the ranch house where I purchased a bag of ice, and then failed to remember to send out my postcards. For this oversight, I am sincerely sorry. I clearly owe you one postcard, mailed by mule train. I will do my best to rectify this on a future trip to the canyon, something which is now necessitated by said mail failure. We packed our camelbaks full of ice and then refilled them with water. Then I sat my happy butt down at the base of that big tree, took off my shoes and socks and elevated my feet.



I had a long and leisurely lunch, eating the heaviest foods in my pack so I wouldn't have to carry the uphill (an orange, some tuna, pringles, a cliff builder bar, and some coconut water). For the record, I still believe coconut water to be a foul and vaguely poisonous substance, but I also swear it is the secret to surviving long hikes. The only one I can stomach is Vita Coco with orange, but even that is distasteful at best. I drank about a third of mine and added the rest of it to my camelbak. I gave my second one to Antoline.

We spent some time chatting with other hikers, drying out our socks and feet, and working on blister prevention. At this point I was still blister free, which was amazing, because downhill is usually the roughest on my feet. I did have several hot spots, and a couple of places that I was positive would end up blistering before the day was through, but I had anticipated as much. All my toes overlap so pressure blisters are inevitable.

We checked in with one of the hike leaders who made sure we were still feeling good, eating enough, and drinking water. He was in radio contact with our other leader who was up on the Devil's Corkscrew checking in with other hikers. A couple of people were struggling with the heat, and several people had been vomiting, but whether they were in our group or not was not clear.

I am convinced that salt pills add to nausea and vomiting, and I'm glad that I didn't take any. My dad (who knows all the things) said they gave him salt pills in Vietnam and that they always made him vomit. Ick. Since I am basically a clone of my dad, I firmly believe they would have made me vomit also. I'll just stick to salty foods and/or salt packets.

We left Phantom Ranch at 12:50 pm. The temperature was up well over the 100 degree mark, but I was so thrilled to have almost reached the river it barely registered. We headed down the River Trail along Bright Angel Creek toward the Colorado River.



It wasn't long before the Silver Bridge was in sight.



We had officially reached the bottom of the canyon!!! We had come an amazing 14.4 miles and were at an elevation of 2,400 ft. Crossing the bridge was inexplicably exhilarating. The water level was really low, but it was a beautiful shade of aquamarine.



From here we started the hike up and out of the canyon via the Bright Angel Trail.